I huffed as he smiled down at me, his cheeks still flushed pink.
“Eris, you can’t be thinking about that right now.”
“I want you to feel like you have something,” he said, voice low, steady. “Your choices have been stolen from you, your court, my father and his cruel hospitality. Every part of this has been dictated to you. The only thing you can control is me.”
“But your duties—”
“My duties can wait a day,” Eris cut in, shaking his head. “With you here, my father and brothers will be too busy to disturb us.”
“You’re mine?” I whispered again, needing to hear it out loud.
“I am yours.” His voice dropped lower, eyes molten amber locked on mine.
“Take back some control. You want me to leave you alone? Tell me. You want me on the bed? Tell me. Tell me how you want me.”
His gaze burned into me, daring me.
Daring me to take.
To claim.
To decide.
“I…” My breath hitched. “You’d let me?”
“I’d let you burn me alive if that’s what you wanted.”
The bond thrummed louder, sharp and demanding, filling my chest with heat.
“I am yours. All of me, my fire, my body, me,” Eris whispered to me like a secret only I could know.
The bond pulse aching at his words, hot and relentless.
Slowly, I slid my hands up his chest, tracing the rise and fall of his breath until they reached his throat.
His pulse thundered beneath my fingertips. He tilted his chin back, baring his throat.
Surrendering.
A shiver ran down my spine. I leaned in, my lips brushing the corner of his jaw.
“I want to be in control.”
“Then take control,” he whispered. “Take what you need. What you deserve.”
I kissed him, claiming, demanding. The sound that slipped from his mouth was soft, almost a whimper.
At the noise, my shadows surged free, wrapping around his wrists, shoulders, and chest.
Not to restrain.
To hold.
To keep him mine.
I pushed him back until his knees hit the bed. He went willingly, sitting when I pressed against his chest, his amber eyes blazing up at me.
I climbed into his lap, straddling him, and tugged his tunic over his head, tossing it aside. His skin burned beneath my palms, his fire humming with restrained power.
“Lie back,” I ordered, my voice hesitant.
He obeyed without question, lying against the mattress, his hair like flames on the sheets. His chest rose and fell fast, his lips parted, but he didn’t move.
He waited.
For me.
I leaned down, dragging my nails across his chest, savoring the way his muscles flexed beneath my touch. His breath caught, and his molten gaze locked onto mine.
“You’re mine,” I whispered, shadows curling around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the bed.
“I am yours,” he murmured.
I kissed him slower this time, teasing, biting his lower lip until he groaned.
My hips pressed down, and he bucked instinctively, but the shadows tightened, pinning him still.
“You’re just as cruel as I imagined,” Eris breathed, tugging at his bonds, flames licking along his skin.
“Am I cruel?” My voice wavered as I pushed harder against his chest.
“Yes, shadow,” he said, breathless. “You’re cruel.”
His fire coiled around my ankles, testing, urging me to push harder. Shadows thickened, engulfing us until he lay bound, naked, and sprawled in the center of the bed. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, then hunger.
“Every inch of me,” Eris rasped, “is yours.”
I whispered, “Eris, we should be figuring out how to fix this. Not doing… this.”
Shame washed over me, shadows faltering.
“No.” His voice was sharp. “This isn’t just sex. It’s more. It’s me giving you what no one else has, control. It’s proof I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m not abandoning you.”
“If you want me to feel secure take me away from here, buy me an estate,” I muttered, hands pressed to his chest. “A home with orchards, hills. A place I can breathe. Sex won’t fix what happened.”
“I’ll buy you an estate. With orchards, rolling hills, and clear skies at night. Horses, too, if you want them.”
His eyes blazed up at me, molten and desperate.
“But right now, you have me. Naked. Bound beneath you. Just—” his voice broke into a rough plea, “—just fucking use me, please.”
His words burned away the shame. My shadows tightened again, pinning him harder. He groaned at the pressure, with hunger.
“You want to be used?” I whispered, leaning down, my lips brushed his ear.
“Please, I beg, use me,” he rasped, shuddering, straining against the shadows.
I kissed him hard, biting his lip until he hissed, grinding down slowly and deliberately. His body arched, helpless beneath me, his fire curling against my skin like a plea.
“Autumn’s heir,” I murmured, rolling my hips, “reduced to begging under me.”
“Yours,” he gasped. “All yours.”
The bond pulsed hot and desperate. I shifted back, his cock straining, flushed, dripping, and his ragged groan filled the air when I didn’t touch him, and I stepped back.
I stripped slowly, I let him watch every inch of skin being revealed, his chest rising faster, his lips parted in soft, desperate breaths.
My heart thundered when the thought crossed my mind, sharp and reckless, I wanted to ride his face.
As if I’d spoken it out loud, his eyes snapped wide, molten and wild.
He nodded frantically, his voice breaking. “God, yes. Please.”
I hesitated, hovering, my lace panties the last barrier between us.
His gaze held mine, no mockery, no command, only raw need, surrender.
I slipped them off and climbed slowly up his body, each movement drawn out.
His tongue swept over his lips as I gripped the bedframe, trembling with hesitation.
Lowering myself felt too much, too vulnerable. I hovered above him, thighs shaking, until his flames coiled up my sides, wrapping like warm ropes, urging me down.
The first drag of his tongue against me tore a moan from my lips.
He groaned into me, tasting, devouring like a man starved, flames flaring hotter as if he couldn’t bear that I was holding back.
His fire anchored me in place, forcing me to sit fully, to take it, to let him give.
My head tipped back, a broken sound spilling out as his tongue circled and pressed, teasing, demanding.
Every lick was heat, every flick a spark. His nose nudged against me, and my fingers tightened on the bedframe, his name leaving my mouth like a vow.
My thighs trembled, the pressure building, unbearable. He strained against the bonds, his magic colliding with mine, pushing me harder, deeper into him.
The burn crested, shadows surging as the orgasm ripped through me. Darkness poured out of my skin, smothering his flames as my body shook, collapsing over him, trembling.
I pulled back only when I could breathe again, his lips glistening, his tongue darting to lick me from them as if he refused to waste a drop.
His eyes closed, humming low, a sound of reverence.
Embarrassment flushed my cheeks as I straddled him again, staring down at my mate, bound and shining with me.
The sight of him undone like this, Autumn’s heir, feared and hated, the one I was never meant to have, set fire to my veins.
I reached down, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his stomach, lower, until I brushed against him.
His cock was flushed, straining, wet at the tip. He shuddered under my touch, head tipping back, a groan tearing from him as my fingers closed around him.
“Mine,” I whispered, stroking slow, savouring every twitch, every helpless sound he made.
“Yes,” he gasped. “Yours.”
I teased him, slow, deliberate, until his hips strained upward only for the shadows to drag him back down.
His fire coiled tight, desperate.
When I finally positioned myself over him, his eyes shot open, molten and wild.
“Please, baby,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the word. “Please.”
The head of his cock pressed against me.
For a heartbeat, I hesitated, my breath uneven, shadows flickering with doubt.
Eris’s voice was a whisper, rough. “Take it. Take me. All of me. On your terms.”
The bond pulsed, hot and demanding.
My chest burned with want.
Need.
I sank down onto him, slow, claiming inch after inch. His groan was guttural, raw, as his head tipped back.
My nails dug into his chest as I took him deeper, shadows tightening at his wrists when his body tried to surge upward.
A sharp breath left me when I seated myself fully, the stretch overwhelming, perfect.
I sat there for a moment, trembling, breathing ragged, savouring the power that thrummed through me.
“You feel…” Eris’s words broke apart, his jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. “So god-damned perfect.”
I rocked my hips slowly, testing, and his entire body arched beneath me, straining against the bonds. His fire licked desperately at my skin, but the shadows held.
“Don’t move,” I whispered, voice breaking with both nerves and command.
“I won’t,” he promised, breathless. “I’ll take whatever you give.”
I moved slowly, rolling my hips, finding my rhythm, and his groans deepened, broken, helpless.
Every sound only fed the hunger curling through me.
I ground down harder, faster, and his amber eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he watched me ride him.
“Look at you,” he rasped, straining against the bonds, “fucking owning me.”
The words made me shudder, my movements sharper. I leaned down, nipping at his throat, my shadows tightening in warning when he instinctively tried to thrust upward.
“No,” I whispered against his skin. “Not unless I say.”
His answering groan was raw, desperate. “Yes, princess.”
Every roll of my hips pushed him closer, his body trembling, his fire flaring hotter against my shadows.
He didn’t fight me.
He let me take, let me set the pace, let me break him open piece by piece.
The bond blazed, burning and shadow-twined, as pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable, demanding release.
Every lift of my hips had him unraveling beneath me.
His groans grew rougher, broken, his chest slick with sweat, muscles taut as he strained uselessly against the shadows binding him.
“Autumn’s heir, reduced to this.” I whispered, my voice cracking with desire.
His head tipped back, amber eyes half-lidded, molten.
“For you,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Only you.”
The bond blazed, a searing tether, every pulse of it urging me higher, harder.
I rolled my hips, grinding down on him, taking every inch, and his groan broke into something that sounded like a plea.
“Oh god,” he moaned, his magic pushing back against mine so hard I felt it, but my shadows held him tight.
My hips moved faster, sharper, chasing the pleasure that coiled hot and unbearable low in my belly.
His body arched with mine, but he didn’t thrust, didn’t take, he let me use him, let me drag every sound, every shiver, every desperate plea from him.
The shadows at his ankles tightened, and his fire licked helplessly against my skin, his body trembling with the effort of restraint.
“I want all of it. All of you,” I whispered, panting.
His groan was guttural, his voice breaking. “Then take it. Take everything.”
I slammed down harder, grinding, claiming, and the bond roared between us.
Heat exploded in my chest as my climax built sharp and fast, tearing through me like wildfire.
I cried out, his name leaving my mouth like a vow as darkness poured from my skin, shadows swallowing the room whole.
Eris shattered beneath me.
His body strained, his voice raw as he cried my name, his release spilling hot inside me. His fire flared wild and bright, colliding with my shadows in a burst of heat and darkness that set every nerve alight.
We came undone together, his groans and my cries tangling in the air until the bond burned white-hot, until it was all fire and shadow and nothing else.
My head bowed, breath ragged, and my magic slipped, faltered. I didn’t notice until I felt him stiffen beneath me, until I felt the sudden weight on my back.
My wings.
My Illyrian wings.
They arched high, curving around us both like a shield, the membranous dark stretching and flexing as though they too had been released.
Eris gasped beneath me. “Princess—”
Not with hunger.
Not with desire.
Something else.
Something I couldn’t bear to hear.
Concern? Shock? Disgust?
Shame hit me like a tidal wave.
I knew what Eris thought of Illyrians. The way he spoke of Cassian and Azriel at Court functions, venom dripping from every word. The sneer on his lips when he’d called them brutes, savages. Lesser.
Now here I was, above him, trembling with the aftermath of sex, with him bound beneath me while the very thing he despised cocooned us both.
I scrambled off him, shadows disappearing in my panic.
My wings were tucked tightly against my back as I stumbled from the bed, my magic snapping into place to hide them, to bury them under a glamour.
My hands shook as I reached for my discarded Autumn dress, covering my body, shielding myself from his gaze.
I couldn’t look at him.
I couldn’t bear to see whatever was written across his face.
“I—I didn’t mean for the glamour to fall.” My voice cracked. I didn’t know if I wanted to apologise or scream. “I don’t know why it slipped—”
Eris said nothing. He sat up slowly, dragging a blanket over his hips, his amber eyes unreadable.
The silence burned hotter than fire.
“I’m sorry—” My throat closed, the words strangled. My chest ached, raw and hollow.
I turned, clutching the dress tighter, desperate to get away before he could tell me the truth.
Before he could confirm everything, I already feared.
Before he could tell me, he was disgusted.
That he didn’t want me.
That I was nothing but a mistake.
The bathroom door slammed behind me, the lock clicking into place.
I pressed my back against the wood, breath shallow, my whole body shaking. His footsteps came quickly, then stopped just on the other side.
“Princess.” His voice was low, careful. “Talk to me.”
“Go away,” I said softly, my voice cracking.
“You know I’m not going to do that. Please, let me in,” he said, his voice raw.
“I—”
Silence followed, heavy and unbearable.
