A/N: Listen, I know this chapter is like super expositiony, but I need to set everything up, okay? Trust the process! Nessian will proper interact at their wedding next chapter, I promise 😉
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Nesta
The Moonstone Palace looms tall before them, the white stone somehow glinting and sparkling like it was truly made from pieces of the silent giant above, even despite the heavy gray clouds shrouding the moon. Moonflower vines creep along the walls and the spires, purple bleeding from the centers and through the blooming white petals. Despite the sweet scent floating toward them on the breeze, Nesta can’t help but shudder.
No matter how beautiful it looks on the outside, Nesta has never particularly cared for the palace that the vampires call home. The blacked out windows and heavy curtains make it seem as if there may be someone watching at all times, an unseen gaze grating across her skin, and the whole building just screams of the wealth the vampires have acquired through their near immortal years. It doesn’t help that they always only visit this place in the dead of night either.
“I better not hear a word out of any of you tonight,” Elinor reminds her daughters, lifting up her skirts enough to lead the way up the front steps.
“Yes, Mama,” Nesta agrees quietly, speaking for both her sisters as well, and following their mother up the steps.
“I mean it,” Elinor clips, pausing just in front of the door and turning over her shoulder to glare. But those icy, blue eyes aren't pinned on Nesta. It’s Feyre on the other end of their mother’s ire.
Even with the distance between them, Nesta can see the way her youngest sister’s jaw clenches, the way her fingers twitch in the skirts of her own dress. Despite their mother's efforts to beat that defiance out of her youngest daughter, it's clear it still thrums just beneath Feyre's skin. But it's faint and dimmed. The black gossamer fabric twisting down Feyre’s arms hides the bruises Nesta knows have bloomed across her upper arm, remnants from the most recent lesson with their mother.
“I’ll be on my best behavior, Mama,” Feyre confirms, dropping her gaze away from Elinor. “I promise.”
“You better be,” Elinor says, turning back around and raising her hands toward the large, arching front doors with a flourish. “You all have no idea how important tonight will be. The future I am building for us all.”
With a flick of Elinor’s wrist, magic sparking across her fingertips in the dark, the large doors slide open, the old wrought iron hinges creaking. There’s a near echoing boom as the doors settle, and they all step inside, into the large room that makes up the front entrance. Towering pillars line each of the walls, stretching higher and higher toward the domed ceiling above. The heavy curtains that live there have been pulled aside, allowing milky pale light to filter through the stained glass and paint patterns across the marble floors.
Elinor strides forward with practiced ease, down the long halls covered with thick rugs and dotted with the occasional lush plants. Almost every single one is some sort of variation of a night blooming flower, thriving and green despite the shadows that shroud the whole palace. Various open doorways lead to other sitting rooms, dining rooms, and work areas, gossamer curtains swaying in an almost phantom, magical breeze dividing them from the main hall, but they all seem empty as they pass by.
The hall finally opens at the end into a massive dining hall, a large dark oak table taking up the majority of the space at the center of the room. And sitting around the table, already gathered, are the various leaders and their immediate circles. Nesta supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised that their family is the last to arrive for this meeting. She swears her mother feeds off the way all the chatter in the room dies as they step inside, the way every set of eyes turns to them.
With her shoulders back and head held high, Elinor continues forward to the remaining open chair around the table, but as Nesta follows behind, settling at her mother’s shoulder, she eyes the others in attendance, everyone in attendance for this meeting.
The Vanserra coven sits immediately to the right. It seems strange to see Eris Vanserra sitting front and center, the exact details of what happened to Beron Vanserra one of the coven’s best kept secrets. Still, the eldest seems to have stepped into the new leadership role quite seamlessly. He has an almost bored expression on his face, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way his amber eyes dart toward the dark shadowed corners of the room.
Two of Eris’s brothers stand at either of his shoulders, his second and third. Nesta recognizes the youngest of the Vanserras, Lucien. Even with his long, red hair hanging around his face, the scars around his eye are stark in the low light of the room, the result of a spell gone wrong that also killed two of the other Vanserra boys.
The vampires have claimed the seats directly across from Nesta and her family, Rhysand lounging casually in a high backed chair as though it’s a throne. His violet eyes flit around to everyone gathered, straying just a moment too long on the Archerons. Nesta almost thinks she imagines it, the shift in his eyes, dancing across his expression, before his attention turns to picking a piece of lint off his sleeve.
His second and third sit either side of him, the two vampire women completely different. The one sitting on his right has short, black hair, cut in a harsh bob right beneath her chin. Her gaze practically dares anyone to try and say a word to her, not an ounce of shame on her face as she drinks from a goblet filled to the brim with blood. The other woman, sitting on Rhysand’s left, has long, blonde hair running down her shoulders and back, brown eyes bright but no less threatening.
And to the left, taking up the final end of the table, are the wolves. The alpha of their pack, Cassian, sits at the center of their group, the dark curls of his hair pulled away from his face and piled atop his head in a bun. His arms are crossed over his chest, drawing emphasis to the width of his shoulders, the bulge of his arms, the span of his hands that come with being the quite literal top dog.
A man stands just to Cassian’s left, shaggy brown hair falling forward into a pair of brown eyes, and to Cassian’s right sits a woman, dark hair braided down over her shoulder. Surprisingly, her gaze is already pinned on Nesta. Nesta's spine straightens as the woman's eyes sweep up and down over her frame, and she can do nothing but watch as the woman leans over, clearly talking about her as she speaks quietly to Cassian.
Whatever is said, it has the alpha's eyes snapping to Nesta too, the hazel of them burning golden beneath the candlelight. For a moment, the breath hitches in Nesta's throat, having that attention solely on her. She wonders if he can hear it, the way her heartbeat starts to thud a bit quicker, wonders if he can see the way her pulse flutters in her neck, with those keen wolf senses. But Nesta refuses to back down. She raises her chin that little bit higher, daring to look down her nose at him.
“Elinor,” Rhysand breaks the silence, drawing the attention back to him.
“Rhysand,” Elinor offers back, her tone cold and face neutral.
“We all know why this meeting was called. The Cauldron is missing.”
“It was stolen,” Elinor corrects, her blue eyes narrowing across the table.
“Right from under your nose, it seems,” Eris sneers, earning a snicker from one of his brothers.
Elinor’s attention snaps to her right, and Nesta shifts uneasily as magic starts to spark at her mother’s fingertips. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, then do it.”
The atmosphere in the room turns tense and stifling, as though all of the air has been sucked out. It claws at the back of Nesta’s throat, scraping across her skin. Everyone around the tables seems to be holding their breath, seems to be bracing for the worst. Nesta swears she sees the vampires’ lips part, a hint of fangs peeking through. Swears she sees claws beginning to extend from the wolves’ fingers. It has her instinctively and protectively moving closer to her sisters.
“I’m merely commenting on the fact that the Cauldron was under your family’s protection, and yet you didn’t know it was even gone until the next morning,” Eris offers idly, arching a single, red eyebrow.
“I’ve warned you all for months about the threat Hybern poses, that their King’s strength is in spellwork, and now, suddenly, you’re all surprised? Questioning it?”
“No one is questioning or accusing anyone,” Rhysand cuts in, ever the placating host. “But Elinor, we all remember the Archeron’s reticence to the Accords, your family’s hesitance to sign the Treaty.”
Elinor scoffs at the vampire’s words, but it takes all of Nesta’s willpower to swallow down her wince. She still remembers overhearing her mother’s and grandmother’s words when she was a girl. Her grandmother's sharp, cutting words toward the vampires and wolves, at the idea of having any sort of Accords with them. The agreement from both matriarchs that working with the other factions was beneath the purity and power of the Archeron line. The criticism that the Accords makes their family weaker, not stronger.
“You’re right that Hybern is a threat,” Rhysand continues, his violet eyes dancing around to the others at the table before cutting back to Elinor. “But if we want to stand any chance against their King, if we want to find and return the Cauldron, it has to be together.”
“So what? You called a meeting just to scrutinize and ensure my dedication to the Accords?” Elinor asks, her tone derisive and mocking. “Was your spy not able to glean enough information? Where is your Shadowsinger hiding, anyways?”
“He’s not relevant right now,” Rhysand fires back, his own tone beginning to dip with annoyance.
“Honestly, Elinor. Your mocking questions aren’t helping your case here,” Eris adds, the frown tugging down his lips betraying the bored tone of his voice.
Elinor rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’d be more than happy to prove my family’s commitment if that’s what you’re after.”
“How?” Cassian speaks up to ask, his first words all night.
Nesta swears she sees the flicker of a smirk twitch up her mother’s lips, but as soon as she sees it, it vanishes like a trick of the candlelight. Elinor settles back in her chair, stretching her arms out either side of her.
“My daughters,” she answers the alpha’s question simply. “What better way to demonstrate than to offer a blessed union with each of them.”
“You can’t be serious,” Eris comments, something like surprised laughter coloring his voice.
“You all know how powerful my daughters are. You can’t deny that such unions would strengthen your own factions and strengthen the Accords.”
“You’d really force your daughters into marriages? Just like that?” Cassian asks.
“Force? My daughters would be more than happy to further solidify this alliance between us all. In fact, I’ll even let them choose.” Elinor turns over her shoulder, meeting Nesta’s gaze, but Nesta is all too familiar with that look, the fake smile and cold, burning eyes. “Nesta. You’re the eldest.”
Nesta’s entire chest feels tight, dark claws sinking into her lungs until she has to force air in and out. How long had their mother been planning this? Was this what she meant when she explained how important the night would be? No wonder she’d taken the time earlier to make sure all her daughters were in their best dresses, to ensure that Feyre swallowed down her defiance and kept her mouth shut. And now here they all stood, perfect little future wives on full display.
But what happens if she denies her mother’s suggestion, if she says no? Would the other factions oust the Archerons from the Accords? Loath as she is to admit it, Nesta knows that Rhysand is right. The only way they can defeat the King of Hybern and his magic and troops is as a unified front. Her family, her sisters, will only be vulnerable without the Accords. And the Mother only knows what Hybern would do if he got his hands on three of them.
This is the only solution. No question of if, but merely a question of who.
