A Court of Burning Seasons || part 3
-> eris vanserra × archeron!reader, lucien vanserra × elain archeron
• Part 3: Eris goes back to the Autumn Court and reflects to what just happened. After a meeting with his father, he realizes that he needs more allies than he thought in this different battle that is such more important than dethroning him. He seeks help by the only person he could trust: the Lady of Autumn.
• Summary: Y/n Archeron always felt the pull of autumn, even as a human. The fallen leaves, the warm colours, the spicy sweets, even her birthday. For Elain, it was the sun and the way of feeding her gardens and flowers with its light. Together in the Night Court after being thrown into the Cauldron, they both feel out of place. While Elain has her growing bond with Lucien, y/n remains an outsider. With her powers still silents even after years, she feels a longing she can't quite place. A mating bond with Eris Vanserra is the last thing she expects and also what she seemed to need. But nothing is ever easy as it seems in Prythian, especially not with Beron impeding presence and courts rivalries always finding a way of creating complications.
• Warnings: Just a glimpse into Eris life in the Forest House. It did hurt to write, so yeah, it's a warning. Some political games, Lady of Autumn appearance. A little angst, maybe?
• A/n: I don’t know how to apologise. Like, really. It’s been half a year. Yet, I hadn’t let go of this story, and I hope there’s still someone who is interested in reading it. This isn’t proof-read, so I apologise for any mistake. I’m happy to be back.
[introduction] [part 1] [part 2]
Eris Vanserra was anything but sentimental.
It was the first lesson he had learned. One taught to him brutally well many times over in the hardest way. When he was still far too young to even wield a blade, let alone understanding the reason behind the burns on his skin, the blood running down his body and the pain he was made to endure.
Feelings, especially love, made you weak. They were the worst liabilities of all, without exception. His father had ensured Eris understood that truth through a cruel punishment after another and calculated neglect.
It was his preparation, his training. It would make him the soldier he needs to be, ruthless and strong, he always said. The heir worthy of inheriting a reign ruled by flames and fear.
What the High Lord of the Autumn Court didn't know, though, was just how too well his lessons had ingrained within his eldest son.
He had raised him just like the foxes inhabiting the forests of his home: cunning, sharp minded and lethal. A creature capable of working in silence and from the sidelines, with only one goal left: tearing Beron's reign apart piece by piece, patiently, until he could free not only his mother, but also all the people who had lived beneath his father's tight leash of tyranny for centuries. Someone who knew how to wait before sinking his claws far too deep and still smile while doing so.
If Beron had any idea about what Eris would have ended up actually planning, he would have killed him right after birth. Eris was, and always had been, his greatest success... and his worst mistake.
When he would realize that, it would be too late.
Not with a mating bond freshly snapped into existence. Not with the knowledge that there was finally someone whose safety could come to matter more than any crown ever could. A female he already vowed, without even realizing, to protect with all his being, whether he wanted to or not.
The bond didn't snap for her. He could feel that much clearly. A quiet mercy, really. Because every fae instincts he possessed screamed at him to return to her, to claim her openly and throughly and pull her into his arms and court, branding her as his.
But Eris did't survive all these centuries by obeying instincts.
Not with Beron. Not when something as sacred as a mating bond could be turned into a weapon.
Anything precious could be exploited and anything loved could be destroyed.
He knew that, better than anyone: he had survived centuries in a court where affection was a death sentence, family was leverage and weaknesses were erased before they were even formed. And a mate, especially of anyone related to High Lords, was considered more than a pawn in political games.
So he buried it all deep, locked it away behind bars of iron. He would protect her, but in silence and from a distance. Now, he had to be even more careful than ever.
The night should have gone according to plan. It always did with him: Eris did not fail. Not ever.
The mission should have been simple. Plain and clear. He had to follow his duty, something he had already done before without blinking twice. Eris had been given clear orders: observe the Night Court, assess alliances, confirm if humans had any influence beyond what was already known, return with the information Beron demanded. That was it.
It should have been as simple as that, really.
But it wasn't. Instead, Eris had discovered the impossible. Not only he had found himself with a bond and a mate he never thought he would ever find, but something deeper, dangerous.
A fourth Archeron sister.
He didn’t need to ask to know it. It was clear as day. It was an expected revelation that made his blood run cold. And since the moment he realized exactly who she was, he swore to himself her name would never pass Beron's lips. No, he would die first.