He asked cautiously, “Can you fly?”
As if he wasn’t sure, the question itself might break me apart.
I closed my eyes, head falling back against the door. “Yes.”
“Can I see them?” His voice dipped. “Up close?”
My hand trembled on the handle, clutching the fabric of my dress tight to my chest. “You want to see them?”
“I would,” he whispered, the word almost breaking. “They’re… pretty.”
The way he said it, like he had no better word.
The lock clicked, the sound loud in the quiet.
I opened the door just enough to see him: hair mussed, bare except for a sheet slung around his hips, his eyes bright and uncertain.
“I want to... touch them,” he admitted, his gaze flicking over my shoulder as though trying to see if they were still there.
“They’re sensitive,” I murmured, unable to look him in the eye.
“Do I need to be gentle?” he asked, with genuine curiosity.
I pushed the door open fully.
His eyes darted over my shoulder, hope flickering, only to dim when he saw nothing. Disappointment softened his features before he caught himself.
“Sit on the bed,” I said. “And I’ll show you.”
He moved immediately, sitting back against the headboard and tucking himself in under the blankets.
I walked slowly towards the bed.
I reached for a discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, wrapping it loosely around myself, before I stood at the end of the mattress.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
He waited.
With a soft breath, I let the glamour fall.
My wings spread out, stretching wide, casting shadows on the walls.
Eris’s lips parted, and he leaned forward instinctively, his wide eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
I braced for cruelty, expecting a cutting remark or the disgust I’d always heard in his voice whenever Illyrians were mentioned.
That cruelty didn’t come.
“They’re beautiful,” he whispered, like a secret he wasn’t meant to say aloud. “I’ve never seen them this close.”
“You hate Illyrians,” I whispered back, my voice cracking.
Confusion flickered across his face, then something else.
Realisation.
“I’ve said cruel things,” he admitted. “About Illyrians. About Cassian and Azriel, calling them lesser, unworthy. I know why you hid them. Why you ran, and I know I can’t take those words back.”
He shook his head, shame flickering across his face.
“But your wings are beautiful. You are beautiful. I’m sorry for every word, for every time I made you feel less because of them.”
He shifted carefully, patting the spot beside him on the bed.
Slowly and cautiously, I walked around and sat across from him, my wings curling tightly against my back.
“Does it feel nice, when someone touches them?” he asked, his hands clenched in his lap like he was restraining himself from reaching out.
“It feels very good when someone does,” I admitted softly.
“Oh,” he breathed, his amber eyes darkening.
“In some places more than others,” I added, heat rising in my cheeks.
“Can you show me?” His voice was low and careful. “Where you like them touched? I’ll be gentle.”
My heart pounded at the thought, my palms damp.
“No one has ever touched my wings before,” I confessed.
Eris’s lips parted slightly, his breath catching. “Oh.”
I hesitated for a moment before whispering, “We’ll need to figure out the places I like together.”
Something in his gaze softened, melted.
“You trust me?” he asked, voice breaking around the question.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader
Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra.
Warnings: Eris thinking important stuff, Eris being Eris, probably grammar mistakes and my english.
A/n: I’M SO SORRY FOR THE WAITING. I had a writer’s block and i didn’t want to write anything that would disappoint you. I hope you’re gonna like this, let me know if you want to be added at the taglist🫶🏻
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4
As soon as you all arrived at the River House the mood lightened up. It was time to truly celebrate the Winter Solstice, and Feyre's birthday.
You were all in the sitting room, and when you said all you meant all. Even Nesta and Lucien were there, throught you thought that the presence of the latter was not entirely because his fondness to the Inner Circle.
You took a moment to look around you and letting the sight sink. They were all happy, everyone was talking about something and everyone had a smile on their faces. It was refreshing being in such a familiar occasion, but somehow you couldn't help but feel a bit of melancholy.
Feyre had found a beautiful family. Not perfect, because no one was perfect, but she had found people who loved her and would do anything for her. They would do anything for each other, and even if being Feyre's sister made you part of the group you knew you would never be more than that: Feyre's sister.
You had no special bond with anyone. Only Rhysand and Mor had taken interest in developing a relationship with you, but as you watched them talk with Cassian and Azriel you knew that you could never compare with that. The Winter Solstice was the night for wishes, and you deeply wished to find a family like that one day.
When the time of gifts arrived you were excited. When your family had fallen into poverty there was no money for gifts, so you had spent your birthdays and the holydays as normal days.
You had found out that you loved making gifts. It had something magical the whole searching the right things for everyone and find it. The one yuo were proudest was an enchated satchel for Nesta, where she could put every book she wanted and bring it with her weightless.
You had received gifts from almost everyone. but it was when Mor handed you a box wrapped with expensive, sparkling red silk that your heart skipped a beat. "I think someone is quiet fascinated by you after only few dances." said Mor smugly and she read from who it was from.
You tried to steady your hands and you took the gift and read the little note that was attached to it.
"A reminder that flames are the apotheosis of beauty if shaped by the right person.
Happy Solstice,
Eris."
You slowly unwrapped the delicate silk and opened the box. Your eyes widened as you caught what was inside. Everyone's attention was on you as you took the glass case that was inside the box and hold it in your hand in front of your face.
You felt everyone's breath stopping as you stared at the beautiful rose made of fire that burned inside the glass.
The glass was warm, and the fire was perfectly shaped as a rose, forever burning on its own. Something inside you flickered, something gold, soft that a moment before was not there. You didn't know what to say as every word disappeared from your mind. It was breathtaking. The beauty of it could not be compared to anything else you had ever seen.
"At least he has good taste for gifts." Mor commented crossing her arms.
You put the glass case on the table in front of you and quickly looked away from it, giving a Mor a tight smile. "What? Having second thoughts?" you said ironically to her, needing to change subject.
She snorted. "Hardly."
"Let's just appreaciate the kind gesture." Rhysand said with an amused smile. "Thanks to you we have his alliance back, let's celebrate that."
It didn't go unnotice to you your sister's tight expression. From the way she looked at Rhysand and the smile he gave her you were sure they were having a mental conversation, about what you didn't know.
The night passed smoothly, there had been no other awkward gifts thankfully. At some point your eyes threatened to close on their own so you excused yourself and went into your room.
You put the rose on the vanity in your room, and for a moment stared at it like it could explode. If Eris wanted to mess with your head then he was doing a great job.
You scoffed, fuck you Eris.
You swear you heard his low laugh deep inside you.
***
When a letter in red paper came for you with only a place and a time written on it you stormed into Rhysand's office, guilt eating you alive. You opened the door without so much as knocking, and told him everything.
You told him how Eris saved you during the war, how you had cured him because yes your power didn't go away but "my sisters lied too so you can't be angry at me". You showed him your hands and arms. You told him that Eris knew about your power but never said anything or threated you, and in the end you told him about the bargain you made.
"You were letting yourself burning from the inside out because you were scared to hurt someone?" Rhysand's voice was not in any way angry, actually he seemed more concerned.
You shrugged, your eyes fell on the ground feeling his heavy gaze on you. "You were all so happy after the war. My sisters still needed me and I didn't want to ruin anyone's happiness with this problem. I would have figured out something, eventually."
Rhysand stared at you silently, a mischievious spark in his violet eyes. "And you thought that making a bargain with Eris was the solution?"
His question wasn't accusatory. It sounded like Rhysand was curious about your maddness, and honestly you were too. There was no right answer to make it sound reasonable, so you gave him part of the truth.
"When he chose me to dance the responsability to keep him as an ally had fallen on me, and unfortunately I couldn't seduce him like Nesta would have done." You shrugged. "Cassian was right, Eris seems to enjoy to annoy me. When he proposed to train me I took it as my chance to keep him close to the Night Court and keep him close as an ally."
"And are you comfortable with this...arrangement?" Rhysand asked you carefully.
You noticed how his reaction had been completely different from what you had expected. You thought that he would look at you like the stupid girl you felt, almost pitying you for talking about Eris like he was not a monster. Instead, Rhysand had just listened, nodded and gave you an encouraging smile.
"Yeah, I'll need one of you to winnow me where we'll meet, but I would prefer if you tell no one but Feyre and Azriel." You said and saw in Rhysand's eyes that he understood the double meaning of your words:
"I don't want Mor to find out, for now."
"It can be easily arranged, but since you'll start to spend time on your own around Prythian I must ask you to start training with Cassian and Azriel whenever you can." he said kindly sitting on the chair behind his desk.
You tilted your head with a grin. "Are you asking as my High Lord or as a worried friend?"
"What about as a brother?" he matched your grin. "An overbearing one, as Feyre calls me."
You chuckled. "I'll start training with them tomorrow."
***
"Your brooding silence is louder than Nesta and Cassian during Winter Solstice." You snorted watching with almost disgust all the flowers around you. The border between the Spring's court and the Summer's court was a explosion of yellow, pink, orange and purple. All colours that made your eyes almost hurt.
You felt Azriel's death glare on your back as you pointly avoided his eyes. "I still have to understand why Rhys think letting you be alone with him is a good idea."
"Because Rhysand would be a hypocrite to deny me of this lovely bargain." An amused, deep voice said behind you making your toes curling in your shoes.
You turned around and saw Azriel watching Eris like he was imaginaing stabbing him, and somehow you knew you were right. "I'll stay with you." said the shadowsinger as if Eris' presence just reminded him how a bad idea that was.
"Tempting, but I'm not usually one who like to share." Said Eris with a cocky grin before looking at you. "Unless the lady wants to."
You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. It was annoying how most of the times you didn't know if Eris was flirting with you or trying to rile you up.
"Go Az." You looked at the shadowsinger with a kind smile. "I'll be fine."
"I'll be back in few hours." Azriel said to you before winnowing away, giving Eris one last warning look.
You watched for a few seconds the place where Azriel had been standing and took a deep breath. "Over the centuries I forgot how dramatic he could be."
You snapped your eyes on Eris, making a good effort to not notice how his green outfit made his eyes look of an impossible shade of emerald.
"He just doesn't trust you." you said ironically. "I wonder why."
Eris gave you a feline grin before offering you his arm. "There is a lake near by, shall we?"
You studied his arm with wary eyes. Inside you there were two sides that were fighting each other. The first one wanted to give him the chance that no one ever did, to trust him and gain his trust back, to get to know the Eris that if you tried hard you could see under his mask; the other part was yelling at you to not be stupid, that if the Inner Circle didn't trust him after five centuries there were very good reasons, and the worst part was that you knew most of them, and still it wasn't enough to make you feel even a hint of disgust.
So you had to pretend.
"Let's just get started." you hoped that your cold mask was at least half good as his as you walked past him toward the lake, ignoring his low chuckle.
***
From your sister's story of her training you had expected everything but this.
Eris had made you sat right in front of the lake with your leg crossed, your back straight and your eyes closed while he did the same beside you and gave you instruction with his voice.
He had told you to focus on your breathing while you had to map the environment around you just with your hearing. Was it even possible?
Spoiler: no.
Everytime you heard a sound your mind would wander around with random thoughts that become a deep dive inside your head. The birds over you reminded you of the days that your father used to bring you around the forest close to your old estate. Who knew who lived there now? Maybe the humans had chosen to let it fall to ruin after what happened to them. Maybe they would think it was cursed.
That's it. You had forgotten to calm your breathing. Again.
"Awknowledge the thoughts that came into your mind and let them go." Eris' voice vibrated right inside you making you shift slightly on your place.
"I thought you were going to teach me how to control my power, not how to control my breathing." You scoffed.
"Who said anything about training your power in the bargain?" He said almost bored.
Your eyes snapped open and you looked at him incredulous. He was smirking. That bastard was smirking and you wanted nothing more than to slap that grin away from his face.
"If you do not train me I could easily lose control and burn everything around us to ashes." You said slowly, angry that he thought he could trick you. "And you with it."
Eris opened his eyes, his grin only grew wider as he looked at you. "Oh, but that would be quite the sight." You clenched your jaw as your skin started to pinch with heat. He gave you an amused look before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. "Relax, Little Flame. We need to make you burst out that mass of power that you had been foolishly sealed inside you, but I won't make you do it until I know it's not completely safe for you."
"And completely safe for this place." You added while you fought the blush that was growing on your cheeks at the thought that Eris had just said that he wanted you safe.