Nesta feels Elain practically shaking like a leaf beside her. Perhaps, she can have it so Elain ends up with the Vanserras. Ever since the accident and Beron’s death, there have been less stories of cruelty being whispered, and going from one coven to another, being around other witches, might be easier for her sister.
Nesta chances an accessing glance toward Feyre, but she finds her youngest sister already in some sort of glaring match with Rhysand. It seems the turn in conversation has solidly piqued the vampire leader’s interest and even more so, drawn his interest toward the youngest Archeron. But Feyre looks to be seconds away from slipping a shoe off her foot and throwing it at Rhysand’s head. It’s clear Nesta’s sister can hold her own, but that just leaves…
The wolves.
Swallowing hard, Nesta turns her full attention toward Cassian, refusing to balk as she meets his hazel gaze head on. “It would be an honor to join your pack.”
~ * * * ~
Cassian
Cassian sighs, pacing once more across the length of the room and digging his fingers up and through his hair. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around the events of the night, everything that’s happened. Every attempt to sort through it all feels like moving through a thick forest on a new moon’s night, like trying to navigate around trunks and brambles in shadowy darkness.
Ever since he’d heard the news of the Cauldron being stolen, he’s had his suspicions, his theories. Hell, there had always been something that hadn’t sat right with him, something that made his inner wolf’s hackles rise, even if he wasn’t confident whether it was merely witches or the Archerons specifically that stoked his wariness. And he’d known the Accords meeting was going to be a disaster, but he’d never expected this outcome, couldn’t have predicted how the meeting ended.
Marriage.
Of course, Rhys had all but jumped at the suggestion. Even Eris had agreed; although, he’d decided it would be his brother rather than the witch himself that would marry the middle Archeron daughter. Cassian still isn’t sure what Elinor Archeron gets out of this. Why she would suggest this or why her daughters would agree. He especially doesn’t understand why the eldest daughter would choose him and his wolves.
Cassian sighs again, pausing his pacing and settling his hands against the table, leaning heavily against his palms. “That had to be the stupidest decision that counsel has ever come to.”
“Hybern is a threat,” Baz reminds him, leaning casually back in his chair, feet propped up on the table. “A very real threat. And now their King has the Cauldron.”
“And this is the answer?”
“We all know the prophecy. ‘The gods will bow before the strength of three,’” Emerie offers from her own seat. “Having one of the Archeron sisters forever linked to the Pack might just be our best defense against whatever is coming.”
“And she’s the eldest too,” Baz adds. “We all know the eldest wolves tend to be the strongest. Perhaps it’s the same with witches.”
Cassian wants to laugh, shaking his head with a quiet huff. “A witch in our Pack…”
The notion feels absurd. Just speaking the words aloud has Cassian feeling like he’s stepped into another reality, an upside down world. He’s heard the demeaning whispers, seen the scornful looks, through the years. Since he rose through the ranks and took over as alpha, and even before then too. The comments, the pretentious expressions, they colored his childhood just as much as they trail and haunt him now.
It’s clear how everyone else views the wolves. They don’t have the money and wealth that comes from centuries of living like the vampires. They don’t have the power that comes from the magic pulsing through the witches veins like a raging, stormy sea. They have the strength everyone seems to want when conflicts arise, but nothing more. They’re the bastards of the factions. They’re expendable. Nothing but grunts and brutes.
“This really is a terrible idea,” Cassian mutters, pushing up to his full height again and rubbing a hand along his jaw.
“At least it’s the hot sister that wants to marry you,” Emerie comments, her brown eyes practically glinting in amusement as she smirks at him.
Cassian knows she’s just trying to lighten the mood, the remark drawing an easy laugh out of Baz, but Cassian still rolls his eyes and shakes his head. His second had made a similar observation at the meeting when the Archerons had first arrived, and though Cassian will never admit it aloud, he couldn’t deny it then and he can’t deny it now.
Witch or not, Nesta Archeron is one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.
Her face was all high cheekbones and cutting lines. She had her hair pulled up into an intricate braid style at the meeting, but the strands had still glinted like burnished gold under the candlelight, and Cassian had certainly been curious how it might look tumbling down along her back. How it might look threaded between his fingers. She’d held her shoulders back and her head high, a haughty witch certainly, but a warrior in her own right too, armor firmly in place and daring anyone to go toe to toe with her.
And her eyes. They’d been a stormy blue-gray, a fire burning within them as she met his gaze head on, as she refused to back down or look away. Something had sparked within Cassian then. Something had sat up and demanded attention, whispering and goading in the back of his mind.
“Perhaps, you should marry her instead then,” Cassian says, clearing his mind of the memory and offering Emerie a teasing smirk of his own.
“I’m sure Cresseida will appreciate us getting another wife,” Emerie drawls dryly with a roll of her eyes.
Baz chuckles quietly. “And a witch too.”
Emerie hums, shrugging her shoulders, but then her face turns serious again. “Rhysand and his vampires and the Vanserras have already agreed.”
“That doesn’t mean we automatically have to agree too,” Baz points out, turning his attention fully back to Cassian. “It’s ultimately your decision what we do.”
Cassian knows that they’re right. He knows that he could reject this proposition if he wants. But he also knows the prophecy, knows the stories that the Archeron witches are descended from the Mother herself. If Hybern and the threat their King poses is on the horizon, then how can Cassian deny giving the Pack the best fighting chance? He swore to always put them first, to always protect them.
Even if that means putting his own feelings aside.
Even if that means letting a witch into the ranks.
“Well, then… I guess I’m getting married.”
—
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Another update! Be sure to read Chapter 85 first. 😉
Word Count: ~4500
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The Song (Spoilers for End of Chapter)
Adarlan Records CEO, Dorian Havilliard Sr., Seen At the Adriata Airport.
The next day arrived too soon for Aelin’s liking. Though she didn’t know the reason for Adarlan Records' unexpected international visit this morning, Aelin had a feeling she would like whatever it was once she found out. Then again, Aelin almost never liked anything the label had to say.
Getting out of bed was a struggle. Aelin hated losing any sleep for Havilliard Sr. Aelin could think of a million other things she would prefer to do rather than meet with her record label—jumping off a cliff, for example. Or, perhaps, performing her next concert in the nude.
Prior label, Aelin reminded herself. Sure, the contract was still in effect, and sure, Aelin hadn’t quite fulfilled her obligations outlined by said contract—promoting and supporting the sale of her third album and consequential tour. But she was close. After all, the tour was almost over. The Dear Society cycle was coming to an end.
The deal with Damaris Labels was signed, official, and announced. Aelin had made a point to keep everything transparent; no one could accuse her of keeping a secret. She’d been upfront about considering offers from competitors, including Damaris. Even while she and Adarlan Records went through the motions of negotiating a new contract, they knew it was a fruitless endeavor like the polite conversation at the end of a really bad date. No one expected a second one.
Aelin was determined to make it so no one could call her unprofessional. Everything had been done by the book. Sorrell was the ace in her pocket, drafting a formal letter informing Adarlan Records of her intent to separate from Adarlan Records after their last miserable meeting.
Still, something told Aelin unprofessional was something she was about to be accused of being.
Aelin Galathynius Meets with Former Record Label—Dorian Havilliard Sr. Seen at Star’s Hotel.
By the grace of the gods, the fancy hotel Aelin’s camp was staying in also served as an upscale conference center with boardrooms aplenty to choose from. Essar had no trouble booking one, and Aelin was glad to hear so. There was power in having Adarlan’s team come to her instead of the other way around. And Aelin was always happy to avoid the cacophony waiting for her outside, especially before meeting with her biggest enemy.
Aelin scoffed. It felt silly, though. To have enemies. But that was exactly what Haviliard Sr and Adarlan Records were—her enemies.
The screams began the second she entered the conference room, surprising Aelin as she was spotted through the open blinds of the windows. Her fans screamed, and phone cameras flashed as they attempted to catch a picture of her.
“Close the windows!” Havilliard Sr. barked at a timid-looking assistant. The young man bolted for the windows, hands shaking as he attempted to draw the blinds closed.
It seemed like an odd oversight. Privacy was always a fight for her, and Aelin’s team knew that better than anyone. Aelin didn’t get to enjoy open windows very often, especially not in hotels where management tended to get upset by the disruption Aelin caused.
Still, she waved at the fans as the assistant rushed around the room and closed the blinds. She wanted to be nice, even if she was a bit confused by their presence.
“I think we’re ready to begin if we could all be seated.” One look at Sorrel’s—and Nesryn’s—pleased expressions, and Aelin understood what just happened. Her people knew how to play the game.
Aelin struggled to hide her own smile as she took her seat at the end of the table, opposite Dorian’s father. It was hard to believe the two men were related. Where Dorian was all good-natured charm, his father was cold and harsh. It made Aelin wonder what Dorian’s mother was like. She’d never met the woman.
As their teams settled around them, Aelin held Havilliard Sr’s stare, trying to get a read on the man. Unfortunately, she already knew there was no reading him. Aelin would have saved herself from a lot of mistakes and bad times if she could.
“So.” Aelin’s fingers ached to tap along the boardroom table, a habit she realized she was picking up from her boyfriend, but Aelin wouldn’t allow herself the tick. Havilliard Sr was not safe company. He’d spot the weakness and move in for the kill.
Instead, Aelin slouched back in her chair, the picture of comfort and ease and casual indifference. “What brings you to this side of the pond, Dorian?”
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Aelin never called him by his first name. Because Dorian was the bright-eyed flirt that Aelin hated to adore and trusted with her life. Dorian was not the statue of a man sitting opposite her.
But her plan worked. Aelin’s familiarity with him surprised Havilliard. He blinked once—one thrilling fucking time—and then trained his face blank again.
Fuck. Where’d this man learn his poker face?
“Aelin has a busy day ahead of her,” Nesryn said simply, interrupting Aelin’s taunting. “Perhaps, it’s best we get to the point, hm?”
Havilliard Sr turned his cold eyes on Aelin’s publicist. “The assistant was instructed to clear her schedule.”
“Essar doesn’t work for you.” Aelin leveled a look at the man. Fuck, she hated this guy. “The only person with the power to clear my schedule is me.” Aelin tilted her chin, thoughtful. “And my mother.”