He couldn't even imagine what his father would do if he ever had his hands on her. His mate and an Archeron nobody knew existed? All wrapped in one package?
"Lord Eris," a guard said, bowing slightly as Eris winnowed back into his palace. "Your father awaits you in the throne room. He requests your report."
He offered no acknowledgement and didn't wait for an escort. Moving through the place with his chin held high and an expression carefully crafted into cool arrogance, he was fully aware of the guards shadowing him.
The palace was filled with security at any hour. Beron was never alone: he trusted no one, not even his own blood.
What he didn't expect, though, was that nearly half of those blades would turn directions the moment Eris commanded it. Years of careful maneuvering had ensured that. After all, the best plans always took time. And he had plenty of it.
"Father," he called, his voice steady and neutral as he entered the room, approaching with the confidence expected of the Autumn Prince the whole court knew he was. Eris stopped at the foot of the throne before kneeling, his head bowed. Submission perfect, taught into him since childhood. "I've returned with the information you requested."
Silence pressed around them, forcing him into stillness. Eris pushed any lingering thoughts about you out of his mind. Mating bonds could be sensed, and he would sooner be damned than allowing his father to catch even a shadowing glimpse of it.
"Speak," Beron's voice was cold, impersonal. It was an High Lord addressing the general of his soldiers, not a father speaking to his son. Never a father to his son. It was a predictable move, honestly. For him, family has always been nothing more than a weakness too.
Which was good. It would make killing him even more easier.
"Nothing changed. The Night Court maintains its allegiances with the humans," the heir spoke smoothly, maintaining position. "There was no one from other courts. They attempted blending in, a useless discretion at best. Humans remain wary with any fae involvement."
Beron's lip curled. “Pathetic mortals," he seethed, and Eris didn’t dare interrupting him. He could feel the disgust in his tone. "Good, they fear us, as they should." His grip tightened on the throne's handless. "Our court will never have anything to do with those lesser beings."
Eris didn't answer right away. That's why he had sent him in the first place. “Some are on their side," he added. "But it's not enough against the terror that still governs them."
Even more disgust stretched all over Beron’s face. He studied his son then, assessing his every wrong breath, but Eris didn't budge.
“This is all? No secret worth mentioning?”
Eris allowed himself a faint scoff. “It’s the Night Court. They believe themself clever and untouchable, capable of having it all under their palms. They mistake human approval for power."
Beron gaze narrowed, charged with skepticism. His eyes lingered again on Eris body language, searching for anything that could give him away, and found none. "You speak as though you admire their cunning. Tell me, Eris, is this where your true allegiance lie?”
My only true allegiance is with myself.
But he just smiled, sharp, as he lifted his head. He could recognize his father's tests of loyalty whenever he threw them at him. It was getting almost repetitive.
“Strength lies in understanding your enemies. I merely study their board before overturning it, winning at the expence of their own strategy," his expression sharpened, his smile cunning. "Besides, no one plays the game like a fox. Not even a bat. Especially not a bat.”
Beron seemed pleased by his response, but not enough. Never quite enough. He waved an hand dismissively. “You’re dismissed.”
Eris rose, bowed for a last time and turned to leave. But before he could exit the room, his father's voice reached him again.
“Oh, and Eris?” he called after him.
Eris paused, turning his head just to glance back over his shoulder. “You seem to be always a step ahead of everyone. Do not forget who taught you that, son.”
Survival taught me. Not you.
Eris didn't voice that thought. Other than getting him probably killed and punished, Beron didn't expect answers anyway. So he simply inclined his head and left, arrogance settling back over him like a well worn mask as he surpassed Beron's personal guards with no regards.
The truth, although, followed him through the corridors. He knew his father’s game, and that had always been his strength in his plans.
Everything changed though. He had a mate now. A mate whose identity nobody knew existed.
That secret would remain his, and his alone. He couldn't trust anyone with it. Not the Night Court, not Beron, not his allies.
There is Lucien. But he shrugged that thought away instantly. He was out of the question. He needed caution, now more than ever, and in a moment like this, his half-brother was more a liability than asset.
He would find a solution, one way or another. He always did.
As he entered his bedchambers, Eris directed one final thought to the darkness. Something that felt more like a promise.
No one plays the game better like I do.
It took Eris days to arrange a meeting.
Beron had eyes everywhere, and while he was steadily turning the cards on the table on his side, the road ahead was still long. Nothing happened quickly, not in Autumn of all places. Still, nothing sas impossible, not for him.