You saw him shrugging, his eyes remained shut. "Helion wouldn't mind a little renovation." You scoffed rolling your eyes. How could he be so calm? You had expected to learn how to control your fire, and instead you were struggling to control even your breathing. "Believe it or not, but I'm trying to help you. Close your eyes."
His firm tone made you ashamedly tightening your thighs. You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent you from doing something stupid, like talk back and made him use that tone again.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the heat that was starting to grow at the pit of your stomach, which you were sure wasn't due your flames.
"You were born human, but no one taught you how to be a High Fae when the cauldron Made you. Your body is stronger, faster. Your sight, hearing, and nose are sharper." Eris' explanation hit something very precise inside you. It was true, no one had ever stopped to explain to you how to use those new abilities. And it was fine, you had never really asked, knowing that as the older sister you should have to figure it out on your own. "We are at the border between Summer and Spring, with only your nose you should be able to tell where the border exactly is, but lets start easy. Use all your senses but the sight."
His calm and warm voice made it sound simple, and you believed him. It wasn't a even-a-child-can-do-it type of simple, it was more like a your-body-can-naturally-do-that type of simple.
You spent another hour like that, and by the end of it you were smiling broadly. You had successfully used all your new senses, and you were mesmerized by Eris' patience. Not once he had rushed you or had seemed to be tired.
"You're smiling." your head snapped toward him and you couldn't help the look of surprise that grew on your face. "You've never smiled like that when I was around."
You watched him with a hint of michievous in your eyes. As soon as you had successfully told him where the border was he had instructed you to stand in front of the lake and try to smell the animals around you. "You've never been silent around me before."
Eris laughed. The redhead in front of you, the Heir of Autumn, the General of the Autumn Court's army actually laughed and didn't incinerated you for your words.
It was an awful lie what you had said. His voice was probably the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, and you wondered if he laughed because he knew that deep down.
Cauldron, I hope not.
"Tell me if you sense some creatures in the lake." Eris smirked crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll gift you with more silence in the meantime."
You playfully rolled your eyes and took a step closer to the lake.
Deep breath.
Empty mind.
Eyes closed.
You felt the bird above you, the deers at your left, deep in the Summer's forest and even the rabbits beyond the Spring's border. But nothing came from the lake in front of you. Confused you opened your eyes and tried to catch some glimps of fishes or other creatures.
"Nothing." You said tilting your head a bit confused. "I don't think there is something in this lake."
"Good." Eris grinned michievously. "Then put your hands in the water and let your fire out."
You felt your eyebrows hitting your hairline as you widened your eyes and looked at him incredulous. "I am absolutely not."
"You absolutely are." he quickly remarked.
"What if there are fishes in there? I cannot kill them." You gestured to the pool of water in front of you, trying to understand what he intented.
"You said there is nothing in there." He shrugged becoming serious. "You need to start trusting your senses. There might still be days where you need to let your power out and you'll need to scan the area quickly to make sure no one is around."
His words carried something too personal for you to let them go. Was he speaking for personal experience? You wanted to talk back, you wanted to ask him if there were creatures in the lake, but something inside you stirred.
Eris might be the only one who could understand you, who knew what you were going through. He was the oldest son of Beron, you wondered what kind of pressures he had to live with. You wondered if he too had to learn how to use his fire beside a lake to not hurt anyone.
You slowly crounched on your feet and even slower took your gloves away. The burned flesh on your hands were red with remains of the green sticky cream that Madja had given you. The cold water send shivers of pure relief through all your body.
"You want me to light a fire under water..." You said skeptical looking at Eris over your shoulder.
"Darling, I'm positive your power could light a fire at the bottom of the ocean, if wield properly." You looked away from his lazy grin as your stomach twisted at his new nickname.
Water or not water you had to understand now how to call the fire at you. For weeks the flames had been burning all your body no-stop, you just needed to focus them in your hands.
"I do not suppose to know you, but I might guess that your power usually answer to your anger." he was standing behind you like you hadn't a burning fire inside you ready to explode, like you weren't a danger for him. "Focus that sweet mind of yours toward what anger you most."
You.
The answer was quick in your mind.
Eris Vanserra had the ability to make you angry with just a look, and there were so many reasons that you couldn't focus on just one. It made you angry when he used his mocking tone with you. It made you angry when he used a gentle tone with you. It made you angry when he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and it made you angry when he avoided your gaze in a room full of people.
It made you angry knowing what he did to Mor. It made you angry that there were times when you didn't care. It made you angry that you thought that the male in front of you could never do shuch thing. It had made you angry that he had saved you. But you were even angrier when he hadn't seek you out after the battle.
Eris Vanserra made you angry because he didn't make you angry at all. He made you feel frustrated, amused, annoyed, flustered and seen, and you were angry because you shouldn't feel those things. Not with him.
You felt it then. You felt hot flames rising from your skin and you imagined that the water in front of you were your feelings, and they needed to burn. So, they burnt.
Bright, red fire appeared underwater around your hands and the water in front of you started to boil. You let it all out. Every flame you had pushed down in those months was now left free.
It felt so good to finally let it go. The flames were circling all your arms, from your shoulders down your elbows and to your hands. You had missed the warmt that came from inside your body, the ethernal sensation that no cold could ever touch your skin, never again.
***
Eris had never known an enchanting sight as the one he had in front of him now. Your flames were all around you while from the lake it was rising a cloud of steam that soon enough would catch someone's attention.
He felt your rage through the bond and everything you had kept inside. The steam of power that you were letting out was huge, destructive, beautiful.
He watched silently as your fire stopped and you let yourself fall back, sitting on the burned grass and staring the water with emotionless eyes. He dared to tuck softly the bond, trying to understand what you were feeling, then you laughed, and something gold flickered inside him at that sound.
It was a laugh that could make him burn courts to the ground for the chance to hear it again. It was the laugh that at some point he had dreamed while Under the Montain. It was the laugh of hope that no matter if people like Amarantha, Beron or the King of Hybern ruled merciless, there were still people with enough strenght to laugh.
"I've never felt so free in a long time." you almost whispered to yourself. You stared at your hands and Eris let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the skin was completely healed.
He saw as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes tilting your head back toward the sky, and Eris felt the need to make you stop looking so fucking perfect while he had no right to enjoy this view.
He cleared his throat bringing his hands behind his back. "Can I dare to ask what or who you were thinking? I wouldn't want to find myself in the middle of the two of you."
You gave him a indecipherable look. "Cassian's habit to steal my breakfast."
Eris didn't hold the scoff that escaped his lips. It was clearly a lie, but he understood that. He was no one for you, there was no reason for you to trust him with your thoughts, so he didn't push, even if his stomach twisted in a payinful knot.
He smelled a light scent far behind him, and he knew that was time for you to return back at home. "We should go back before the shadowsinger cut my throat."
He turned around, needing to stop that moment before he started to believe things that couldn't be true. Not yet.
"Wait." your voice stopped him and he curiously turned around to look at you as you stood up and brushed of the grass from your dress. You walked closer to him with a steady look that made him equally unsteady. "It's time for my part of the bargain. My question."
He rose slightly his eyebrows, surprised by your sudden determination. "Go ahead."
He saw as you tried to organize your thoughts, crossing your arms as to make you more secure of yourself. "Is this side of yours part of the mask?"
Eris tilted his head, a bit confused by your question. "This side?" What were you seeing in him? What did he let slip?
"Yes, this side." You gestured with your hands at his whole person. "You, helping me and not being a total arrogant. You always make sure to make the others doubt your intentions, to doubt you. While...while the one I have in front of me is not the same male I heard the others talk about."
Eris stood there for a moment, looking into your eyes. He heard steps behind him approach, steps of someone who usually doesn't want to be heard. He slowly reached out a hand, and tuck some hair behind your ear and he smirked as he heard your breath caucht in your throat.
"Maybe I'm just manipulating you." He whispered, knowing he had few more seconds to play with you. If he couldn't have you for himself, he at least could have those reactions from you. "Maybe I want you to think I'm the good guy to use you against your precious Inner Circle. It would be quite the revenge."
"You are not moved out of revenge." Your response left him speechless for a moment. "If you wanted revenge then half of Prythian would be death."
"I could convince you to kill them for me." he stated back. He had let his hand lingering behind your ear, and now he let it slowly trace down the curve of your neck.
You breath had become clearly shorter, he could feel your heart beating through your chest, but your face betrayed nothing. He could see something flicker in your eyes, the only thing you couldn't control, but the look you were giving him was caution.
It was a game now, seeing how far he needed to go to convince you he was indeed the bad guy. Not to you. Never to you. But to everyone else. He wasn't above killing to gain what he wanted. He had lied, killed, manipulated and swore false oath to ensure the security of his people, but for you? He would kill with his bare hands an entire court to give you a throne, and it terried him.
"I told you, I won't kill for you." your voice snapped him back from his mind. You grabbed his wrist with your hand, fingers still hot with fire, and shoved it away from your neck. "You didn’t-“
“It’s time to go.” A voice cold as death stopped you in mid sentence.
Eris didn’t acknowledge the shadowsinger behind him, keeping his eyes on you. “But we were having so much fun.”
“Step away from her.” Your eyes snapped on Azriel and something twisted inside Eris as he watched you smiling at the shadowsinger and walking toward him.
Will he ever be the one receiving that smile? Will you ever walk toward him that happily?
He watched as you took Azriel’s arm and the shadows started to grow around you, ready to winnow away.
“Little flame.” Eris called after you. Your eyes found his over the wall of shadows that was forming around you. It was time for the answer, he guessed. “No, it’s not.”
Your eyes widened, and it was a pity, seriously, that he couldn’t see the rest of your face before you disappeared, because he knew it would be hilarious.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader
Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra.
Warnings: mention of smut, Eris Vanserra being Eris Vanserra, my english and probably spelling mistakes since I'm also sick
A/n: I apologize for my lateness, but uni is kinda taking all my time away. I was dying with the need to write about this scene, and I hope you'll like it🫶🏻 if you want to be add at the taglist just ask!
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3
"Eris is coming to the Winter Solstice celebration at the Hewn City." Rhys informed the Inner Circle while you were discussing alliances for the probable war against Briallyn. "He's shaken by Tamlin catching you two meeting with him," he nodded toward your twin and Cassian. "and wondering if we'll balk from the alliance now that there's the slim chance Tamlin might reveal it. Or decide to sell him out first. We need to remind Eris of our continued commitment, and that he is...important to us. That we have his back."
You heard Cassian snarling with disgust while your sister Feyre echoed the expression.
"So buy him a present," Feyre said, waving a hand. "and tell him we all send our love."
You snorted amused at that. "Don't you have some old, dusty jewels? Give him one of those." You said obvious while you rested your arm on the chair's back..
"He'll want more than that." Rhys said, mouth twiching, and his eyes fell upon Nesta.
Nesta. Rhys wanted to use Nesta to win Eris over. The thought alone made you sick. Why her? Why Rhys thought that Nesta alone could make Eris swung at her feet? He had saved your life, not hers. Actually, he would have let Nesta die if it hadn't been for you and Elain.
But of course, Rhysand couldn't know that. No one knew Eris had saved your life during the war, and strangely enough Eris had never bragged himself nor made any comment.
From what Cassian had said it had seemed that Eris had been interest in flirting with your twin, and you had to admit, he had never tried to flirt with you in any occasion. Actually, he had tried to break your patience. So it did make sense, you supposed. Nesta was the most logical choice.
"You want me to dance with Eris?" asked Nesta caution.
"I want you to seduce him." Rhys' words made your stomach twisting with an unease sensation. You didn't know why you were reacting like that, and you told yourself that it was because you didn't want Nesta close to someone like him. It wasn't because the thought of Eris giving his full attention to someone who wasn't you made you sick. No, you could never want something like that. Someone like him.
"You really think that Nesta's dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?" you hadn't meant to make the question sound so...disgusted, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. Actually, most of them echoed your tone.
"I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what." Explained Rhys to you, probably mistaking your disgust for worryness. "I won't let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you, Nesta and Elain are the only options, but from Cassian's report Eris hadn't seem too friendly with you."
Cassian should learn when to shut up, you thought annoyed. Of course Cassian would say that, because Eris had made sure to annoy you at the meeting with Lucien, Vassa and Jurian.