Sorrel’s dark eyes glimmered with amusement.
“Aelin has an appointment to get to.” A total like. Aelin had nowhere to be until the venue this evening, but Adarlan Records didn’t need to know that. Her schedule was not in their control despite their best attempts to do so.
“You have”—Nesryn made a show of checking the delicate silver watch on her wrist, a Yulemas present from Aelin a few years ago. Aelin needed to upgrade it after this hellish year—“about thirty minutes.”
To say Havilliard looked pissed would be an understatement. His ice eyes aimed at Aelin. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me? By bringing an army of representatives to our meeting?”
“And after everything I’ve done for you,” Aelin echoed, leaning forward and resting her chin on a fist, “this is how you treat me?” She twirled a lazy finger, gesturing at the man’s own team.
Silence. They stared each other down, neither blinking.
“While this is riveting,” Sorrel interrupted in a calm voice, slow and steady, “I’m curious as to your business with my client. If all you desired was to stare at her, you could do that without flying across the world.”
Aelin just managed not to wrinkle her nose at the thought. Gross.
“The album is doing well.” Havilliard managed to make what should have been a compliment sound like an insult. As if it were a suprise. As if Aelin’s success was directly connected to him and not her own fucking talent.
“We think it could do better.” Aelin didn’t know the man who spoke now, but she relished how he flinched under her attention. She liked being reminded that she was scary.
“Ten weeks at Number One, not good enough for you?” Aelin checked her nails. She needed to repaint them. “Or do you think we’re lacking in Top 10 singles? Three not good enough for you?”
Aelin sucked her teeth. “We could try for another, but… I’m not sure we have the traction for that. The album is a year old. There’s new, shinier things on the block.”
“Like the Cadre single you sang at the EMAs.” Havilliard Sr’s distaste was evident. “Of which you have yet to hand over the master to.”
“My client wrote the song outside of her commitment to Adarlan Records,” Sorrel chimed in. “The single is her own. She owns her songwriting rights, after all.”
“But not her recording rights,” a woman in a slicked-back bun countered. She had the look of a corporate attorney. “Those belong to Adarlan Records. The album cycle is still active and any music produced during this period belongs to the company—not the artist.”
“Yeah, fuck that.” Aelin looked down her nose at Havilliard. “I own the song, and I decline to sell it—to you or the Cadre.”
“You are the Cadre,” Havilliard seethed.
“She is Aelin Galathynius, but she is also a member of the Cadre. The entities are separate.” Sorrel sat straight in her chair. “As the sole controller of her songwriting rights, Aelin can decline to sell her music. She’s also free to perform it in whatever capacity she likes.”
Well, that was pretty fucking confusing, but it sounded like it benefited Aelin. So, she kept her mouth shut.
“It was recorded during the lifetime of her contract,” the attorney insisted. “It belongs to Adarlan.”
“Adarlan Records is entitled to the list of songs submitted by the artist for her third album, including those scrapped by the label prior to cutting the album.” Sorrel didn’t so much as spare Aelin a look, her attention focused solely on the attorney. “You have those masters, correct?”
The attorney glanced at another member of the team. They nodded. “Yes.”
“Then the obligation was fulfilled.” Sorrel looked to Havilliard Sr. “The record company is not expressly owed all music created during the contract as it does not possess the ownership of my client’s songwriting rights. Aelin is free to write whatever she likes—for herself or others—without losing custody of said music. The same applies to the additional contributors.”
“And to be clear,” Aelin added, locking eyes with Havilliard, “Bad Guy belongs to me. I wrote it for myself. To perform at the EMAs. Which I did.”
“With the rest of your band,” the attorney snapped, her temper breaking. Shit, that was easy. “The Cadre was in the news for days. The videos posted online declare it a Cadre single.”
“We can’t control the media.” Aelin shrugged. Her gaze slid across the table. “Isn’t that what you always say, Dor?”
Aelin swore she saw the man flinch. Victory.
“You may not have declared yourself the Cadre, but it was implied,” the attorney hissed.
“Fifteen minutes,” Nesryn chimed.
“I find it hard to believe you flew all the way here just to argue semantics,” Aelin said, lazily leaning on an arm of her chair. She kept her gaze locked on Havilliard Sr, ignoring his alley cat of a lawyer. “There must be something else. Unless…” Aelin tapped her chin. “You just wanted to see my face?”
“As your lawyer said,” Havilliard Sr broke his silence once more, “I could do that without flying to this hellhole of a city.”
Of course, he’d find Adriata hellish—beautiful, historical Adriata, full of glittering buildings and sparkling ocean views. Aelin imagined Adarlan Record’s office in her mind; it was nothing but brittle glass and cold tile.
Aelin and her team waited for the man to elaborate. Things may have gotten a bit off the rails there for a moment, but her team was perfectly in sync. They would give him as little as possible—both in this conversation and in whatever deal he was about to attempt to cut.
Everyone in the room recognized this meeting for what it was: a last-minute money grab. Aelin was sure Adarlan’s balance sheet took one hell of a hit with her departure, and CEOs got fired for that kind of thing every day.
However, Dorian’s father was well-versed in these meetings, too. He turned his icy stare on the trembling assistant and spat, “Hand out the document, you fool.”
The poor soul jumped to attention, scrambling to pass out a few nondescript folders. Aelin received hers first, but she kept her hands folded in her lap and waited.
Sorrel was the first to speak, “You recognize that these dates are considered additional to the original request, and therefore, subject to individual review—and terms.”
“That’s negotiable,” the alley cat hissed.
And then it clicked.
“You want more dates.” It wasn’t a question. Aelin straightened her back and leveled her stare at the man she once considered a hero. He’d given everything to her and her band, and Aelin had all but worshipped him for it. In the end, he’d taken more than he was owed. A lot more. And was trying to take more.
“One hundred wasn’t enough for you?” Aelin struggled to keep her cool. She wanted so badly to scream and rampage. But not here. Not now. Later.
“There’s more than enough demand,” a man in a well-pressed suit said. “We’ve sold out every date. There’s no reason to doubt—”
“I did.” Aelin unfolded her hands, shifting forward. The group looked at her quizzically, like she’d lost her mind and was speaking in riddles.
She met the man’s eye. “I sold every date.”
“Uh.” The man looked to Havilliard, only to be ignored by his boss.
“I. Sold. Them.” Aelin kept her voice level, but it was a lethal calm full of warning. “Because they were my show dates on my tour with my music for my fans. You didn’t have to do anything. You just sat there, taking up space in your ugly suit and sterile office, and took the money I made you.”
“Aelin…” Nesryn met her eye, concern buried deep within her gaze.
“You don’t get to sit here and take credit for my work,” Aelin continued. “That isn’t how this is going to go, and it certainly isn’t how any further dates will go either. Your time milking me for money like, like some kind of fucking cow is over.”
“You’re wrong,” Havilliard said, matching her calm.
Aelin froze in her seat. “Excuse me?”
“Well, most of what you said is correct.” The CEO of Adarlan Records showed his hand then, and Aelin’s guard rose even more. She knew whatever he was about to say would royally piss her off. “You did do most of the work, but we paid our share and lent you our marketing power and distribution centers. We paid for the studio time and physical albums at a time when they don’t sell anymore.
“And again, you’re correct. It all worked out—better than worked out— because it was for you.” Havilliard Sr leaned back in his chair and aimed his icy stare Aelin’s way. Waited.
It felt like the time to say thank you, but Aelin resisted. Showing any gratitude to this man was a trap, and she wouldn’t fall into it.
“But you’re also wrong,” he continued. “About the music—it’s mine.”
And it was in a sense.
“Then you go out there and perform.” Aelin rose from the table, leaving the unopened folder in its spot. She wouldn’t be taking it with her. Aelin had no intention of reading the damn thing, of even entertaining the idea of doing something for Havilliard Sr.
“Though, I suspect your voice could empty the stadiums faster than I can fill them,” Aelin mused, pretending to brush off her jeans. “That is if your son’s absolute lack of vocal skills is any indication.”
Using the insult as her parting words, Aelin made her way to the exit. She trained her gaze on the door in front of her, refusing to look at Havilliard Sr again. If she had it her way, Aelin would never lay eyes on the man again.
The team raced to keep up with Aelin as she marched down the hotel hallway. She was totally lost, but her temper kept her from worrying about it.
“Someone remind me that I can’t go back in there and punch those assholes in their fucking faces,” Aelin begged of her team as she turned down a hall for what she suspected might be the second time.
Ress appeared before her, nodding in the other direction. Aelin followed him to the elevator.
“You cannot punch him,” Essar declared. “Though I have to admit, it’s pretty tempting.”
Nesryn snorted. “It’d give the bastard exactly what he wants, and despite being in the right, the media will take you down for it. Young women versus older men and all that internalized sexism shit.”
“I suppose, you could punch him,” Sorrel chirped as they entered the elevator. All eyes turned to her, expressions varying from horror to amusement.
“What?” she asked as the doors slid closed. “I’m good a my job, and I’d love to buy a new car.”
Aelin laughed. She’d forgotten how much she liked Sorrel.
The ride up the elevator was silent as each member of Aelin’s camp processed the meeting. Aelin felt it as each of them struggled with their protective instincts, keeping quiet until Aelin was ready to unpack the news.
Then, “Fuck that guy.”
Aelin and her friends turned to Brullo in surprise as he broke the silence, especially Ress whose mouth hung open. Brullo was the definition of stoic professionalism. The break in character was unexpected but not unappreciated.
Aelin grinned. “Yeah, fuck that guy.”
Laughter exploded.
Fans Share Pictures of Aelin Galathynius Online, Show Pictures of Her Meeting with CEO of Former Label, Adarlan Records.
“Adriata!” Aelin struggled not to gasp for breath under the watchful eye of 80,000 people. She beamed as they screamed back at her, riding the high of the last song. About Love was always a hit. “How would you feel if we mixed things up a bit tonight?”
A positive, if unexpected, response.
“As you can see, I’ve changed my wardrobe, especially for the occasion.” Aelin laughed and did a little dance. The leather jumpsuit was a last-minute edition by Manon, who was ever-rising to the challenge of disproving Aelin’s pregnancy rumors.