He pulled his usual mask of charm and mischief, traded favours with maids, chose the right day and hour, and it was all done.
When he finally reached the music room, he paused just outside. Moments later, his mother's maid slipped out, offering him a brief nod before disappearing over the corner. He entered silently.
The music room had always been The Lady of Autumn’s refuge. And, in a way, it had once been his too. Beron avoided it: for him, music was nothing more than a mark of elite upbringing, an obligation, never a pleasure. The piano stood pristine in the center of the room, immaculate and polished, like everything that belonged to the Vanserra family. It was also the only place in the palace that ever held even a little trace of warmth.
A warmth impossible to enjoy.
Nothing was ever joyful with Beron around. Not for his people, not for his children, and least of all for his wife. And now, the threat pressing down on Eris was greater than ever, with the mating bond curled tight in his chest.
"What should I owe the honor, my son?" The Lady of Autumn's voice would have startled him if he wasn't the prince of their court. Cautious, calm, tempered. She was testing him. Trying to determine whether he was there as Beron's emissary, or as her son.
Eris let silence speak for him as he turned. The Lady sat upon one of the many couches lining the room, dressed in autumn flame, her posture immaculate with her back standing straight, expression unreadable.
His mother, just like him, had learned how to survive by hiding everything behind stoicism. Their only difference? She had to endure so much worse, and for longer.
Without further ceremonies, he crossed the room and sat at the tea tables in front of her.
"You need to talk," she said simply. If he did come there on his father’s demands, he wouldn't have lingered. He would have said it, without game of words. They both knew what the price of delay was with Beron.
Eris didn’t deny it outright. He didn't want to admit it, but that was exactly the reason of why he came there. What he was dealing with was a huge deal, and he knew his mother was the only one he could talk to. She had a lot of secrets herself, and she wanted the hell her husband created to end as much as him. And even more.
Direct. His tone too neutral, almost cold, for a revelation like that. For a moment, she didn’t react, but he was too good at reading people that he didn’t miss it. He saw it all. Just briefly, something flickered in her eyes: surprise. Relief, maybe. A tiny spark of joy buried beneath years of restraints. After all, it was her who taught Eris how to always look for the eyes, even with their enemies.
Eyes never lies for someone who knows what to search for. And how to do so.
She wanted to be happy for him, Eris knew that. Mating bonds were sacred, precious, for every Fae existing. And somewhere deep inside, she was. Eris saw it in the brightening light within her eyes that appeared right before a shadow darkened her expression. There was no time for softness, not in their court.
He didn’t bring that up and, thankfully, she didn’t either, going straight to the point instead. “Does he know?”
“Of course not, I’m not foolish.”
She didn’t flinch at his harsh tone. Eris was always cautious, but she had to be sure. “You’re not,” she said, unimpressed. “Does she?”
Her russet eyes searched his, a copy of hers, and he let her meet his gaze before exhaling. “Not yet.”
A long moment of silence stretched. “That may be for the best,” she said finally. “Have you considered rejecting the bond?”
It was supposed to be a simple question. Which required a simple answer. He never thought he wanted a mate, he never even thought about the remote possibility of it. But just hearing the suggestion made something within him snap. Before he could even thinking about stopping it, a low growl tore from him throat.
The Lady’s eyes widened, startled at first. Then they softened, a wary smile touching her lips. “Oh, I see. You feel the pull already,” she murmured. “Be careful, son. Sometimes it’s only the bond talking. You must not let it destroy you.”
He shook his head. He knew that. He knew all about how nature could lie, the bond manipulating his body into reacting. Instincts first, brain second. And perhaps, in other occasions, he would have rejected it. For his plan’s sake. But something was stopping him.
Something about you that he recognised instantly, too familiar. Your defiant reaction, your guarded posture and stance, the way you had not wielded even after realising who was standing in front of you, talking to you. It all lodged beneath his skin, whispering a truth he couldn’t let himself not see.
It was as if you were trying to let go of something.
And Eris knew that look. He knew it very well.
“I won’t reject the bond,” he said firmly. “But I won’t let her cross Beron, either.”
“And how do you plan to manage that?”
And here came the problem. He had no answer.