"Was Cassian wrong?" asked Rhys carefully, reading something in your eyes that you quickly hide.
"No." You said with a lazy smile. There was no point in telling them what had happened during the war, probably Eris had already forgotten it too. "He was completely right."
Rhys watched you for few more seconds with his violet eyes that sometime seemed like they could look right inside your soul and read it. You checked your mental shield and found it intact, the fire that you pushed down burned brightly around your mind, protecting it.
***
The black dress you had chosen for the night fell comfortably over your body as you walked down the hall of Hewn City's palace. You had opted for something elegant yet less reveling than Mor's and Feyre's. The straps fell lightly down your shoulders, the bodice had a sweetheart neckline with what looked like black flames over your collarbone. You still had to decide if it was a hint that Rhys knew about your power still lingering in your body, or it was for pure imagine. The flames seemed to fell down your body in a lovely silky gown that captured the lights with each step.
Unfortunately, you now had to wear gloves, because the burned scars had expanded all over your hands, and the gloves was the only way to hide them. Thankfully, since it was winter no one ever questioned them, and tonight you had put some long, black, silky gloves that matched your skirt.
You were currently behind Rhysand and Feyre, between Elain and Nesta as the two of them still were on no speaking term. Tonight was a show of power, with your sister's pregnancy annouce and your twin's beauty offered on a silver plate for the Heir of Autumn.
You had appreaciated how Elain had wanted to come, and it didn't go unnoticed to you that she had opted to wear a plain dress with just two pearls in her hair to not outshine Nesta. Elain had always been the prettiest of the four of you, but tonight it was Nesta's time to shine, and she had gladly disguided herself as plain and boring.
As you entered the throne room every eyes fell on you. Not on you, actually. On your sister's swollen belly. You heard gaspes and whispers all around you. Keir's looked torn between anger and shock, and you had to hide an amused grin.
As your eyes scanned the room with a bored expression, you took you ropportunity to look at the redhead beside Keir, knowing he would be too focus on your sister to notice your staring, but as your eyes fell on the him you found two green pounds already staring at you.
Eris was looking at you. Not at Feyre. Not at Nesta, the one supposed to catch his attention. He was looking only at you, and you hated how your heart skipped a beat.
He looked at you like he could admire you for the first time, and somehow it was true. You both knew that no one would notice your staring at each other, because everyone's attention was on Feyre.
You used every second to drank the sigth of him. Eris was dressed in Night Court black, and you could be damned for how handsomely he was. He looked like the darkest of the dark dreams that someone shouldn't have. That someone be you.
That game was dangerous, you realized. Those stolen glances, stolen moments would lead you only in a dangerous territory. But danger looked so appealing when he let his eyes slowly roam all over your body.
For a moment you felt more naked than Mor and Feyre.
Eris must have noticed the black flames on your dress because he slowly grinned. It wasn's a mocking grin, it wasn't even amused. It was one of Eris' grin that you still had to classify.
His eyes met yours again, and he did the last thing you had expected. He winked at you. He fucking winked.
You felt your cheeks getting warmer and you quickly looked in front of you again, dismissing him as if nothing had happened, and for a moment you wished it hadn't.
As Feyre and Rhysand sat on their thrones, you and your sisters went to stand at the foot of the dais, between Cassian and Azriel who looked like they could kill anyone watching at any of you in a wrong way.
Keir and Eris scuttled forward, and while the former bowed, you pointly avoided to look at the latter. "Allow me to exted my congratulations." said Keir and you knew that he didn't mean a word of it.
"And allow me to extened mine as well," said Eris with a voice that could warm even the coldest spot of the Winter Court. "on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court. He shall be thrilled by this news."
Rhysand mouth curled in a cruel half smile, the stars winking iut in his eyes. "I'm sure he will."
Sometime you forgot how powerful and cruel Rhysand could be. He was always gentle and kind with you, with all his family. But the moment that something threated Feyre's life? He become feral, and you were glad for it. You were glad Feyre had found Rhysand.
They gave the crowd some command to make it loose, and when Eris did to follow Keir Rhysand stopped him. "Before you join the merriment, Eris, I'd like to present you with your Solstice gift."
A long black box appeared in his hands, and you tried your best to hide your confusion. Rhysand had never spoken of other gifts beside Nesta, so what was all of this about?
As the box flew to Eris and he opened it you could see the dagger that Nesta had made. You hold your breath as Eris's face went pale. "There's flame in it." He said. "Why give this to me?"
"You're our ally, " Feyre said, a hand resting on her belly. "You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It seemed only fair to give you a weapon that operates outside those rules, too."
You cursed in your mind as Eris understood that the dagger was Made and started to question Rhysand. Eris culd be the monster of everyone's story, but he was no idiot. Actually, you had the suspicious that he might be smarter than he let the other see.
“Ordinarily I would ask you to dance," said Feyre kindly. "but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” It was the truth. Feyre had bolted from dinner three nights ago to find the nearest toilet. Now she looked at you and your sisters, as if deciding who would dance with him.
You looked away, not really wanting to see Eris admiring your sister Nesta. You focused your attention on the couples dancing, and you couldn't wait to be among them. You didn't have the same passion as Nesta, but you had always enjoyed it if you had a good partner.
You had asked Morrigan to give you lessons too, just to be able to dance freely with whoever might ask you. It had been fun when you had found Cassian too at Mor's lessons, silently agreeing that you would say nothing about the other.
"One of my oldest sisters shall take my place." you barely heard Feyre's words, knowing she would be gesturing to Nesta, so there would be no point to look away from the musicians.
It was when you heard Nesta stiffining beside you and Elain elbowing you that you looked away and gave the latter a confused look. Elain only inclined her head, pointing to something in front of you.
You furrowed your eyebrow, still confused, and looked where Elain was pointing. Your breath caught in your throat as you found Eris standing in front of you with his hand strechted out.
"If I require right, you are the oldest." He said with that lover's voice that tricked your mind.
You gulped and tried to not let your eyes widining too much as you gave him a nod. "Only by few days."
Why was he not looking at your sister? It was quiet obvious that she was the one planned to be offered to him, the one who looked like a queen. Hadn't Cassian said that Eris had been flirtatious with Nesta? Hadn't Cassian said that Eris seemed to loath you? Then why was he looking like that?
You slowly brought your hand on his, as you had done the day he had saved you, and something about his wicked, sparkling eyes told you he remembered it too.
He brought your hand around his arm, and accompanied you at the center of the dancing floor with a royaly grace. Even throught your gloves you could feel the warmness that his body radiated. A warmness that somehow made your body relax. Hadn't you had asked this to the cauldron? Warm, nice fire? Not the destructive flames that burned inside you.
Eris stopped at the very center of the floor, and you could already feel everyone's gaze on the two of you. What a gossip this would be; one of the High Lady's sisters with the heir of the Autumn Court, dancong at the Winter Solstice.
"Saying that you look gorgeous would be minimalizing." Said Eris as he gently put his free arm around your waist bringing your bodies much closer than they had ever been. "But flames are supposed to be red, not black."
You would have smashed his grin if the violin's hadn't started playing. You put your free hand on his shoulder and rose your chin to meet his eyes, with the fakest, sweetest smile you could master.
You had indeed wanted the dress to be red, because it had always been your favourite colour, but the Night Court's colour was black, and you needed to appear as a unit front.
"I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a member of your beautiful, appealing court." Your tone was soft, not wanting to gain any more stares than what you already had on you, but the sarcasm was there. "I find black perfect for this dress."
You were soo the wrong person to complete the job. Nesta was supposed to seduce him, because Eris didn't rail her up like he did with you. It was impossibile in your mind to even think of being nice with him, let alone flirt.
"What is not perfect is this dance, I'm afraid." he said still with his smirk on his lips. You looked at him confused, and he leaned close to your ear making you hold your breath. "Your High Lord and High Lady look like I have just spilled icy water on them. Aren't you supposed to be the oldest? They seem to think I might eat you in any moment."
His hot breath on your neck made it ashamedly hard to concentrate on what he was saying, and you would never admit to yourself that it was only when he leaned away that you found the capacity to speak again.
"We were all convinced you enjoyed my sister's company more than mine." You managed to say, offering him that truth.
The sound of his dark chuckle was like silk on your skin. His grip on your hadn and waist tightned a little, and you would have ripped his hands away if it would have been any other moment, or any other male.
"And why would I lose time playing with her when I have my perfect match right here?"
Cauldron boils you.
It was a bad, bad, bad, bad thing that you knees almost went weak at his words. It was even worst that your stomach seemed to be dancing its own waltz inside you. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that and hell, no one had ever looked at you like that. Ever.
You told yourself that that was the reason why he was having that effect in you. You had been used to the human's beauty, then you had been too busy to save the world to even notice High Fae's beauty. Eris had just happened to be in the right place at the right time and boom, you were weak on your knees for him.
"Someone might stirr if they heard you calling me your perfect match." You said finding a surprising calm, steady voice. "The future High Lord of the Autumn Court should have no equals."
Something flickered in his eyes as he looked at you with the typical gaze full of secrets. "I have no worries of any equal since you seem so determinated to conceal yourself as a rabbit rather than the dragon that you are."
His words managed to make you shut down every...confusing feeling you had inside and rose your chin a bit higher, watching him with a bored expression. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Is that so?" he slightly tilted his head with the same eyes that a predator used to study its opponent. "Then I take the gloves as the newest fashion in the Night Court? Curious, I don't see many other females wearing them."
He made you do a double spin on your feet before bringing you back against his chest. "I would have thought that a princeling had more important things to think about than the fashion in other Courts." You said coldly.
You hadn't realized that the music had ended until a new dance began and Eris easily led you throught that. It was slower, lighter, but you didn't need to think about the steps; Eris was annoyingly good at leading you.
His eyes darkened a little, as if you had just insulted him. The grip on your hand tightened and you hissed in pain as his fingers pushed into the burned flesh of your palm. "Tell me, it's still about fashion?" He tightened his fingers again and you stepped on his foot angrily.
"Do it again and your father will have to name another heir." you hissed still blinded with pain. Fuck off the whole court him thing; you would have never been good at it nevertless. If Eris wanted to play with you, you would play back.
***
Cauldron boils him.
He was so down bad for you. Never in five hundred years he had met someone who could turn him on just with a glare. And the glare you were giving him was of pure challenge and threat.
He laughed at you. He laughed because it was the only thing he could do. He laughed because the alternative was to see if you would still talk to him like that if he pushed you against a dark corner of the palace, knelt and buried his face under the gown of your dress.
That fucking dress.
You looked like a night Goddess of fire, and the Mother knew how happily he would worship you if given the chance.
But he couldn't. Not until his father was alive. Not until he would be free to let you know the true Eris and let you decide what to do about the bond. Not until you desired him as much as he desired you.
"I would like to see you try without any training." he lightly mocked you, needing to see how far he could push you until you finally gave in and unleashed what you had inside. "But I could make your odds better if you just admit what we both know, Little Flame."
He grinned as he sensed the effect that the name had on you. You face stayed neutral, it was your heartbeat that betrayed you. Eris had to admit it, even if you had just entered the game of scheming, courts and alliances you were doing a great job at it.
"I'm afraid I'm not following you." You said giving the room around you a bored look. He knew you were actually seeing if any of your court was listening to the two of you.
Eris had a vague idea of what would happen if you find out about the bond in the near future. You would be caution about it at first, then after few words with Mor and the Inner Circle you would decide to break it, and why wouldn't you? He was the villain in everyone's story, and he was fine with that. He didn't really plan to change that narrative in your head, yet. But he refused to sit still while you burned yourself in your own power and the Inner Circle did nothing to stop it.
"I could train you." He said suddenly serious. "If you are too ashamed to show your precious family what monstrous power you have, you should have no problem showing it to someone who is already considered a monster."
You arched an eyebrow. "Considered?" you asked ironically. "I recall hearing quiet thrutful stories about you for just considerating what you are."
He didn't pretend to be hurt by your words. He knew exactly what you had heard, what he had done, but obviously you couldn't know the whole true. No one did execpt for one. "Careful to let your new ears believe everything they say about me."
"Because you seem so much more trustfully." You said with a ironic smile that he immediately matched.