More screams. Shit, Aelin did love Prythian. The fans here were always spectacular.
“Excellent.” Aelin grinned. “It would’ve been pretty awkward if you’d said no.”
Try as hard as she might, Aelin hadn’t managed to shake the bitter anger that burned her skin after her meeting with Adarlan Records. Even a bitch-fest phone call to Dorian hadn’t cooled her. In fact, it’d made her angrier, fueled by Dorian’s own sudden temper.
But she’d made the best of a shitty situation, cracking jokes with her team, but Aelin was pissed. Paralyzingly so. The nerve of Havilliard Sr to fly across the world and try to throw his weight around, to try and give her orders.
And he just expected Aelin to march as commanded.
Fuck that.
“I thought it might be fun to talk a walk down memory lane,” Aelin told the crowd. A backup dancer took her handheld microphone from her, and another passed her a guitar. The cheering amplified as Aelin lifted the strap over her head, adjusted her hair, and secured the black matte guitar against her torso. As anticipated, the golden accents shone brightly against the stage lights, contrasting brightly against the instrument’s black varnish, as well as her all-black outfit.
“But I do have one condition.” Aelin strummed the guitar experimentally and paused for suspense. Instead, she received a clamorous round of applause as the empty chord hummed through the stadium’s sound system. “You lot have to agree to delete the footage when I inevitably screw up Rowan’s part.”
Understanding the implications, the crowd roared. Aelin played a few notes, confirming their suspicions that she was about to play an old Cadre favorite. A fan close to her wailed in excitement, and Aelin flashed them a grin.
“Hey, I’m serious!” Aelin slid her gaze to Elide. Her lead guitarist was trying in vain to hide her snickers while joining the musical intro, adding her own spin on the infamous rift. “If he finds out, I’ll never be able to go home. The bastard holds a grudge.”
More chuckles. This time, Elide rolled her eyes. Not a soul in the stadium—all eighty thousand of them—believed her.
“You all don’t believe me?” Aelin played offended. “He’s very judgemental, Rowan Whitethorn.” A few more notes echoed in the stadium. She needed to get on with it soon, the anticipation was high enough already.
“Like, I don’t know what you people see in the guy.” Another wave of excitement as Aelin played the notes again with a little more purpose. Elide echoed her, playing the rhythm to push Aelin along. She grinned, taking the hint.
“Lorcan is already sworn to secrecy, so that means it's all up to you, Adriata.” Lorcan joined in, adding percussion into the mix. “Are you going to rat me out to my boyfriend if I mess up his song?”
The fans knew Aelin was going to play the song regardless, but Aelin still found it fun to tease them. This was her favorite part, after all. Aelin loved interacting with the fans like this, especially at a concert, with one-sided banter. They did, too, if the internet reactions were any indication.
A pointed pause. “Well?”
The crowd cheered in promise.
“Good.” Aelin stopped playing and adjusted the microphone ever so slightly. “I’m glad that we were able to come to an agreement. Though, you lot are pretty weak negotiators.”
Aelin pushed aside the thought of her meeting with Adarlan Records this morning. It wasn’t the time. It was hard to do so, though. Considering a lot of them were out there in the audience somewhere. She hoped her team gave them really shitty seats.
“So, before we get going,” Aelin continued, “I wanted to thank all of you for being here with me tonight. There’s a ton of other things you could be doing right now, but for a reason that continues to escape me, you decided to come listen to me ramble.”
Someone screamed. Aelin laughed brightly.
“You certainly don’t show up because of my shining reputation.” Aelin couldn’t help her grimace. Though, somewhere out in the crowd, the Adarlan representatives watched, Aelin wasn’t interested in impressing them. If anything, her goal was to offend them—as much as possible. Hence, the Cadre cover.
Getting approval to perform the song was pretty easy, considering those with ownership were all on her speed dial. The only thing that irked her was knowing Adarlan would get a cut of her proceeds for the song. But it couldn’t be helped.
“I’m sure you’ve heard all the bullshit, yeah?” There were a few murmurs. A couple of I love you’s, too. Aelin smiled tightly.
“Anyway, it’s times like these that we have to remind ourselves not to let the opinions of others affect your own feelings—especially your opinions of yourself.” Aelin restarted the intro again, drawing it out. Yes, she was rambling, but Aelin felt the need to get this off of her chest. Funny, how it was less scary to address the drama to a stadium full of strangers than to her tightly-knit team—than to Rowan.
“In the end, we can’t let someone else have that kind of power over us.” The music faded. “Easier said than done, I know. Trust me. But sometimes the shitty things people call you—aren’t necessarily bad things.”
Aelin paused long enough to cue Elide. The song began in earnest, and Aelin rushed to finish the longest song intro ever. “So, here’s a song about not letting others’ opinions bother you.” Aelin started to play along. “Those of you who’ve been here from the beginning might recognize it. If you do, please sing along!”
You took me to your little crib
Guess it must have been a big deal
Got me starring in your wet dream
Now it's time to get real
I'm not looking for love
No not today
But you call me up and had the nerve to say
See you next Tuesday
Aelin may have written the song eons before she ever laid eyes on the man who was to become the sinister villain in her career, but as she sang, Aelin couldn’t help but think of Havilliard Sr as he sat across from her and claimed credit—worse, ownership—of her work.
You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing
You call me a freak like that means something
Can't get your way so you insult me
I think we know the rest
Get it off your chest
I don't give a shit
I love it when you call me a bitch like it's a bad thing
Aelin flashed Elide a grin as her guitar ripped through the stadium sound system. No, it wasn’t quite the same as the days when it was Rowan standing to her right, showing off to the audience, but it was a pretty close second.
You show up everywhere I go
Get a grip you're acting so weird
I don't need your jäger bombs
I think I can take it from here
You got to learn to leave when the party ends
I don't really care what you tell your friends
Tell me again
Aelin sang the verse to the Adarlan representatives sitting in the crowd—a rough estimate of where they were sitting anyway. Maybe it was petty, singing a song about the Cadre so soon after yet another attempt by Adarlan Records to claim Bad Guy, but Aelin was in the mood to push some buttons. Yet, she wasn’t willing to risk Bad Guy, and so, she opted out of singing it tonight.
Though, what a slap in the face that would have been.
You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing
You call me a freak like that means something
Can't get your way so you're angry
I think we know the rest
Get it off your chest
I don't give a shit
I love it when you call me a bitch
The music built, and Aelin took a deep breath. It was because of moments such as these that she liked to save her simultaneous singing and playing for easier verses.
I think you hate me ‘cause you want me
You only want what you can't have
I'm just being who I want to be
But you can't deal with that
You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing
You call me a freak like that means something
Can't get your way so you're so pissed off
I think we know the rest
Get it off your chest
I don't give a shit
I love it when you call me a bitch like it's a bad thing
The crowd cheered, and Aelin's smile was so big it hurt her face. Something told her she’d pay for this little number, but fuck it if it wasn’t worth it for the joy coming from her fans right now. For the way Lorcan continued to mess around on the drums, drawing out the song like the egotistical prick he was. For how even Elide laughed, indulging her boyfriend by playing along.
Yes, it was a shit morning, but things were looking up.
After a Tense Meeting with her Former Record Label, Aelin Galaythynius Sings The Cadre Hit, Call Me a Bitch. A Message for Adarlan Records CEO in the Crowd?
I absolutely love how slut! is not at all what we expected. Instead, it once again points out harmful double standards:
Taylor says “I’ll pay the price, you won’t.” So real. She knows she’ll be called a slut while her boyfriend is praised for being a “gentleman.” She goes on to say “the sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air” when her boyfriend is standing outside. He isn’t the object of their ridicule. That’s reserved for her.
We’ve seen it before, men get praised for the women they date, while women are torn down. So no, this wasn’t our slut anthem, but underneath this hazy confession of love, taylor once again criticizes the way that society tears women down for being in relationships while the men don’t shoulder the same judgment.
It really fucks me up every time I have to make a chapter banner. Like... chapter 85? Is this a joke? Sounds fake.
Word Count: ~3800
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Aelin Galathynius Takes Her Global Stadium Tour to the Karaoke Bar.
The next morning, Aelin woke in a splendid fucking mood. Even the lingering headache from a night trying to outdrink Lorcan couldn’t put a damper on things. Aelin felt much better. Who knew all she needed was a night out on the town and a lazy day in bed? Oh, and a little attention from her boyfriend, of course.
Yes, the melancholy mood that had previously haunted her every step was now gone, and Aelin was glad to be free of the gloomy cloud that seemed to be forever perched overhead. Aelin was ready to charge ahead, to put on a few final—and fucking awesome—shows and call this tour a damn hit.
Fuck, orgasms were magic.
Too bad it was now time to face the magic.
When Adarlan-selected dates landed on Aelin’s metaphorical desk, she’d thought it was some kind of fucked up joke. Aelin’s camp knew not to waste their time forwarding information from them to her, and yet, she’d found a list of handpicked dates on her calendar, pending her forced approval. They’d come from Nesryn with a simple explanation: they were to promote her tour.
But why the hell did Aelin Galathynius need to promote anything, especially her record-breaking tour? Sure, Aelin liked to keep the fans and media alike informed via her social media channels, but Aelin was way past the point of having to work to sell tours—or anything else. It was a blessing. And, sometimes, a curse.
And yet, Aelin still spent the morning in hair and make-up, listening to a backstage countdown to her live interview segment on Wake Up, Adriata. It was a crime to promote a concert on a morning show. Aelin was positive this kind of shit never actually reached her audience—not at the moment. Aelin’s people were fucking sleeping at this hour. They’d catch the replays on the internet this afternoon. The same as if Aelin were to share something on her socials. Except, Aelin’s social media didn’t require her to get up so fucking early.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Manon mused while expertly pining Aelin’s curled hair. “Someone party too hard the other night?”
Essar scoffed. “Does Aelin ever go to bed on time?”
“Funny.” Aelin scowled at her team. “Here I was thinking I left my mother behind in Doranelle.”
Her assistant ignored her. “Nesryn wants to know if she can share that video of you and Lorcan?”
“What video?” Aelin tried to recall what video footage Nesryn could be referring to, but she didn’t remember any video that she or Lorcan would’ve taken.