“That’s why you’re here,” she said quietly, studying him. Although Eris tried to remain stoic, he knew there was no use. Unlike Beron, she wasn’t that superficial to just look at what was laid bare in front of her. She searched for the hidden truths, especially with his children. “There’s something else, isn’t it? You need help.”
He swallowed, debating whether or not to tell her. Not only because he didn’t want to laid out this secret, but because knowing it would put her in danger more than she already was by simply existing and having a mind of her own. But the Lady of Autumn was no fool.
She leaned forward. "You’re still my son, I know what you're doing," she didn’t play around it. "There's a reason you're here but you're still too proud to admit when you cannot do something alone. So I will say it: you need help. So talk to me and let me help."
Eris couldn't deny the truth behind her words. He rarely asked for help. Not if he could help it. He loathed owing debts, more than anything else in the world.
"She's one of the Archerons."
This time, even the Lady of Autumn gasped. "The oldest, Nesta? Isn't she mated already? And the middle one, she's..."
He interjected before she could get to finish the sentence, stopping her before touching that subject. Lucien was still her weakness, he knew that. And he didn't need his mother to be sentimental right now. He needed her to be the cunning woman that she couldn't be on court, but that he knew she was. That's how she still survived.
His response was clipped, deliberately evasive. He didn’t answer her question, and he knew it, causing confusion to flicker across her face. Practically all of Prythian knew the Archerons. Feyre’s sisters, basically the most protected Faes in the Night Court.
This knowledge should have eased him. It didn’t.
Alliances did not equal trust. Not with his mate involved. Especially not when the bond has snapped only for him. If it had snapped for you as well, he would have to hide it not only from Beron, but from Rhysand and his friends too. And that was a game he did not intend to play.
Rhysand and Eris were not so different. They played the same game with the same wariness, just in different courts and wearing different masks. The only distinction was that Rhysand had stopped playing the moment he found Feyre.
Eris? He was still in for a long game. He was still in it; still manoeuvring, still calculating. Still Under the Mountain. For a matter of fact, he always had been, for his whole life.
That was why he couldn’t tell her. Not about another Archeron existing, not about you.
Eris trusted his mother. Of course he did. She would never betray him. He remembered the punishments she had taken in his place when he was a child, only for Beron to punish him anyway. He needs this, he had kept saying. It will make him strong, the heir worthy of my throne.
Strength, Eris had learned later, was just cruelty with better excuses.
The Lady of Autumn would have guarded his secret. And with her life, if needed. And that was precisely why he couldn’t give it to her. If Beron ever learned she knew something he didn’t, of any sorts, there would be torture. The dungeons, even. Or perhaps worse.
He wouldn’t allow it. Not with all she had to endure every single day. Maybe this meeting had been a mistake.
“Well, mother,” he said, straightening his jacked as he stood up. “That was a pleasant conversation. If you’ll excuse me—”
The Lady of Autumn wouldn’t have it. After all, she was still a mother, and she knew perfectly what he was doing. Detaching himself. Running away from the conversation. Treating her as a stranger, his mask fully back on. But it was her who taught him about masks in the first place.
“Don’t you dare leave this room, Eris,” her voice cut through him, sharp and immovable. She pointed to the chair. “Sit back down.” He glowered, expression blank. Or at least, he tried to. But she saw right through it instantly. “Son,” she repeated, steel in her tone. “Sit. Down. Now.”
She rarely asserted herself. How could she, living beside her husband? But when it came to her children, she had always tried. And always paid the price for it. Nothing she ever regretted: that was what any mother would do. Children first, herself second. No matter the cost.
Eris sat despite himself, but didn’t say anything. Not that she expected anything different. The Lady took a deep breath. “Now you will listen very carefully. You came to me because you have no plan,” she said quietly. “And you hate that. So you want my help, and you mistake that for weakness. Which, let me tell you once again, it’s not.”
The moment he shifted to bite something back in defence, she raised her hand. “Enough. I am speaking. Where are your manners?” She sighed then, her gaze softening, just slightly. “You don’t want to endanger me, I know that. But you forget something, Eris: it’s my choice. And if I decide to help my son fight for his mate, I will.” Her back straightened. “You will have what I couldn’t,” she added. “You will have happiness.”
That final word struck deeper than any blade. Eris didn’t believe in happiness, not while Beron still breathed. A mate didn’t change that. Believing at the possibility of it would mean lowering his guard, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.
“I would face Beron’s wrath for centuries more if it meant helping you,” her tone was steadier than ever. It was like she needed to say those words more than he needed to hear them. “So, tell me who she is. Let me help.”