"Train with me a day every week, and I'll answer honestly to one question of your choice." He proposed before spunning you on your feet. "Maybe you'll make your own idea of me."
Those beautiful, careful eyes studied him, and he almost knelt right there. "Why would I accept? What do you gain from this?"
His grin widened. "I'm pleased to see that those brutes taught you something useful." He mused. "Let just say I think your power will play a key part to my...succesion on the throne, and I rather have you as my ally than my enemy."
You narrowed your eyes, surely pondering every single word he had said. "I won't do the dirty job for you."
Eris knew you meant killing his father, but of course you couldn't say it out loud since Keir was still around. He admired your quick thinking, and he was extremely glad that you were smart enought to guard yourself around people like himself.
He chuckled lowly. "That is a matter I'll deal with alone." He stated firmly and the fingers on your back lightly caressed you, assuringly. "I just ask for your help when my court will need it."
Eris would never admit out loud that he already know what kind of favour he would need from you. The idea had come up as the two of your were talking, but he knew that if he had proposed it right away you would have left him on the dancing floor without a second thought.
"One day of training everyweek with one question of my choice in exchange of my help, once, when you'll need it with your court?" You carefully stated looking cautionsly in his eyes.
He gave you a grin as he leaned his face closer to yours. "Do we have a bargain, Little Flame?"
He had to call all his hundreds years of training to not close his eyes as your scent hit his nose. It was sweet, like cinnamon and caramel. It was everything he recalled to like, to bring him joy.
He smelled the shift in your scent as your faces were dangerously close, and for the first time he was glad that you were new to this world because otherwise your would have smelled the shift in his scent too. And that, would have bring the two of you in a dangerous situation.
"Yes." you said after a while. He could see that you had thought of every outcome of that bargain, you probably had thought about how to tell the others, what reactions they would have and in how many ways it could end badly. "But you have to stop calling me that."
He laughed. "You should have put it into the conditions of the bargain before you accepted it."
As he said those words he felt something stung on his back. It felt like someone was writing something on his skin with fire. It didn't hurt, it was more like a tickle, and when he saw your hand flying from his shoulder to your back, scracthing the same part on your body that tickled on his, he knew that the bargain had been sealed.
The music ended and he gave you a bow, bringing your gloved hand to his lips. He could smell the burned flash, and a part of him wanted to kill Rhysand to have let you do it to yourself. But he only placed a gently kiss on it, sensing how you, elegantly, shivered and gave you a charming smile.
He studied you for a monent. Your eyes were looking at him with what was not surely kindness, but at the same time was not hatred too. You were trying to find your place in this new, cahotic world, he understood. His eyes traveled on your dress, and his jaw clenched. You would have been a beautiful living flame if it hadn't been concealed with black, somehow a represantion of how you wanted to conceal yourself to fit in that Court.
"Let me begin the training now with a little advise." Eris said still with your hand in his. Your eyes flashed with curious. "Do not follow blindly those who walk in front of you. You might find out that black is not the colout that suits you best."
He didn't wait for you to process his words as he gave you a last, parting smile and turned on his heels, already putting his mask back on. "See you next week, Little Flame." he mocked over his shoulder as he walked away.
He heard you curse him under your breath, and it only made him grin amused. He found it surprisingly fun to rile you up, it was a kind of amusement that he didn't feel with anyone else. He needed it as a reminder that his equal was indeed like him: fierce, smart, witty and always ready to fight when needed.
He walked toward Rhysand and Feyre, still seated on their thrones, already watching him with their calculated eyes. He was sure that they were probably having a mental conversation about what they had seen, and Eris fought the urge to smirk.
"Did you enjoy the company of my sister?" asked Feyre politely with a lazy smile. He had to admit that both her and Rhysand did a great job at acting like the rulers of the Court of Nightmares.
"Your sister's company had been delightful." He said matching her smile. Before asking them what he wanted he was curious to test the waters. "But I'm curious; you showed me what I can have, Rhysand. I'm intrigued enough to ask what you'd want in return."
He saw Feyre's jaw clenching. She would never sold her sister, and surely not to someone like him, but it was still fun to imply just that.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Rhysand not betraying a single thought that was in his mind.
"I mean that whatever you want, I'll give it to you if you promise to keep her safe and away from my father." Eris said suddenly serious.
He saw the confusion flashing on both rulers' face as they surely spoke to each other mind to mind. Eris knew he was letting them see too much, but it was the only way he could be sure that you would be safe as long as his father was alive. They needed to know in what danger you were if his father ever find out what you and Eris were.
"Explain yourself better." Feyre commanded with a cold voice.
He gave her a mocking grin. "You keep your oldest sister away from my father, and train her. and I'll give you whatever you want. You wanted to reassure our alliance? This is the prize."
"I cannot force her in doing anything she doesn't want to, but I can come up with the right arrangment for that." Rhysand said calmly. "But it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for...her safety. Why would you care so much about that?"
He could see that both Rhysand and Feyre were trying to understand what kind of game he was playing, what kind of tricks he had in mind, so he let his mind shield opening a little, inviting them in his head to speak the words that he could not say out loud.
"Because it seems that the Cauldron gave two Archeron sisters to the Night Court, and two to the Autumn Court." Eris said in his mind, knowing that they both were listening.
Feyre's face drained of colours as Rhysand's eyes hardned and his deep, dangerous voice sounded in his mind. "Why should we believe you?"
Eris smirked and let the memory of the day he had saved you fill his mind, letting them see it. He replied the moment the bond stirred inside him, urging him to run toward you. He made them see the exact moment your eyes met and his whole existence screamed the word Mate all over again. He made them see how he had foolishly followed you to the King of Hybern, keeping you safe until you had run to Nesta. He let them see how hard it had been to return to his father and hide eveything, how scared he had been when after the war he had been sat beside his father while you were right in front of him, terrified that any gaze might give him away. The last memory was of when he had found you outside the Autumn Court's camp, and he had been so close to grab you and winnow on the other side of Prythian, not wanting you close to his father in any way.
He stopped the memories just as the one of when you had cured him started to pop in his mind, and watched careful the reaction of the two rulers in front of him. "I cannot risk for the bond to snap for her when my father or any of his allies are close. He would hurt her to hurt me, and despide what you think of me, I won't let it happen."
Rhysand studied him with a heavy, dangerous attention. "I could keep her away from you and have you do anything I want just for the chance to see her, do you realize that?"
A test. Eris knew it was a test, because Rhysand would never do something like that, but still Eris couldn't help but laugh ironically. "It would be the first time you'd do something smart, Rhysand." he tilted his head in a mocking grin.
"You should speak of this matter with Feyre then." Rhysand stated, making a good job at sounding bored. "It's her sister you are mated with."
"I could have your head in any moment if I suspect you to be a danger for her." said Feyre in his head viciously.
"I would like to think that the bond would make your sister miss me a little if you do that." he answered ironically placing a hand on his heart. "But I'll give you everything else you need. After all you are my sister-in-the-cauldron, you might find out you'll have more advantages from this situation than your boring mate."
"Go away before I test that bond theory." threatened him Feyre making his grin grew wider.
I'd like to believe we're finally going to get an arc to challenge the IC, especially with the direction the narrative seems to be taking with Nesta and Eris. Both are characters that the narrative has told us to hate this entire series.
But, Nesta is not the horrid, selfish, narcissistic, uncaring, ungrateful, wicked monster that the IC made her out to be. She's kind, selfless, brave, fearless, courageous, loyal, hilarious, fierce, caring, protective, smart, diplomatic, etc. She's different than what the narrative and the IC made her out to be. She's always just been this traumatized and depressed woman who needed to be shown what unconditional love looked like.
Eris has always been defined by one singular action that happened 500 years ago: leaving Mor, bruised and bleeding, and near death, at the border. The IC's hatred of him for the past 500 years knows no bounds. But in ACOSF, we found out that there's more to Eris, and he may not be this snake that the IC made him out to be. Either Mor is withholding information about what happened 500 years ago, or she's a straight-up lying liar who lies. Either way, this information is sure to shake up the IC and further challenge them and their opinions on others.
The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)
I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?
Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:
" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."
"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."
I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)
What I gained from this exercise was a few observations
Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment
Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?
The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)
See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court
A Court of Thrones and Roses:
Tamlin tells Lucien's Story
"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”
A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”
---
“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”
“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”
Under the Mountain
When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:
Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.
---
Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.
---
“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.
Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.
“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.
---
Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.
---
A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.
When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:
Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.
---
We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along
During the second trial:
In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them
---
“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.
The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.
---
“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.
When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:
“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.
After Feyre breaks the curse:
The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle
His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”
Rhys tells Mor's story:
His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”
“What happened?” I breathed.
“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”
Nailed—nailed to her.
Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.
“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”
A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”
Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”
“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”
Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:
“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”
“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.
That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”
“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.
I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”
“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.
---
“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”
---
Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”
Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.
Cassian snarled his warning.
I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.
Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.
Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.
Lucien advises the Inner Circle:
Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”
A snarl from Rhys.
“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”
Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”
Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.
Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”
Eris in the Hewn City:
If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.
The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.
And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”
“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.
Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”
“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”
Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”
I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”
Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”
---
“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”
“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.
“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.
“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”
Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.
Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”
“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”
“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”
Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”
“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”
Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”
Silence.
“Indulge me,” was all I said.
Eris stared me down. I stared right back.
“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”
Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.
Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”
Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”
And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.
“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”
Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”
Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.
“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”
Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.
“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.
“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.
“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.
Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”
“Watch it,” Azriel warned.
Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”
“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.
A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”
Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:
Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”
“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”
Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”
Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.
“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”
“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.
High Lord's Meeting
(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)
Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.
But Eris did.
A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.
Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.
Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.
Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”
Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”
I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.
Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?
---
Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”
Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.
---
Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”
“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.
For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.
---
“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”
Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.
--
But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”
Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.
“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.
Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”
If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.
But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”
Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.
---
Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.
Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.
Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”
His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.
---
Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”
“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”
Beron rolled his eyes.
But Eris said, “Father.”
Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”
Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”
“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”
“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”
A female of pride and hard work.
Eris said, “I will take it.”
It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.
Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.
Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.
Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.
---
Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”
“I have not yet decided.”
Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.
---
This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”
At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.
But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”
I didn’t deign responding.
“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”
---
Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”
But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”
Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.
She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.
“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.
---
She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.
I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.
Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”
A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.
Expected.
The Lucien Paternity Revelation:
Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.
While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.
I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.
It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.
My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?
It would seem not.
The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.
The War:
Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.
Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”
---
But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.
---
Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”
“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.
The Final Meeting:
Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.
Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.
We did not bother to nod back. None of us.
Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.
But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.
Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.
Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”
That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.
Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.
Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.
And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …
Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.
Help. Someone to help—
A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.
Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.
“Don’t touch her.”
Those steps stopped.
It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.
She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.
“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”
Cold, unfeeling words.
“But—but they nailed a—”
“No one touches her.”
...
She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.
A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”
She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.
He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”
Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.
She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.
Eris took a step away.
Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”
“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”
She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.
“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.
“Move out.”
There was no dissension after that.
And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.
The sun and the wind and the leaves.
The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.
The pain.
Eris in the Hewn City:
“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”
Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”
“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.
Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.
“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.
Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.
Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:
Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.
The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.
---
Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.
---
Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”
Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”
Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.
“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.
“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”
Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.
But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”
---
Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”
“Why? And no.”
“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”
“To overthrow your father.”
“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”
Cassian started. “What?”
“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.
“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”
Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”
---
“What does Beron say?”
“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”
Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”
Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”
“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”
“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”
“Why would I work with you on this?”
“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”
The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:
And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.
Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.
Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:
“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.
“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.
To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.
Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”
“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.
Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”
Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:
“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”
“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.
“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”
Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”
“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”
“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.
Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”
---
Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”
“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.
“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”
“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”
Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”
---
“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.
---
Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”
Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”
“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”
Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”
Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”
Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”
Eris and Nesta dance:
"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”
Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”
“Why?”
“Because she is afraid of it.”
“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”
“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”
---
Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.
“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”
His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”
From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.
Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”
---
Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”
Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.
Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”
Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)
Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”
“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”
---
“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”
Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”
“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”
Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”
---
Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”
“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”
Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.
---
Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”
---
Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”
“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”
Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”
Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.
Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.
And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.
Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”
She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”
Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”
Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”
Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:
Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”
---
I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”
Eris might be a good male?
Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”
Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”
Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”
Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.
And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?
Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.
Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.
The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?
“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”
Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”
Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”
“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”
“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”
Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”
Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”
“Give me a damn answer.”
Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”
“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”
“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”
----
Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.
---
“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.
So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”
Warnings: descriptions of violence/torture, blood, death (love that for us)
Summary: Eris is cool, calm, and collected. He’s not known for the fire in his blood, but for his cold manipulation of truth and lies. Until he meets his match. Literally.
Masterlist
Danae resurfaced slowly, her head throbbing. Her mouth was dry, as though stuffed with cotton. Cold, damp stone pressed against her cheek. Groaning softly, she peeled open her eyes, only to meet pitch blackness. Panic is for prey, she reminded herself, forcing her breaths to remain even.
She tested her body, stretching her limbs to discover tender bruises. A chain rattled when she moved her right leg, connected to a metal cuff around her ankle. Relieved that her injuries were minor, Danae shifted, reaching further until she touched a wall. More stone. She shivered, chain clanking quietly as she moved around the space. It was small, scarcely more than a closet, with nothing but a bucket in one corner and a locked wooden door at the other.
Minutes dragged into hours, and her eyes failed to adjust to the darkness. Danae wondered if she had gone blind.
Boredom eventually had her nodding off, curled into one corner of the cell. But she was jolted back to wakefulness by the door opening, torchlight nearly blinding after so long in the shadows. Danae hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.
The voice that came from beyond the flames was a sharpened blade. “You told me Eris was seeing a female, not that he was harboring one of Rhysand’s creatures.”
A brief pause. “I did not know, father.”
Danae blinked away the spots lining her vision to see two males in the doorway of her cell. The one that had kidnapped her was kneeling, flames encircling his throat until Danae choked on the scent of burning flesh. Yet somehow, the male maintained his composure. Danae watched his skin blister and bubble with growing horror.
Then the flames extinguished, the male sagging back on his heels almost imperceptibly.
“Very well. You brought me something, which is more than I can say for Castor.” The owner of that harsh voice walked into her cell with little fanfare, but she knew him immediately. Beron, the Autumn High Lord.
Despite the difference in coloring—unassuming brown hair and eyes, rather than vivid red and amber—there was something about his face that reminded her of Eris. Something in the harsh lines, the lack of emotion. But even without knowing what she did from Eris’ small revelations, Danae knew what he was. She’d seen it every day in her camp.
So she did not truly listen as he threatened her—he would hurt her regardless. Danae had heard similar speeches before and knew them all by heart. Better to feign deafness, stupidity, anything but engage with him. She would save her energy for when it mattered.
One thing was certain—she’d stood up to one High Lord, and she could do it again. At least this male couldn’t read her thoughts.
She still trembled when Beron ignited his fingertips. When he laid them across her collarbones until she screamed. When he dragged the whip across the floor of her cell. When he commanded his soldiers to beat her bloody. But she didn’t let herself feel fear, not truly, until his eyes lit upon her damaged wings with a horrible light.
It seemed she was destined to suffer cruel masters.
* * * * *
For two days, Eris kept up appearances. He inspected the troops along the Spring and Winter borders. He needled Rhysand for more intel about Koschei and traded threats with his lackeys. He combed through reports until his vision blurred, drowning out everything but the ink and the numbers. And when there was any spare moment to breathe, Eris kept up his arms practice. He sparred with his personal guard during the daytime, his focus so sharp he could’ve cut through stone. When the night came, he performed endless weapons drills, running through the motions until his muscles screamed in protest.
She haunted him despite it all.
Every time he landed a blow, he was reminded of the sting of her accusations. I still think you’re a coward. Her disgust mirrored his own. More than four centuries of existence, and what did he have to show for it? Two dead brothers, another scarred and exiled. His mother suffered at the hands of a monster he was too afraid to contradict, let alone confront.
All he had were failures.
He could still hear the bite in her words, feel the weight of her eyes, the way she looked at him like she could see right through him. Eris wondered what she saw, wondered if any of it was worthwhile. Remembering the fierce contempt that cut deeper than his father’s brand, he doubted it.
He hungered for her. For the steel-sharp sneers. For her laughter in the dark. For her skin, glowing in the candlelight.
He paced before the door of his quarters, hands flexing as if to shake off the impulse. But it didn’t go away. It gnawed at his restraint, an incessant wanting. He'd avoided the cabin by telling himself he had more important things to do, but something in his gut twisted every time he repeated the lie.
You did exactly what you set out to do. She thinks you’re a monster. She’ll leave the moment you give her the chance.
But that was the trouble, wasn’t it? He hadn’t given her the chance. He’d promised to winnow her back to Night Court, had even vowed they’d never cross paths again—and yet he’d spent every waking moment since then avoiding that very promise, coming up with excuse after excuse.
The longer he left her in that cabin, the longer he could pretend he deserved something good without paying some terrible price.
Eris sneered at his own idiocy. He was not a child, had never been allowed that luxury under Beron’s strict gaze. So he would no longer indulge his childish fantasies. He would send her away. And then he would burn the cabin to be sure no trace of her remained in the Autumn Court.
He winnowed with a single-minded focus, but everything ground to a halt when he caught sight of the cabin through the trees.
The door was open.
He was inside the kitchen before rational thought caught up to him, blades out and ablaze with deadly flame, but the building was empty, silent, and dark as a tomb. His heart thudded once, then twice when his eyes landed on her knife on the table, her boots by the door. Nothing packed, no mess from a fight. It was as if she’d vanished on the wind, but Eris knew she wouldn’t have left without a weapon, supplies. She was too clever for that.
My family are the only ones permitted within the wards.
* * * * *
Danae regretted complaining about the cabin. Her dungeon cell was infinitely worse.
At least in the cabin, she’d had a bed, a window, a lock she could use to keep him out. Mostly. Now she had…a wall. And a floor. The bucket, of course. And occasionally a few skittering creatures Danae was glad she couldn’t see.
She let out a shaky, bitter laugh, the sound swallowed by the thick stone walls. The whole room smelled of mildew and stale air, and the floor was so cold it might as well have been carved from ice. Every inch of her body ached, and she had no weapons, no plan, and no hope of getting out.
Danae ruthlessly rubbed the moisture from her eyes, blinking at the impenetrable dark. At least the chains were gone, now that Beron had pinned her to a heavy wooden frame like an insect on display. Her wings twitched, sending pain jolting all the way to her fingers and toes. Every time she dozed off, her body weight threatened to tear the delicate membrane entirely. Danae couldn’t remember what sleep felt like.
How was there any escape from this but death?
She imagined how she’d do it. Perhaps baiting Beron until he beat her beyond unconsciousness. Or she could merely starve herself. But a part of her rebelled at the idea of it, unable to fathom giving up so easily. She wanted to laugh again, as if any of her treatment had been easy.
Had it been hours since she’d first woken in her cell? Or days? It felt like a millennia. Perhaps she would keep track of the time by the drip, drip, drip of her blood on the stones.
Delusions spun from her fatigued mind, images from fairytales blurring with reality. She remembered the stories her mother used to tell her, always with a happily ever after. Somehow she didn’t think that Autumn’s High Lord intended to give her one. She pictured a monster swallowing her whole. Beron’s flame turning her to ash. A prince in shining armor, riding in on his white horse. Eris—
No.
She scoffed at her own foolish hope. Eris would not be coming to her rescue. He said it himself, her usefulness had come to an end. He didn’t care what happened to her. When he returned to the cabin, he’d likely be relieved, glad to have her off his hands.
But Danae couldn’t shake the memory of their first meeting. Of the male who’d nodded, reassuring her that the High Lord would help her. Admittedly, it had been a small, almost unnoticeable nod. And she was sure he’d deny it. But Eris had cared for her safety, even when she meant nothing to him. Even when she wasn’t useful to him.
And maybe he cared for her safety now. The male that sent books with her meals. The one that painstakingly taught her chess, and who had nightmares like hers. The male she’d never seen as a villain, no matter how many times he tried convincing her otherwise. The only villains she knew were High Lords.
So when the door opened again, she cradled that flickering thought like a lifeline. The thought that maybe, maybe, Eris would come for her. And if that was just another fantasy, then she prayed to the Mother for death to come next.
* * * * *
The Forest House was quieter than a tomb when Eris returned. No courtiers, no advisors, not even the usual number of guards. Eris checked his daggers in their hidden sheaths, reassured when he brushed his fingers over the Night Court’s gifted blade.
As he ventured deeper through the winding halls, he finally found signs of life. The guards outside the throne room stood to attention. One of them cleared his throat, “The High Lord requests your presence inside.”
Eris didn’t deign to respond, striding through the open doors to face his family.
His brothers stood at the base of the dais, Loren wearing a smug expression despite the bandages around his throat. Dion seemed more interested in the layout of the guards than anything else, but Castor had the look of a child about to tear into wrapped presents. His skin prickled with awareness. Beside the steps, his mother sat serenely, but Eris didn’t miss the way her knuckles whitened when he walked in.
Beron sat atop his golden throne, mouth tight with displeasure. “It seems you’ve been keeping secrets,” he said, waiting until Eris came to a halt before his brothers.
And so his trial began.
“Father?”
“I found something of yours in the mountains,” Beron sneered. He gestured to the guards at a side entrance, and suddenly Danae was being hauled into the room, chained hand and foot. Eris gave her a perfunctory glance, not lingering on the bruises, the bloodstains.
“Ah, my gambit against Rhysand.” Eris remembered how to form a smug smile, how to laugh the right way to avoid suspicion. It felt like a stranger was occupying his body.
“Explain.”
“I found the creature wandering the Middle. Of course I recognized it as Night Court filth. I’ve been interrogating it at Evander’s old cabin, under the guise of a savior,” Eris pasted on a grin. “The rumors are true—it was too stupid to realize my true intentions.”
“Why the secrecy?” Beron’s eyes gleamed with challenge. “Do you overstep?”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you by bringing it prematurely,” Eris bowed, bending down a few inches. “I preferred to come to you later with more…actionable intelligence.”
Beron’s smile turned slick. “You should have brought it to the Forest House. Surely you know the efficacy of my methods? Or are you in need of a reminder?”
Eris tensed, thinking his father meant to punish him in the middle of the hall, but no guards moved towards him. Instead, they grabbed Danae, hauling her to the open space before the throne. One of them kicked her down, forcing her to her knees in front of Beron. They left her there, the very picture of beaten submission, a spectacle atop the dais.
Her wings dripped blood from countless wounds, drenching her back in crimson. Ash spikes emerged from the delicate membrane in a mockery of feathers. Eris felt flames licking the back of his throat, or maybe it was bile.
“I’ve worked on it for two days, but have not gleaned anything of note,” Beron said, but his stony gaze was fixed on Eris. “Thus far, I’ve heard of lesser faerie traditions and some drivel about archery and fishing techniques. I would be curious to know if you received more worthwhile intelligence, or if the creature is too civilian to be of use.”
Eris forced his mouth to move. “I’ve gleaned some information about the growing strife between Rhysand and his lesser fae. Unhappy with his rule, it would seem.”
Beron leaned forward slightly. “An opportunity?”
Eris smirked, “If we play it right.”
“Not so disappointing after all, my son.” Beron’s voice slithered through the room. “I heard that Tamlin’s father once kept Illyrian wings as a trophy. Perhaps that can be my gift to you, Eris.”
“Just kill me already, you prick,” Danae rasped.
“A mercy I don’t believe you have earned,” Beron said, flicking a bit of flame in her direction. The fire touched upon those ash spikes in her wings, setting them alight like dozens of candles. The act wrenched a scream from Danae’s lips, primal and world-shattering. Eris could have sworn he felt it, too, a blistering heat up and down his back.
The nightmare went on for an eternity before Beron extinguished the flames. Danae fell forward, shuddering and smoking lightly.
“There will be no more interruptions,” Beron announced, eyes narrowed on the Illyrian at his feet. “Or I will see if your precious wings can melt.”
Danae snarled, her eyes flashing gold, but she couldn’t disguise the tears that began a slow crawl down her cheeks.
“A worthwhile experiment, in case we ever need to eliminate the Night Court’s aerial legions,” Dion considered.
“So you’re a strategist now?” Castor sneered.
Loren snickered, “Better than you are, at any rate.”
Eris let his family’s taunting fade, ignored the crushing pressure from that bond in his chest, and forced himself to calculate the odds.