Then, “Oh, fuck.”
Essar’s brown eyes sparkled. “Nes thinks the Aelin Galathynius rendition of Love Shack will go viral.”
“Fuck.” Aelin didn’t have much else to say to that. It would totally go viral. Who wouldn’t want to watch Aelin and Lorcan sing that song together?
“I think she’s hoping it’ll be viral enough to make everyone forget your recent hospital stay,” Essar mused.
Manon snorted. “It definitely will.”
“Though, it doesn’t really make sense to me.” Essar wrinkled her freckled nose adorably. “How does advertising your drunken shenanigans distract from your other drunken shenanigans?”
Aelin shrugged. “Essie, if I had any of those answers, I wouldn’t need Nes.”
“And you’d best remember you said that when it comes time to renew my contract.” The very woman in question appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and a smile on her face. Nesryn was a fierce woman on a good day, but at times such as these? It was best just to stay out of her way.
“I’m sure you’ll be quick to remind me.” Aelin rolled her eyes. “You always are.”
Good Morning, Adriata!, featuring Special Guest, Aelin Galathynius.
Aelin’s good mood was nothing but wisps of smoke by the time her interview ended. The hour-long conversation consisted of all the things she hated most about interviews: critical assumptions about her substance abuse and thinly veiled attempts to weasel out more information about her romantic life.
“I never want to see that woman again,” Aelin seethed as Essar quietly worked on removing her microphone. Aelin hadn’t waited for help from the crew, too afraid to lose her temper in the line of sight of a camera crew. She’d ruin all of Nesryn’s hard work. Again.
The publicist gave a curt nod. “I told Adarlan that a live interview was a bad idea.” She shrugged. “Perhaps this will teach them a lesson?”
Aelin shot Nesryn an exasperated look. “Have they ever learned a lesson?”
“Um. Well.” Essar’s eyes were wide with fear as she interrupted. “Speaking of Adarlan…”
Nesryn raised a dark eyebrow.
Aelin’s erratic emotions focused on Essar and her apologetic expression. “What?” she snapped, meaner than she’d ever intended to be with Essar. A kinder part of Aelin’s mind made a note to apologize to her later, once her mood cooled and her thoughts were on things other than murder.
“Adarlan actually called while you were in the interview.” A deer caught in headlights, Essar opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Whatever she needed to say was bad news. “They’re flying in—tomorrow.”
Another Awkward Interview with Aelin Galathynius.
Aelin was watching the modern portion of Adriata flicker by when Rowan called.
“Hi!” she greeted before the call could ring a second time. Rowan. He was exactly who she needed after that shitshow of an interview, especially with the news of an imminent Adarlan takeover.
But it would be okay. Rowan always made things better. Though, the recent memory of their last phone call made Aelin blush from head to toe. Yes, Rowan certainly had a way of making things better.
“When is your flight landing, baby?” Aelin charged on with the conversation. “I know you and Essar make all the plans these days, but maybe I want to countdown the hours like the loser I truly am.”
A light, strained laugh. “You aren’t a loser, baby.”
Aelin hummed her disagreement. “Are you excited to see me?”
Rowan was quiet for too long.
“Baby?” A frown tugged at her lips. “You still there?”
No answer.
Disappointment flooded her. Holding the phone up, Aelin checked the screen. Rowan’s name glowed back at her. The call was still connected, but Aelin wasn’t convinced her boyfriend was still there.
“Baby, did I lose you?” Aelin asked. “Rowan?”
“No.” A sigh from deep within Rowan’s soul. Perhaps, he wasn’t having a very good day either. “I’m still here, but, uh, I’ve got something really shitty to tell you. And I’m so sorry.”
Ice crept through Aelin’s’ veins. “What happened? What’s wrong?” The ice thawed to a tingly panic. “Is everyone okay?”
“What happened to Thea?” Aelin didn’t mean to cut Rowan off, but panic was impatient. If something happened to Thea, it would absolutely be because of Aelin’s association with them. It’d be because of Aelin.
And Aelin would fucking lose it.
Rowan huffed, likely annoyed at the interruption. “She’s sick, Ace.”
Aelin hated the strain in Rowan’s voice, the unique pain of having a sick child and not being able to do anything about it except help them tough it out.
“There’s a horrible flu making its way through the daycare,” Rowan explained, and Aelin better heard the exhaustion in his voice then. Rowan was tired. Bone tired. “I thought we managed to dodge it until now, but it looks like it finally caught up to us—to her.”
“Oh,” Aelin remembered then the guilty excuses Rowan made the night before as he bowed out early from their phone call. At the time, Aelin was too busy basking in the afterglow to be concerned about a call from daycare. “Poor Potato.”
“Yeah.”
Aelin shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the silence. She frowned at how the seatbelt resisted her. Fuck, Aelin hated this, hated not being able to be there for Rowan. For Thea, too. If Aelin were home, she’d be able to help. Aelin could give some support, and she wanted to. More than anything.
Aelin wanted to be there to help carry the burden.
“I got her to sleep about an hour ago,” Rowan whispered. “So, I figured now was the best time to give you a call and fill you in.” He cleared his throat. “The last time we spoke… It wasn’t exactly the right moment.”
Aelin blushed, but the embarrassment faded quickly as she realized what Rowan was not saying.
“You aren’t coming.” The surge of disappointment was crippling. Aelin’s blood rushed through her ears, making her deaf to whatever Rowan said next. It was for the best. Aelin didn’t want to hear whatever desperate words of comfort he supplied her. Rowan didn’t need to apologize, but he would.
Aelin bit down on the inside of her cheek determined not to cry. Yet… Rowan wasn’t coming. He was going to miss her birthday.
This wasn’t right, Aelin thought to herself. None of this was right. Aelin was supposed to spend her birthday with her family. She wasn’t even supposed to be on tour now. Aelin always arranged her schedule to allow her birthday off. As far as vacation excuses, her birthday was the best one, and Aelin took advantage of it and used that time to be with her family.
Even during her stay in Prythian, Aelin booked a flight home to spend a few days curled around a fire in the mountains with her parents. Aedion and Lysandra, too. It was a blackout period. No performances. No promotion. Definitely no fucking interviews. Just… her family.
But this year, nothing seemed to be going as planned. She’d broken all of her rules. Because this whole week was filled with work. Any promotion for the last few dates of her tour was supposed to be long over. Interviews that felt more like interrogations, too.
The concerts were different. Aelin volunteered this week because it was the only option, and she owed it to the fans she’d stood up when she got sick. She hadn’t minded when she made the decision, and Aelin was not about to allow herself to do so now. No grudges.
Because this wasn’t anyone’s fault.
“Aelin?” Rowan’s voice was rough with emotion. The only person who could take this news worse than Aelin was Rowan. He hated to let anyone down, but especially Aelin. Especially when it came to her birthday.
“Baby?”
Aelin took longer than she’d like to drag her way back to the surface, to get her wits about her and find something appropriate to say to Rowan. Aelin didn’t want to sound upset. Doing so would only add to Rowan’s unnecessary guilt.
“Yeah,” Aelin dragged the word out with a sigh. A quiet wave of tears escaped tears that Rowan would thankfully never see. Around her, the team pretended not to notice. Though Aelin could see how they sat at the edges of their seats, watching her from the corner of their eyes.
“I’m here, baby.” Aelin cleared her throat. She was an entertainer. Aelin could and would put on a brave face for Rowan. Even if he couldn’t see it. “Of course, you can’t make it, Rowan.” Her voice tightened around the terrible words. “Potato needs you, and it’s… okay. Totally. We’ll try again another time. I promise.”
“You aren’t upset?” Rowan sounded nervous, and Aelin hated it. Of course, she was upset, but that wasn’t what Rowan was asking her. He was afraid she was mad at him, which was ridiculous. Aelin told him as much.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” Rowan’s words bled into one. “I promise to make it up to you somehow. It’s just. I can’t—”
“Baby.” Aelin could imagine his stricken face, the tightness she knew she’d find around the corners of his eyes, and how his nervous fingers would twitch with the need to do something. To fix it.
“Rowan, don’t worry.” She forced out a laugh that rang false as it burned its way from her lungs. “We both know Lor will make sure I do something fun.”
Rowan growled something foul under his breath Aelin couldn’t make out. “Lysandra and Aedion already offered to watch Thee while I was out of town, but I was already unsure about having them babysit in the first place. They have a newborn. Liam’s, what? Two minutes old?”
This time Aelin’s laugh was genuine. She prayed Rowan couldn’t hear the tears hiding behind it.
“Fuck,” Rowan hissed on an exhale. “It was one thing to leave her with them when it was just going to be Thea hanging out with Aedion and forcing him to play Tea Party for the week, but now…” Another curse. “There’s no way in hell I can drop my sick toddler off with them. That’d be so fucked. And Liam—”
“Baby,” Aelin said softly, ending his miserable rant. “You don’t have to explain your decision to me. You never have to justify being a good dad, okay?”
Another pause. “I know,” Rowan said, at last. “I’m just disappointed.”
“I am, too,” Aelin admits, “but it’s going to be okay.” She made a disgruntled sound. “Well, my parents sure picked a swell time to travel the world.”
Aelin rolled her eyes, thinking about her happy, retired parents. Begrudingly, Evalin and Rhoe had gone on their cruise, unhappy about the timing of a nonrefundable, dream cruise and their daughter’s birthday, as well as the unexpected birth of their first grandkid. The whole family had all but pushed them up the gangplank, assuring Aelin’s parents that everyone would be fine in their absence.
Of course, it wasn’t Evalin or Rhoe’s job to watch Thea, either.
“You know how much I hate imposing on your parents, Ace.” Rowan’s voice held a firm edge, a warning. “It’s that much worse to ask Lys to do it. To see if my friends will watch my kid, so I can—”
“I know, I know.” Aelin hated how her tears quickened, chastised by her stressed-out boyfriend. “It was only a joke, Rowan.”
A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just… I’m fucking exhausted, and I was looking forward to seeing you. But…”
“Now you can’t make it,” Aelin finished his sentence. The attention of her team burned Aelin’s face as they each quietly assessed the situation, the damage. Gods, Aelin had to look like such a fool, moping about her boyfriend of all things. There were much bigger problems in the world than spending one’s birthday without loved ones.