Eris looked away, defeat tasting bitter on his tongue. She was right, though. He had arranged that meeting knowing she would not let him retreat. He knew her fire wouldn’t have allowed silence, not from him.
And still, he hadn’t been ready.
“Fine,” he scoffed, giving in. “There is a fourth,” he said shortly. “A fourth sister. Apparently, they hid her well.”
Understanding and surprise dawned slowly at her, and with it, fear.
But even she couldn’t hide how much the realisation unsettled her. Now she understood why her son had been wary, the reason he hesitated. If a word of this ever reached Beron’s ears, he would not hesitate. He would never ignore an opportunity like this: a leverage that could be used against the only High Lady of Prythian. Her sister? One kept hidden for this much time? She was the perfect target. And if she was his son’s mate…
No. She shut that thought down immediately.
That would not happen. Not if she could help it.
“Eris,” she spoke carefully. “Are you certain of this?”
“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” he spat, the edge on his voice unmistakable. “I’ve seen her, mother. The resemblance is undeniable. She’s absolutely their sister, there is no doubt.”
“He won’t,” he cut in with a dangerous snarl. “He can’t.”
His mother took her time processing all this. Despite everything she had to endure in her golden cage Beron isolated her into, she was still a fox. A cunning, beautiful one. Yet, this seemed harder than she thought.
“You need an ally, but I gather you already knew that,” she pondered carefully. But there was no reply to that. “You won’t like my suggestion.”
Her warning was enough to make him react. Eris rose so abruptly the chair scraped against the floor, almost scattering to the ground.
The Lady sighed, clearly expecting that reaction. “Eris, listen to me, it’s the best option you have at the moment,” she said calmly. Too calmly. “You already know I’m right.”
His hand twitched. Of course he had thought about it. How could he not? It was there, burning and obvious. But he had hoped his mother could have given him an option, an escape route to avoid that.
Yet, he was supposed to know better, wasn’t he?
Hope was a dangerous feeling. And almost non existent in the lands of the Autumn Court.
“Lucien, mother, really?” he almost growled at her. “And you really think he would help? After everything?”
His mother didn’t budge. “Yes, if it means another ally for him. Remember, Eris, he might be an exiled but he’s still a Vanserra.”
Eris couldn’t help it. He raised an eyebrow. No, he’s not. He wanted to say, but he didn’t need to say the words. His mother cleared her throat, clearly taken aback despite pretending otherwise. For both their sakes, Eris let her. That wasn’t the place nor the time.
“You know what I mean,” she continued. “He is positioned where you cannot be. He has political ties in almost every court. Think about it: the fact she’s his mate’s sister might be useful. He will help you, especially against Beron,” she added quietly. “He won’t let another innocent be taken.”
Eris knew she was right. Lucien was still his half-brother, autumn fire still running in his veins: cunningness, adaptability, instinct of survival. And unlike Eris, Lucien could see her. Be near her. At least until he could finally change the game and win against his own father.
Lucien was the safest option.
He hated that she was right.
His jaw tightened. “I will consider it,” it was all he could give her, as he turned away and reached for the door.
The Lady of Autumn allowed herself the barest hint of a grin as she watched him go. She knew her son well enough to understand that he wouldn’t only consider it.
He would do it. Even if he would never admit it.
Because right now, it was the only way to keep his mate safe. To keep her in the dark, away from Beron’s reach.
Before he vanished, her voice broke the silence with the question he knew she had been holding back since the very beginning. “Will I ever meet her? And Lucien?”
Instead, he paused, his back still to her. “You were wrong,” he said, his tone harsher. “You will not endure Beron’s forever. Not even for much longer. Not if I have a say in it. And trust me, mother, I will have a say in it.”
His words echoed in the music room long after the door snapped shut, ending their their conversation for good. They didn’t feel like hope, they sounded like a vow.
His cruelty will die with him.
You will have your son back.
And if that meant helping her son bring down her own husband by force? Well…
She would have no problem collecting what was long overdue.
A/N: here we are, finally!! I really hope you like this chapter, even if it isn’t proof-read. I really hope I portrayed Lady Vanserra well enough! I will use the taglist I’ve used last year and I’ve added people who asked me. It passed a year though and if you changed your mind, let me know. The same way, if you want to be added, I will do it with pleasure!
I look forward seeing your feedback!
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