The options unfurled before him, splaying their bloody fingers for his perusal. He could let her die, let his father torture her until her body gave out. He could stand there and watch it happen, keep his secrets, and live to implement his plans another day. Or he could send a message to the Night Court on the slim chance that Rhysand actually followed through on his promise. But then he would have to deal with the fallout of accepting help. He would doubtless face questions about Danae, and Eris had no interest in revealing his connection to her.
Or he could take up arms against his father.
With every blink, his mind supplied images of his mother’s corpse, Danae’s, and his own. He wanted to laugh. Everything he’d planned, all the careful plotting, and it all came down to this desperate choice: which way did he wish to die, and how many did he want to join him?
His own words taunted him. I needed to survive. At any cost, even her. But this was not Morrigan in the woods as a result of her own choices. His breath shuddered, awareness making his skin feel too tight. This was his mate. His mate.
His heart thumped heavily, out of sync. Unbidden, his eyes drifted back to her. Blood spattered, teeth bared. Vicious, defiant, his. And how could he deny that she was his match in every way? When just the sight of her, unwilling to submit even after Beron’s brutal treatment, had Eris ready to do the unthinkable?
Hundreds of years of scheming, backstabbing, lying and not-lying, and somehow it had all come to this.
“Are we finishing the interrogation now, then?” He interrupted the ongoing argument, shrugging off Castor’s poisonous stare. Eris made a show of inspecting his brothers, allowing them to see his distaste. “Because I have no interest in sharing my hard work.”
Beron watched him steadily. Eris resisted the urge to hold his breath. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the High Lord waved a hand in dismissal. “Out, all of you. Perhaps you can take the opportunity to find your own informants, instead of spending all your time tracking your brother.”
Castor pinned Eris with a glare before stalking out of the room. Loren merely grinned, pulling a wineskin from his jacket and offering it to Dion. The doors closed behind them with a sound of finality.
Eris’ mother stood slowly, inclining her head in question. Beron hardly spared her a glance. “No, you stay.”
She looked back at Eris before taking her seat once more. Her russet eyes deepened with whatever she saw in his face.
“Well? You have your privacy, I hope you know how to use it.” Beron tapped the arm of his throne impatiently.
“The guards, too,” Eris said. He gestured for them to leave, but they merely watched their High Lord, awaiting a confirmation that did not come.
Beron narrowed his eyes, dropping his chin to inspect his oldest son more carefully. “The creature has delivered no news so important that it could only be heard by the three of us. What are you up to?”
“I wouldn’t expect those without the stomach for Night Court secrets to understand, nor the restraint to keep it to themselves,” Eris scoffed lightly, eyeing the guards. “But if you’d prefer an audience...”
The hall fell still and silent, waiting for the High Lord’s verdict. Eris’ lips twitched when Beron finally growled, “Out.” When the last guard left the room, Beron pushed to his feet, descending the steps with deadly intent. “I expect quite the show after all these dramatics, boy.” When he stepped over Danae, she flinched, muscles twitching minutely. Eris felt his fingertips heat.
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Eris said smoothly, dousing the heat rising in him. “After all, I’ve learned precisely which buttons to press in the Night Court to give Rhysand an internal war. I don’t trust anyone in the Forest House with information as valuable as that.”
Beron paused on the penultimate step, turning back to inspect Danae, still on her knees before the throne. She glared back at him despite her trembling wings.
When Beron twisted back around, he came face to face with one of Eris’ blades.
Eris held his father’s gaze, his voice almost casual. “But it seems to me, Father, that if there’s one person in need of interrogation—it’s you.” He tilted the dagger a fraction, grazing the skin at Beron’s neck. “What have you been up to? Aside from murdering members of our court and abusing our family.”
Beron’s mouth curved into an incredulous smile, unfazed by the knife at his throat. “You can’t truly believe this will go in your favor, can you?” His eyes glittered with dark amusement. “Out of all the ways to die, Eris, you chose this? If you were planning a rebellion, you’ve done a poor job.”
“No rebellion,” Eris replied. He lowered his blade, taking a calculated step back to give Beron room. “A duel, as is tradition. Unless you’re unwilling to fight without Briallyn at your side.”
Beron’s eyes darkened with fury as he descended the final step, already braced to strike. “You expect me to cower from you? From a mere shadow of my power?” he sneered.
Eris laughed coolly, spinning his blade in a fluid motion, the challenge unmistakable. “Perhaps you have a new ally to clean up your messes now. Care to share, father?”
“You may be my son, but I will not entertain your games,” Beron said. “Keep talking, and I’ll remove that tongue of yours myself.”
“That’s not a denial,” Eris noted, stomach sinking. While not a direct confirmation, it was enough to support what he’d been reading between the lines of his reports—Beron had allied with Koschei. There was no telling what benefits the High Lord received from a death god, even from across an ocean.
Beron struck without warning, backhanding Eris with enough force to send him a step back. “I see you’ve forgotten your place,” Beron said icily. “I am your High Lord, and you would do well to remember that. Disrespect me again, and you’ll lose something more valuable than your life.”
For once, Eris’ eyes flicked not to his mother, but to the Illyrian watching the display with wide eyes. He dragged his gaze away, but not fast enough. Beron’s lips curled into something that could almost be called a smile.
Flames appeared around Danae’s throat, a vise that tightened when Eris instinctively lunged forward. Beron began to laugh, harsh and grating. “One son consorting with lesser fae was bad enough, but now two? I suppose I’m meant to believe my sons have become fond of filth.” The High Lord twisted his fist, and Danae cried out in response, fingers scrabbling at her throat despite the heat that blistered her skin. Eris had to fight to keep his body in check, to keep from throwing himself onto the blade that appeared in Beron’s other hand. There was a roaring in his ears, something vital pulling tight inside him. He clamped down on the beast clawing through his chest. He needed to keep his mind clear, focused.
“I challenge you,” Eris grated out. “With the Lady of the Autumn Court as my witness, I challenge you for the right to rule.”
Beron’s eyes gleamed with amusement, “A duel to the death, is it? And you think it will end with anything but your pitiful carcass at my feet?”
“Yes,” Eris said, unblinking. “I hope it ends with yours.” And before his father could call for spectators or guards, he struck. He slashed forward with his knife, sending a wave of flame along the floor at the same time. Beron extinguished the flames with a single breath, meeting Eris’ knife with his longer sword.
Eris winnowed as soon as his father leaned into the crossed blades, letting Beron stumble at the sudden lack of pressure. But Eris was already at his back, Made blade angling low while his other knife slashed through Beron’s jacket sleeve. When Beron spun, the magical dagger sank deep into his abdomen. The skin blackened as Eris pulled the blade away.
“It seems you have help of your own,” Beron spat, watching the icy gleam of the blade.
“It’s no death god, but it serves its purpose,” Eris said, circling his father. He had a healthy respect for the reach of that sword, armed with nothing more than his daggers. The consequence of an unexpected challenge—you could only use what was on your person. He also knew his father’s skill, backed by many centuries of swordplay. Just because Beron preferred not to get his hands dirty in public did not mean he lacked the ability.
Eris danced out of the way of Beron’s swings, but after a few minutes, his clothes were more crimson than cream. He breathed heavily, palms slick with blood. The more painful slices were edged with burns where Eris had failed to block the flaming blade.
He spotted an opening, darting in with the Made blade, only to watch Beron winnow out of reach, the first time he’d done so. Eris blinked. He wondered what damage the blade had inflicted before. Wondering might just save his life.
Eris edged forward, feinting left before flinging his spare dagger at Beron’s side. His father twisted, flinching away. But when Eris darted in to take advantage, Beron brought his sword down. The crack of his collarbone echoed through the empty hall. Eris watched the icy blade drop from his limp hand and skitter across the floor.
“You thought you had the power to defeat me? I didn’t realize I’d raised such a fool,” Beron’s voice was a low growl, undisturbed by the toll of the fight. “For all your scheming, you never learned your own limits.”
Eris didn’t respond to the taunt. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his focus narrowed on Beron’s every move, waiting for the next attack.
Flames roared towards him, and Eris fought them back down, teeth gritted against the sheer force. And he knew that Beron would outlast him.
“Is that why you contacted Koschei? Because you haven’t lived up to your potential?” Eris laughed hoarsely. “Hundreds of years and still being bested by Rhysand at every turn. It must grate to know that he’s more powerful than you ever will be.”
Beron snarled, slashing forward. Eris dodged, but only barely. “I will get my power back, no matter the cost. If that means doing what Hybern failed to do, so be it.”
“Ruling all the courts, father? Ambitious,” Eris said, brows raised. “How well do you think that will go over in the next High Lord meeting?”
“Enough of this,” Beron said sharply. He slowly backed Eris across the room, slicing with that damned sword at every opportunity.
Eris didn’t dare look away. He needed to keep Beron’s attention. “Tell me one thing,” he panted, abandoning subtlety. “What did you give Koschei? What does he gain?”
“You’re not in a place to make demands,” Beron growled, knocking Eris’ dagger aside with ease. “You’re nothing. A disappointment. You’re weak, and you always have been—”
Beron choked, the words cutting off as a glowing blade emerged from his throat. The blood that dribbled between his lips hissed when it hit the flagstones. Beron fell to his knees, his eyes still burning with hate.
“No, father,” Eris said quietly, his voice cold. “I’ve just been waiting.”
Finally, he raised his head to see his mother extending the Made blade to him, hilt first. Her hands were painted crimson. “Take it,” she whispered, waving a hand and vanishing the evidence on her.
He wrapped numb fingers around the dagger, listening to the wet and rasping breaths beneath him slow to a halt. He looked over his mother’s shoulder, catching the myriad of emotions on Danae’s face. But before he could do much more than inhale, he felt it. Magic.
The power hit him like a battering ram, sucking the air from his lungs and leaving him flat on his back. He groaned, feeling every vein, every nerve in his body alight with the fire that had blessed the High Lords of Autumn for generations.
SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.
PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader
WORD COUNT: 8k
SERIES MASTERLIST
WARNINGS: language, graphic violence
If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that healing is not a linear process. Rather, it’s a winding, uncharted path, full of twisting overgrowths and thorny setbacks. And just when you caught glimpse of bright, shining light filtering through the trees ahead, the tattered bond buried deep in your chest plucked you from your path of progress and dropped you right back where you started: in the thicket of heartbreak.
But this time, it feels different. It’s not physical pain that consumes you, that crawls underneath your skin and burns you from the inside out. Rather, it’s an overwhelming sense of numbness. For this time, there’s a shattering finality to it all.
It’s that numbness that grants you the ability to get dressed this morning. Each movement is mechanical as you reach for clothes that feel foreign against your skin and slip into your role once more. It’s a façade you know all too well: the resilient, erudite female who hides the trembling little girl within. You clutch the silk fabric of your dress in your fists as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you almost believe the image staring back at you. But inside…Well, inside. That’s the question, isn’t it?
As you walk through the River House, you let the numbness guide you: steady, unrelenting. You’re not naïve—you know this is the eye of the storm. You know that the pelting rain and howling winds are coming. But at least for now, you’ll take shelter within the boarded-up windows of your feeble heart. So, with a steady hand and a fog in your mind, you push open the dining room door to your awaiting court.
The quiet chatter comes to an abrupt halt as a cohort of curious eyes turn towards you. The rapid thumping of your heart is distant in your ears as you move into the room. Rhys opens his mouth to speak but pauses as he drinks in your detached nature.
“It’s done.”
The words pass through your lips, but don’t quite reach your ears.
A palpable tension fills the room. The burning gazes of your friends prickles your skin, but you shrink further into the haze of your mind.
“I delivered what you asked. It’s done,” you repeat in that same cool, unrecognizable tone.
The High Lord’s mouth opens and shuts again. You feel like a pariah in this room, but by the grace of the eye of the storm, you are shielded from their unintentional ostracism. Finally, Rhys nods sharply.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
The silence that follows is deafening, filled only by the shuffling of Cassian and Azriel’s chairs. Feyre’s concern radiates like a beacon, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction for fear of crumbling. Amren’s silver eyes narrow, but she holds her sharp tongue in check, for once.
Rhys reluctantly tears his gaze away from you and sweeps over the room. “Well, we should get moving, then. Time is of the essence.”