“I just…”
“Please, stop apologizing,” Aelin begged. Her voice was harsher than intended, and immediately, Aelin regretted her tone. “You have to be there for Thea, Ro. She’s your kid, and that’s non-negotiable.”
Rowan was quiet for another long moment. “This fucking sucks.”
“Agreed.” Aelin laughed darkly. “But we’ll be just fine. Take care of my kid, okay?”
Aelin Galathynius Seen Out in Adriata Prior to Concert.
All too soon, Aelin found herself alone in the charming little apartment-style hotel suite serving as her home for the next three days. Aelin fielded calls from various people as she decompressed, family and friends, and Rowan, but her replies felt nothing short of distant. No one would believe anything she said.
Exhausted and sick of pretending, Aelin crawled into the oversized bed and tried to forget how the little apartment was booked with Rowan’s visit in mind. Aelin always traveled in style; it was one of the perks of being an A-list celebrity. But Aelin rarely booked a space as lavish as the one she currently sat in. All alone.
Rowan continued to text Aelin throughout the day, in between caring for Thea and Fleetfoot, and Aelin hated how his every other message begged for forgiveness or promised to make it up to her. She didn’t like it; she didn’t want this trip or anything else in their relationship to feel transactional. It wasn’t Rowan’s fault Thea got sick, and it certainly wasn’t the end of the world that Aelin would be without him for her birthday. Plenty of people experienced such a thing every day.
After all, Aelin wasn’t an idiot. The Ashryver-Galathynius-Ennar-Whitethorn Family would definitely make plans to correct this mishap. Though Aelin still found it weird, Rowan and her mother were in near-constant contact. Aelin was sure they’d discussed what to do for Aelin’s birthday upon all of their returns to Doranelle. Now that Aelin was to spend her birthday without her family, she had no doubt that those plans were being amplified. Spiraling out of control more like.
As the gloom of the day sank into Aelin’s bones, she snuggled deeper under the throw blanket waiting for her on the couch. Soundcheck was in a few hours. As she lay there, Aelin’s touring crew was pulling overtime to ensure the stage was set up properly for her arrival. Then, Aelin would be off to the races. For now, though, Aelin could sleep, and that was exactly what she planned.
Aelin Galathynius Tour Buses Arrive in Adriata.
The evening’s rehearsals went about as well as she expected. The day’s bad news left Aelin’s thoughts cloudy and her focus blurry, and she missed more than her fair share of cues. Ever the professionals, her team—a well-oiled machine of crew, band musicians, singers, dancers, and everything in between—took her mistakes in stride.
It made things ten times worse. If Aelin were anyone else, she’d have gone full diva on them, and that was putting it lightly. Aelin was a perfectionist. She held her team to the highest standards, but she had even higher expectations for herself for better or worse. Every missed cue and forgotten dance routine chaffed at her, even if she was quick to laugh it off in front of everyone.
No one commented—except for Lorcan, but Aelin recognized the worried look on her friend’s face, knew he’d noticed she was off her game.
Aelin’s sorry mood matched the weather when they departed the stadium, and Aelin retreated so deeply within herself that she barely heard her own thoughts much less the voices shouting her name. If there were fans waiting, Aelin didn’t notice. She barely noticed getting into the car.
“Did we get an agenda from Adarlan for the meeting tomorrow?” she asked Essar without preamble. To her credit, Essar barely blinked before switching topics, and Aelin realized then that her assistant had been talking to her. Aelin hadn’t heard a thing.
“No, nothing yet.” Essar tapped at her phone screen. “I can email the assistant again. See if she’ll give me anything, but they’ve got it locked down tight over there.”
Aelin scoffed. “Sounds about right.” A beat. “We need Sorrel.”
“She lands in the morning,” Essar replied. The woman bit on her lip for a moment, then said, “You know, we could send her in your stead. You don’t have to go at all.”
“I can’t begin to explain how tempting that is.” And it was. Aelin was incredibly tempted. Because fuck Adarlan Records and Havilliard Sr. “But it feels a lot like playing with fire. I should be there. Nesryn, too.”
Essar nodded. “You got it.”
Aelin smiled. “Thanks, Essie.”
The car fell into silence. Essar made arrangements for the meeting, and Aelin stared out the window, forgetting to hold a conversation. It was better that way. Aelin didn’t really feel like talking.
Her phone eventually snapped her out of it.
“Hey there,” Aelin answered with a smile. She chose to ignore the glances of those in the car with her. The Aelin Galathynius Camp was on Full Alert. Ress and Essar were the longest-standing members of her team; they knew the ins and outs of her moods better than anyone. Aelin would need to step up her game if she was going to avoid having a check-in called on her behalf.
“Hey, baby.” Rowan’s rich, warm voice washed over Aelin, and finally, she was able to leave the shitty day behind her. Aelin didn’t think she’d ever get over Rowan calling her that—baby.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Rowan sounded very guilty. “Just checking in.”
Aelin rolled her eyes. “Rowan, I already told you to stop fussing about me. You’ve got enough to worry about right now, and I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
Rowan made a displeased sound. “I know.”
“Besides, I’ll be home in a week.” Her heart skipped at the thought. Aelin was going home soon. To her new home—their home. To a well-earned vacation.
A signature Rowan Sigh. “I just…”
“Buzzard,” Aelin warned.
He laughed. “Look, having me for a boyfriend comes with strings, Aelin, and this is one of them. Fussing.”
Aelin’s laugh was bright even as her heart squeezed with the oh-so-familiar ache of homesickness.
“How’s the kid?” Aelin changed the subject, preferring the focus to be on anything other than herself and her well-being.
“Out like a light,” Rowan said, relief evident in his tone. “Her fever is still going strong, but at least, we both got some sleep.”
“Good.” Still, Aelin frowned while thinking about the sick little girl. She wished she was there to help. “Give her a kiss for me.”
“Jealous. But I will.” He waited for Aelin to stop giggling before adding, “How are you, baby?”
Aelin was expecting the question, and yet, her humor deflated. Internally, she recited their promise: tell each other the truth. Don’t hide things.
So, she said, “Honestly? Kind of shitty. I’m bummed you aren’t coming, but… Shit happens, and again, I’m so close to a break that I can taste it. I’m ready to come home and get to work on our new home.”
Aelin waited eagerly for Rowan’s pleased reaction, but the line was quiet.
“Rowan?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Rowan laughed. “Sometimes, I forget you can’t see the dumbass expressions I’m making.”
Aelin grinned. “I love your dumbass expressions.”
“Thanks. I think.” The conversation lulled, and Aelin focused on the city as the car wove through Adriata. They were getting close to the hotel, and Aelin would need to let him go soon. She didn’t like to keep him on the phone while braving the chaos.
“I’m pretty excited, too,” Rowan said after a minute. “Though, I think your mother has already done most of the work for the house. She’s gone totally overboard.”
“I would be disappointed if she hadn’t.” Aelin laughed not for the first time at the mental image of Evalin Ashryver-Galathynius decorating their home, a confused Rowan on her heels. “That’s how the Ashryvers show their love, Rowan. You’ll get used to us.”
“I pray that I never do.”
Aelin Galathynius Fans Take Over the Sparkling City.
A/N: listen. Look at me. Does this make sense? Is it technically logical? No. It's horny vibes only here, and I need you to roll with it. Anyways! This was all inspired by this beautiful piece of art, and then I was enabled and encouraged and basically wrote this whole thing in like 48 hours... Enjoy? NSFW warning!
Read on AO3
“Hey, Nes, have you seen—”
Cassian's voice trails off, and Nesta hears the distinct sound of keys jangling. She rolls her eyes fondly as she goes back to her book, burrowing deeper against the stack of pillows at her back. She doesn't look up, even as she listens to his boots against the hardwood coming closer, even as that familiar scent of smoke and pine washes over her, even as a sweet kiss is pressed to her hair.
Only when she's finished the page does she slide her bookmark into place and tilt her head back, meeting a pair of bright hazel eyes and a wide, soft smile meant only for her. Cassian is dressed in his usual all black show attire, ripped jeans clinging to his thighs and the low cut of his tank showing off the thick muscles of his arms, the wide breadth of his shoulders and chest, the lines of black ink winding across his golden skin.
“I left your pass on the hook by the door,” Cassian explains, scraping his hair back and out of his face before securing it with a hair-tie. “Are you thinking you'll drive? I can make sure they open the lot for you.”
“No, I'll just get an Uber, and then drive home with you after.”
“Perfect.”
Cassian leans down, slotting their lips together, and Nesta practically melts against him, sighing into the kiss. Too soon, he's pulling away, stealing one last peck to her lips before murmuring his goodbyes and heading for the door. Nesta slumps back against the pillows, closing her eyes and giving herself just one more moment. With a soft sigh, she tosses the blanket off her legs and heaves herself up, padding down the hall to their bedroom to shower and start getting ready.
Nesta’s phone dings where it’s sitting on her vanity, letting her know that her Uber driver is approaching. She takes a moment to straighten out her skirt, to tug up the strap of her lacy, red top. She grabs her phone and her purse, rushing toward the front door. Thankfully, her pass really is right where Cassian left it, and it’s easy enough to toss it on, easy enough to tug on her shoes and her leather jacket, zipping it up to fight off the late October chill.
There’s more traffic than Nesta anticipates, and by the time her Uber driver is dropping her off in front of the venue, they’ve already opened the doors, the queue shuffling forward and people moving about the sidewalk with excitement. It still blows Nesta’s mind seeing the way the queue stretches all the way down the block and around the corner, seeing all these people in tour shirts and with wide grins, all to see the Bat Boys.
“Excuse me,” Nesta says to one of the venue workers directing people. “Which way is the stage door?”
The worker turns his attention to her fully, not even hiding the way he sweeps his eyes over her. When his gaze raises to her eyes again, his face is unimpressed, and he lets out a near derisive snort. “Nice try. Keep dreaming those Wattpad dreams.”
Nesta doesn’t bother biting back her scowl or her eyeroll, practically glaring daggers at the worker as he turns away.
“Guess I’ll find it myself,” she mutters to herself, weaving her way toward the side of the venue building.
“Oh my gosh! Imagine if Cassian points right at you tonight!”
The words give Nesta pause, and she turns to find a couple of girls in the queue. They have their hair and makeup done up, one clad jeans and the other in a short, leather skirt. And both of them have handmade, matching tees declaring ‘Cassian’s Future Wife.’
It had started as a bit. Cassian had informed Nesta that he would be dedicating a song to her on their last tour, a sweet more acoustic number he had penned himself, but when he introduced it to the crowd, he’d instead declared it was for his future wife. Nesta had been pink the entire rest of the night, cheeks and ears burning, but the reaction only seemed to spur Cassian on until he was making the same announcement every night, every show where she was in the audience.
“Imagine if he pulls me out of the crowd and invites me back to his place after the show,” the girl in the skirt offers to her friend.
“Once he sees you, he totally would.”
“I bet he’s amazing in bed too. He’d rock my world, and then I’d be like no need to look any further. You found your future wife.”
The girls laugh and practically squeal in agreement, but Nesta has to swallow down a scoff. She doesn’t know why the conversation scrapes across her skin, why it grates against her nerves. She knows that Cassian and his brothers have a large female following for their band. She knows that she’s the one who asked to keep their relationship more private. She knows that it’s their bed he comes home to each night, that she’s the one he wakes with soft kisses and quiet good mornings, that she gets the ‘I love you’s and the smiles just for her.
But there’s no denying the anger that starts to lick through Nesta’s veins, fire crackling and flaring beneath her skin. There’s no denying the annoyance that twists through her stomach, tightening like vines in her chest. It takes everything within her to bite her tongue around the words she wants to sneer, instead shouldering past the girls and through the crowds to continue her trek toward the side of the building.
When she reaches the back of the building, she spots Cassian's truck in the lot. The pair of stagehands smoking and the big, burly security guard standing near an otherwise nondescript metal door let her know she's found what she's looking for. She unzips her jacket enough that she can pull free her pass, flashing it, but rather than letting her in, the security guard holds out his arm to stop her. His eyes narrow suspiciously, sweeping over her and squinting at her pass.
It has Nesta's anger burning into full-blown rage, into a living, writhing thing that digs its claws into her chest and begs to be released. Her boyfriend is in there. Her boyfriend. And she won't have these people looking at her like she's just some groupie. Won't have these girls thinking they're going home with Cassian.
She's about to give in to the fire, to give in to the cool words poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, when the stage door swings open. Nesta just barely steps back in time before Balthazar goes barreling into her, and she watches as the photographer all but runs to where his SUV is parked, rooting around in his back seat. He jogs back toward the door, pausing when he realizes who's standing there.
“Hey, Nesta,” Balthazar greets with an easy grin, holding up the small case now in his hands. “Need a new SD card already.”
“You know her?” the security guard asks.
Balthazar lets out a quiet laugh. “Seriously?”
He doesn't say anything more, merely shakes his head and vanishes back inside, but at least it's enough to have the security guard look sheepish. At least, he holds the door open and finally allows Nesta to step inside. The steady thrum of bass and drums pulses beneath Nesta's feet, a raspy, feminine voice floating on the air to her, and she knows that the supporting act has already gone on and started the show.
With determined steps, Nesta weaves her way around stagehands and equipment, making her way toward the back of the stage. She slips behind the black curtain splitting the stage in two and hiding the Bat Boys' setup until it's their time, finding Cassian right where she expects him: sitting at his drum kit, casually twirling a drumstick between his fingers while he nods along to the band playing in front of the curtain. Nesta doesn't know if he hears or if he's just always able to sense where she is in a room, but his eyes snap to hers in an instant, that slow, soft grin tugging its way across his face.
“I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up,” Cassian teases lightly when she's close enough.
“I just had to deal with a bunch of shit,” Nesta grumbles, dropping her purse to the ground.
Because she can, she tosses her leg over Cassian's own, straddling his hips. The seat is small but she makes it work, pressing close to him and looping her arms across his shoulders. Cassian's own hands find her hips with ease, holding her steady.
“What kind of shit?”
“Just stupid people.”
Cassian hums, dropping his head so his forehead rests against her collarbones, his thumbs tracing soothing circles against her hip bones. “At least you're here now.”
Nesta hums her own agreement, trying to let the feel of him pressed against her soothe her still sparking nerves. She reaches a hand up, tugging free the hair-tie from Cassian's hair and slipping it onto her wrist for safe keeping. She runs her fingers through the dark, curly strands, scraping her nails against his scalp in the way she knows he loves.
“I had to deal with getting past your little fan club,” Nesta continues, pressing a bit harder with her nails until she feels Cassian sigh against her.
“What can I say? I'm an expert at stealing hearts,” Cassian offers, his voice muffled against her skin, as his hands slide down to the backs of her thighs, teasing just beneath the hem of her skirt.
“There's even a group of girls in the audience with shirts that say 'Cassian's future wife.'”
Cassian pulls his head back, his eyes practically glinting even in the low light of this part of the stage. “Are there?”
Nesta yanks hard on his hair, tugging his head back enough that his entire throat is on display for her. It gives her the perfect view for the way he swallows hard, the way his eyelashes flutter around his darkening hazel eyes.
“But they don't stand a chance, do they?” Nesta snaps, her tone cold and demanding.
Cassian's already shaking his head despite her grip, his expression dazed, before she even finishes speaking. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart. No one compares to you.”
“Because you're all mine, aren't you?”
“All yours,” Cassian groans, his hips bucking up against her own, pressing his growing hardness against her ass. “Fuck, you're so hot, baby.”
“And you're going to prove it.” It's a statement, not a question, nor a request, and Nesta grinds and circles her hips down against him, chasing the friction, the heat already building between her thighs.
Cassian's hands tighten, sliding further up until he's grasping her ass fully beneath her skirt. “I'll do whatever you want me to.”
“That's what I like to hear,” Nesta tells him, dragging her nail down his temple and cheek and relishing in the full body shudder that takes over Cassian's body. “You're going to touch me, make me come, and then I'm going to fuck you until I'm the only thing you'll think about for the rest of the night, until no other woman will be able to get close to you without smelling sex and my perfume all over you.”
“We only have forty minutes until the show.”
“Better hurry then.”
Rather than let Cassian say anything more, Nesta crashes her mouth against his, nipping and biting at his lips and pressing her tongue into his mouth. Cassian groans as he kisses her back just as hungrily, using his grip on her to move and rock their hips together. One of his hands reaches between them, sliding two fingers over her still clothed center, and Nesta has to pull back to gasp, her hips stuttering at the pressure.
“Fuck, I love how you're always so wet for me,” Cassian whispers against her lips, tracing a teasing circle across her clit. “Absolutely soaked, sweetheart.”
“Less talking, more following directions,” Nesta chastises, canting her hips more firmly against his hand. “We're on a time limit, remember?”
Cassian hums his agreement, slotting their lips back together. At the same moment, he tugs her panties to the side, wasting no time and sinking two fingers inside her. Nesta practically whimpers into his mouth at the stretch, a sound Cassian greedily swallows. He holds his fingers still, and Nesta clenches down around them, hoping to encourage him to move.
“Cassian,” Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, trying to shift her hips against him.
But Cassian uses his free hand to hold her firmly in place, to hold her still against him. He slowly pulls his fingers out, dragging against her walls, before pressing them deep again, just as slow.
“You're just as much mine, you know,” Cassian breathes hotly, repeating the same motion. “You think I don't see every guy and girl staring at you every time we go out?”
“I don't even notice them,” Nesta promises, sliding her hands down to Cassian's shoulders and digging her nails into the skin there. “Besides, at least none of them think they're going to be my future spouse.”
“I bet they want to be.”
“I bet they want to see what I look like when I come too. Maybe, I should ask them to help me instead, since you'd clearly rather take your sweet time.”
Cassian growls, curling his fingers, and Nesta knows that she's won. He starts to work his fingers in earnest, pressing in deep and hard the way he knows she loves. When his thumb joins in, pressing at her clit in tandem, Nesta slumps forward against him. She drops her forehead to his shoulder and bites hard at her bottom lip to quiet the moans and whimpers threatening to spill from her throat. Already, her blood sings, pleasure firing from her every nerve ending, and it's all focused where Cassian's fingers sink into her over and over again.
“Is this what you want, Nes?” He whispers right against her ear. “Is this how I prove it to you?”
“Yes. Fuck, don't stop,” Nesta gasps, turning her head enough that she can dig her teeth into his pulse point, sucking the skin between her lips until she's sure she left a mark.
Cassian's fingers stutter for a moment, and Nesta feels more than she hears the groan trapped in his throat. But since the moment she met him, Cassian has never backed down from a challenge, never allowed himself to be out done. And Nesta has never been more thankful. He squeezes in a third finger, curling all three and pressing against her clit, Nesta's whole body lighting up at the sensation.
He plays her body the way nobody else can, the way that only comes from learning each other's bodies over the years. Every slide, every curl, every press of his fingers sends Nesta cresting higher and higher. Heat pools low in her gut, her whole body tightening and pulling taut as her cunt flutters around Cassian's fingers.
“Come for me, baby. I can feel you're close. Be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”
The praise is all Nesta needs to go crashing head first through her orgasm. She bites at Cassian's shoulder to keep quiet, clenching hard and practically shaking against him. Cassian continues to work her through it, his fingers unrelenting and dragging her orgasm out.
Only when Nesta reaches down and squeezes his wrist, the overstimulation too much, does Cassian slip his fingers free. He brings his hand up to his face, sticking his tongue out and lapping at the pads of his fingers with a soft groan. Nesta is quick to grab his wrist, guiding his hand closer and sucking his fingers into her own mouth. She keeps her eyes on his, not breaking eye contact as she slowly glides and swirls her tongue over each digit.
“Fuck,” Cassian mutters, his hips bucking up as if of their own accord.
The movement reminds Nesta of what's still to come, of the hard length practically waiting for her. It has her blood heating again already, has her feeling empty and clenching around nothing. She pulls her mouth away with a quiet pop, reaching her hands eagerly toward his belt.
“I need you,” Nesta whines, all but yanking the button open and tugging Cassian's jeans and boxers down enough that she can free his cock.
She fists it tightly in her grip, squeezing at the base before sliding her hand up and down, spreading the precum already weeping from the tip. It takes some awkward maneuvering on the too small seat, but Nesta is able to raise herself up enough that she can line him up with her entrance, that she can sink down. No matter how many times they do this, Nesta doesn't think she'll ever get used to the feel of him, the stretch. There's no biting back her moan once he's finally seated to the hilt.
“Mother, save me,” Cassian groans, clearly just as affected. “You take me so well, baby. Nothing feels like you.”
“That's right,” Nesta tells him, clenching around him. “No other cunt will ever squeeze you like this.”
“Good.” Cassian buries a hand in her hair and kisses her hard, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. “Because no other cock can fill you like mine can.”
Despite Nesta's words earlier, her promise to fuck him until she's all he thinks about, it's Cassian that takes control. His hands grip her hips, guiding her up and down his cock, while he uses his planted feet to thrust up into her hard and fast. Nesta loves it. She loves the way he presses deep with every slap of their hips together. She loves the way she knows she'll have bruises for days across her hip bones.
She buries her hands in Cassian's hair and slams their mouths back together, breathing every moan and whimper past his lips and swallowing his every answering groan. Every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock has Nesta's toes curling in her shoes. Her cunt flutters and clenches around him, desperate to pull him in deeper, to keep him here right where he belongs, keeping her full and stretched.
She knows Cassian is close from the way his hips start to stutter, so she drops a hand between their bodies, finding her clit with ease and working it in time with their movements. It's almost too much. The sensation and feel of their bodies coming together. The sight of Cassian with a flush clinging to his cheeks, with his hazel eyes nearly swallowed whole by his blown out pupils, with his hair a mess from her fingers. He's beautiful and he's hers, and she can feel herself teetering closer and closer to that ledge.
“Come on, Nes,” Cassian pants, pressing their forehead together. “Ladies first. Want to feel you squeezing me. Want to be drenched with you. Come all over my cock.”
Like a marionette on his strings, Nesta's body gives in to his request. She comes hard enough that spots dance in her vision, and she just barely has the foresight to press her free hand to her mouth, biting into her palm to quiet her shout.
Cassian's hips are unrelenting as he chases his own high, as is his still rambling mouth. “That's my good girl. That's it, baby. Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.”
A few more thrusts, and Cassian buries his face against Nesta's shoulder and groans her name. He practically shakes as he finds his own release, hips still moving shallowly as he spills inside her.
Nesta slumps forward against his chest with a blissful sigh, her body wrung out in the best way. Cassian's arms curl tight around her, holding her close to him, and he turns his head enough that he can press a kiss into her hair.
“Fuck, I love you so much,” Cassian murmurs against her hair. “You should get jealous over crazy fangirls more often.”
Nesta rolls her eyes at the comment, nipping at his skin in retaliation. She sits up enough that she can reach over and grab her discarded purse on the floor, rooting around until she finds the tube of lipstick buried there. She makes quick work swiping the bright red color across her lips, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Cassian's chest, right above the neckline of his tank, right above his heart.
She tilts her head and hums appreciatively, admiring her work, but then Cassian's hands are sliding along her jaw, cradling her face and pulling her into a deep, languid kiss. When they break apart, his mouth is smeared with red. Nesta drags her thumb across his lips to try and help, but it only seems to make it worse, only seems to further emphasize the swollen and kiss-bitten state of them.
“Sorry,” Nesta offers with a wince. “We seem to have made a mess.”
“Good,” Cassian tells her, not even bothering to bite back his smirk.
“You are insufferable.”
“Says the woman still sitting on my cock.”
Nesta scoffs, but she shifts off his lap and to her feet, keeping her thighs pressed tightly together until they can get to the bathroom and clean up properly. It's a slow and awkward walk, especially with Cassian all but plastered along her back, unable to let her go just yet.
When they step out of the bathroom, his brothers are already there and waiting. Between the disheveled state of Cassian's hair and clothes, the lipstick stains and nail marks on his skin, and his wide, shit eating grin, there's no mistaking what happened. Nesta awkwardly clears her throat, tucking a strand of hair that came loose back behind her ear.
“I don't even want to know,” Rhysand mutters. “But we're on, so let's go.”
Cassian leans down, pressing one last kiss to Nesta's cheek. “Stay backstage tonight.”
Nesta frowns at the strange request. She and Feyre always claim one of the balcony boxes for their shows. “Why?”
“Just stay backstage,” is all Cassian offers as he backs away toward the stage lights, toward the screaming fans beyond.
A wink in her direction and he spins around, jogging the rest of the way onto the stage. Nesta can do nothing but continue to frown in confusion, nothing but watch as Cassian and his brothers play the opening song of their set. Only when there's a quiet, surprised laugh from her left does Nesta finally pull her attention away, finding Feyre now standing beside her. At Nesta's questioning look, Feyre holds out her phone, showing off the tweet she has pulled up. It's a photo, clearly taken from the audience, zoomed in and cropped so it shows Cassian behind his drum kit.
To whoever fucked this man's brains out before the concert, I want to say thank you for this look, but also I wish that was ME!!!
The replies to the tweet aren't much better, and already Nesta can feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks.
Hate to see someone else living MY dream
Someone get the FBI on the phone to analyze and find the owner of that lipstick mark! Whose lips are those?
Wordlessly, Nesta hands Feyre's phone back to her, keeping her focus on the stage, on the Bat Boys as they continue their set. It's not long before Nesta knows what song is coming next, her eyes automatically snapping to Cassian's in anticipation, but for once, he pulls his microphone free from its stand and stands up, stepping out from behind his drum kit.
“Velaris, how are we doing tonight?” Cassian greets, earning an echo of screams in response. “Now, you may not know this, but this venue holds a very special place in my heart. You see, a few years back we played here, opening for a little band you might know called The Band of Exiles.”
More screams from the audience at that mention. It has Nesta shaking her head fondly. She still remembers that night, remembers Feyre dragging her and Elain along to see her old school friend's Lucien's band. One night and now all three of them are with musicians. Nesta is sure if their mother was still alive, she'd hate it.
“Great show,” Rhysand comments idly into his own microphone.
“Great tour,” Cassian agrees with a nod. “But you see, what really made that night special was that there was someone in the audience. Someone I wrote this next song about. Someone who for once isn't in the audience but backstage.”
Cassian gestures with his arm to where Nesta's standing, and she can do nothing but stare in shock. She feels like a deer in headlights, her eyes wide and jaw slackened, as Cassian gestures for her with his head. A hard shove in the back from Feyre has Nesta stumbling forward out onto the stage and bright lights.
“What are you doing?” Nesta seethes quietly, walking over to Cassian awkwardly.
“Just remember, Nes,” Cassian tells her, holding a hand over his microphone so it won't pick up their voices. “If you kill me, you'd miss me too much.”
“Cassian.”
“Nesta, I love you so much, it clearly makes me stupid,” Cassian begins, speaking into his microphone again. “It makes me want to shout it from the rooftops, but I suppose this is the next best thing. Since the day that I met you, I knew that you were it for me, that you were going to be my future wife, but what do you say we make it official?” There's no stopping Nesta's gasp as Cassian drops to one knee. “Nesta Archeron, will you marry me?”
In that moment, everything else fades away, the stage, the band, the lights, the crowd. All there is Cassian. Cassian with his bright hazel eyes and his warm, easy laugh. Cassian with his teasing remarks and a fire to twine and match with her own. Cassian with his quiet comfort and the strength and safety in his embrace. Cassian who looked at her nicked and bruised heart and told her it was perfect. Cassian who carved out a place in his chest for her just as surely as she did for him.
“Yes,” Nesta somehow pushes out around the emotions clogging her throat, around the tears prickling in her eyes.
Cassian's answering grin is radiant. He slides the ring onto Nesta's finger, jumping to his feet and pulling her into a kiss. The crowd erupting into loud cheers around them pulls Nesta firmly back to the present. She tries to slip away backstage again, but Cassian catches her hand in his, tugging her to his drum kit and onto his lap, her back pressed firmly to his chest.
“This next song,” Cassian announces into his microphone, picking up his drumsticks again. “Is dedicated to my wife!”
Thankfully, Nesta is able to scurry away after the song. She's pulled into a bone crushing hug by Feyre as soon as she steps backstage, a squealing Elain on FaceTime from whatever city she and Lucien are in today. Various members of the crew offer their own congratulations, Balthazar promising he got some great photos of the whole thing, and Nesta thanks them all quietly. Her heart still pounds between her ribs, the anxiety of being on the stage still swirling in her gut, but as she looks at the ring now glinting on her finger, there’s no fighting the smile that tugs up her lips. No denying the happiness bubbling within her at the future now before her. No denying the warmth that blooms in her chest, tying as securely around her heart as a golden thread.
Nesta lets out a squeal of surprise when strong arms wrapped around her waist suddenly, spinning her around and walking her back until her back is pressed against the wall. Cassian’s eyes are especially bright, sweat still clinging to his face and his skin from their set, further smearing the lipstick stains she left on him.
“Hello, wife,” Cassian greets with a wide grin, caging her in and leaning down and brushing his nose against hers.
“You know just because you proposed, that doesn't actually mean we're married yet.”
“Semantics.”
Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, even as she slips her own arms around Cassian’s waist, keeping him pressed close. “And how long have you been planning this?”
“Like a month? Maybe two?” Cassian offers, shrugging easily.
“And yet you didn't want to stop me when I was being mean earlier?”
“I love it when you're mean,” Cassian tells her, his hands reaching up between them to cradle her jaw. He tilts her face up to him, kissing her sweetly. “I can’t wait for you to be mean to me for the rest of our lives.”
—
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A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️
“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”
Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.
She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.
He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.
It had been enough to want a second date with him.
It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.
And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.
By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.
To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.
With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.
“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”
As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.
Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.
When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”
“Yes. The ending was terrible.”
Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”
Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”
“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”
Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.
“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”
“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.
“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.
Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”
“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”
“Blue steel.”
“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.
An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.
“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.
Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.
“Well, I can’t post this.”
“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.
And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.
Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.
She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.
Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????
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