The two Illyrians scramble from their seats, and if the circumstances were different, you would laugh at their thinly veiled discomfort. Amren rolls her eyes and swiftly exits the room. You follow closely behind, effectively avoiding any further probing from your High Lord or Lady. The lush marble walls and expansive windows seem duller than usual as your body moves on autopilot down the hallway. Amren pushes the doors of the grand meeting hall open, and your heart skips a beat. Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down. Just like you’d practiced through your sleepless night. Like clockwork.
The scuffing of boots against marble sounds muffled as you follow Amren and take a seat at her left. Rhys and Feyre take their spots at Amren’s right, with Azriel and Cassian on their opposite side. The Inner Circle of the Night Court forms an unbreakable wall of power and unity at the head of the table—an unspoken display of the strength of your court.
You take one last steadying breath—chin up, eyes forward, shoulders down—before the High Lords filter through the doors one by one, each cloaked in their own unique brand of arrogance and power.
Tarquin is the first to arrive. He greets your court with a sharp nod, his turquoise eyes piercing as always. Helion follows closely behind, a lazy smirk dancing upon his plush lips. With each High Lord that arrives, breathing becomes a little bit easier, and the muscles straining to maintain your posture relax. This is fine. Kallias and Thesan are next to enter, each male followed by their own small entourages. You’re okay.
That is, until Beron Vanserra’s glowering presence fills the doorway. The all too familiar sinking feeling returns as he strides in with his usual, ugly sneer. His cold eyes sweep the room before landing on you, a malicious grin curling at the corners of his mouth. Beside him, Bastion leers openly, his russet eyes glinting with that same viciousness he had cornered you with at the ball the night before. Two other Vanserra brothers with flaming red hair follow, and the door shuts swiftly behind them. The Night Court straightens in their seats as they all come to the same conclusion. Eris isn’t here. You clench your jaw so tightly you think your teeth may splinter. Why isn’t he here? Was last night truly the end of—
Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down.
The metaphorical storm above you looms closer, but you hold steadfast to your mantra to keep it at bay.
“Such a fine day for politics, don’t you think?” Beron’s voice slithers through the room. He glances at Rhys, then at you, the sneer deepening. “Unfortunately, Eris couldn’t make it. He sends his regards.”
Something cold breezes over you, enveloping every inch of your exposed skin like a gust of wind. Your eyes flicker towards the stained-glass windows, but they are sealed tight. Your heart stutters painfully against your ribs, but you don’t so much as flinch. Instead, you sink into the numbness and meet Beron’s menacing gaze with your own.
“And what of Spring?” Helion asks.
You don’t need to look over to your right to see Feyre stiffen in her seat.
“Probably wallowing in his own self-pity like the beast he is,” Amren snaps in her typical, callous fashion.
Tamlin’s absence is damning—a testament to how far he has truly fallen since the war and Feyre’s…abruptdeparture. For a moment, no one dares to speak. But never one for pleasantries, Beron has no trouble interjecting.
“Why bother with a treaty if one of us is too busy licking his wounds to show up?”
“Tamlin’s absence is unfortunate,” Rhys replies in his ever-diplomatic manner, “But we are more than capable of negotiating terms that will benefit all of Prythian.”
Helion tilts his head, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Are we to assume Spring is no longer a player in these discussions, then? And if so, what will become of the court?”
“Tamlin received word of this summit, just as you all did. His decision not to attend certainly warrants discussion,” Rhys says, “but what we need right now is unity—and that’s what this treaty is about.”
Helion’s finger-tapping halts, and he leans forward in his seat. “Unity, Rhysand, sounds nice in theory. But let us not forget that Tamlin isn’t the only one who may find this arrangement…unpalatable.”
You involuntarily bristle as Beron’s grating voice cuts in once again. “Curious, isn’t it, how you sidestep the topic, Rhysand—especially when it is your High Lady who brought Spring to ruin.”
“We’ve gathered here to discuss the terms of a peace treaty between our courts, not to taunt one another,” Feyre snaps. Despite the scowl on Beron’s face, her firm tone holds an unwavering authority. “The unrest in human and Fae land alike grows with each passing day. We cannot afford for instability to spread.”
Tarquin nods thoughtfully. “A treaty won’t fix everything, but it’s a step in the right direction. Without it, the mortal realm may turn their sights on us.”
“Stability is key,” Thesan muses in agreement.
“A leash, more like it,” Beron snorts, “Let’s not waste time pretending this is some noble pursuit for the good of all. We all know this treaty is about self-preservation. And I, for one, don’t plan on sacrificing my court’s interests for some grand, childlike ideal.”
A low growl escapes Azriel, but a pointed look from Rhys silences him. “Perhaps you’re confusing peace with submission, Beron,” Feyre quips. “No one here is suggesting we sacrifice our ideals. This is about securing Prythian’s future, and preventing future war should conflict arise again.”
Kallias clears his throat, and you all but shiver as you glance into the icy blue of his piercing eyes. “I agree, but we must ensure that this treaty is more than mere words on paper. It must be enforceable, with clear consequences for any court that violates its terms.”
“Consequences?” Beron’s eyes glint with malice, “And are we prepared to go to war with each other if someone steps out of line?”
The almost gleeful lilt in the Autumn Court High Lord’s tone, combined with Bastion’s nasty smirk, is your last straw. Chin up. Eyes forward—Fuck it, composure be damned.
“That’s the point of the treaty,” you snap. All eyes turn towards you. But despite the scrutiny, you keep your voice steady. “It’s meant to prevent war, not incite it. If we establish boundaries and enforce them through collective action, it only strengthens all of our courts.”
Beron scans you from head to toe with an unsettling intrigue. “And what would you know of war, Scholar? Books and treaties may look neat and tidy on parchment, but the real world is far messier.”
The predatory glint in his eyes is all too familiar. But you’ve faced the fox. And while it may have been a losing battle, you survived. “Books teach us history, Beron. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that unchecked power leads to destruction. This treaty isn’t merely about peace—it’s about survival.”
The room falls silent for a moment.
“Spoken like a true bookworm,” Cassian murmurs with a small grin.
A ghost of a smile threatens to tug at your lips, but the pride exuding from your friends barely breaches the barrier of indifference you wear like armor.
Beron chuckles, the sound dark and mocking, and you can feel Bastion’s eyes on you—watching, waiting. The way they look at you feels…wrong. Like they know something you don’t. Like they’ve discovered a secret that should shatter your world.
“If there are no further objections,” Rhys begins speaking again, steering the conversation towards negotiations.
But your mind drifts as Beron’s cold gaze lingers on you. You know that Eris’s plans against his father are dangerous. But now…now you realize who deep that danger really goes. And with the way Beron studies you like a book he’s read a hundred times before, you realize that the threat may not just be to Eris. Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from the eldest High Lord and resign yourself to studying the mahogany wood before you.
As negotiations continue, you trace each crack, each imperfection, over and over. As if doing so will keep the storm at bay. You sit still as a statue, even as the High Lords take a brief recess. You find yourself so enamored by the wood before you that you barely register Bastion approach in the now empty room.
A shiver crawls up your spine as he dips down. “You’re quite the mystery, aren’t you?” he whispers, close enough that his breath fans over the bare skin of your neck. “I wonder how long it will be before you’re fully unraveled.”
You swallow hard, clenching the fabric of your dress between your fists. For the first time in hours, you tear your eyes away from the table. You meet Bastion’s gaze with a steely calm.
“I’ve never been privy to riddles. If you have a point to make, don’t dance around it.”
He chuckles, and you clench your jaw tightly to combat your unease.
“In due time, Avicula.”
No.
The blood drains from your face as your heart simply stops beating. You instinctively reach for the dinner knife on the table before you, but his cold, bony hand wraps around your wrist in a vice-like grip. You jerk back in your chair, but he pulls you flush against him, wood scraping against marbled floor.
“Simmer down, Scholar,” Bastion coos.
“What do you want?” Malice drips from your tone, but you can’t hide the tremor.
He chuckles and leans down even further, close enough that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Fame, glory, all the works. But for starters, your full cooperation will do.”
His lips press against your skin in a taunting kiss, and you all but retch at the feeling. “And if I don’t?” you grit out.
“Then Eris will be dead before the next High Lord steps foot in this room.”
Your heart thunders so violently, you can feel it in your bones.
“You’re bluffing,” you whisper.
“Care to test that theory?”
His ironclad grip tightens, and you release the knife with a wince. The clanging of the metal permeates the room. You watch with bated breath as he picks up the utensil with a hum, admiring the way the silver reflects the sunlight seeping through the windows.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he flips the knife around in his hand, so it points towards you. “You’re going to smile, sit still, and pretend this conversation never happened.” He traces the serrated edge along your lips. “After this meeting, you’ll go home and read your little books. Perhaps brush up on your writing—it’s a bit superfluous for my taste.” The metal presses against your mouth, just gentle enough not to break skin. “You’re going to keep that clever mouth of yours shut. If you so much as look at your friends with those pitiful eyes, I’ll cut that sharp tongue right out of your mouth. And if you even think about using the pesky little bond of yours to communicate with your High Lord, I’ll have Eris’s bloodied body delivered to your doorstep—after I have my fun with him, of course. Are we clear?”
Your vision blurs—whether from unshed tears or paralyzing fear, you’re not sure. Your fingers tremble as you dangle tediously from your poorly constructed composure. Still, you suck in a deep, steadying breath. As you exhale a barren smile stretches across the plain of your face. “Enjoy the game while you can,” you say, “Because when it’s my turn to play, you’ll be begging me to put an end to your miserable existence.”
He releases the knife with a chuckle and shifts it back into place, erasing any evidence of your encounter. “You’ll do well to remember that some cages aren’t meant to be broken. Especially not for little birds who fly too close to the flame.” He shoves your chair back towards the table, jolting your trembling body. “Enjoy your evening, Scholar. I have a feeling it will be your last in this court.”
The chatter of the High Lords re-entering the room is nothing more than a distant buzz in your ears. You squint your eyes shut and dig your nails into the arms of the wooden chair, shutting everything out, until all that remains is the tattered bond in your chest. You reach for it, wrap your shaking hands around the frayed edges, and yank hard. It reverberates in the chasm of your chest. You wait, pleading for something sort of sign, some indication that he’s still there. But all that remains is the debris of your shattered heart.
You inhale deeply, breathing in the weight of it all. And as you exhale, your eyes flick open. You stare straight into Beron’s knowing gaze with a vitriol which rivals his own. Your lips curl into a hateful grin. Not a flicker of fear, not a glimmer of defeat. Only the white-knuckled grip around the arms of your chair betrays the turmoil within.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The moment the doors of the meeting room close behind you, the storm comes crashing down. The blistering wind chills your bones, the free-falling water fills your lungs—but you can’t afford to drown. Not when your life is undoubtably on the line. Not when his life is on the line. And you need to find him before it’s too late.
Aimlessly searching for him will be useless. If Eris doesn’t want to be found, or if Beron has him locked away, no amount of wandering the streets of Velaris will bring him to you. The Vanserras are a clever breed—but so are you.
You slip into the shadows to avoid detection as you winnow to the flat-topped mountain on the northern side of Velaris. You waste no time making a beeline for the library. For the first time in your life, the familiar smell of almond and parchment brings no comfort, because all you can think, feel, smell, is the rage coursing through your veins. Clotho isn’t in her usual spot near the entrance. You know you should wait, but you make the hasty decision to slip through anyways. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.
You all but run down the winding stairs, descending one, two, three floors. A negative energy swirls around you—it’s clear the priestesses are none too pleased by your intrusion. Still, you beat on. You run your fingers along the spines of the old tomes lining the shelves, brushing away dust and time until your hand stills on a thin, leather-bound book. The cover is blemished, the metallic lettering faded to near obscurity, but it hums beneath your fingertips, pulsing with latent power. You yank it free and rifle through the pages, until you land on a section you remember from stories your mother used to whisper late into the night.
Location Spells.
As your eyes dart across the page, your throat tightens. You remember these spells from your mother. Much to your dismay, her retellings were right. They all require one thing: a personal token belonging to the person you seek. And you have nothing of Eris’s. No lock of hair, no trinket. But…you have him. Or, at least, the unyielding tether buried deep in your chest, even if stretched thin by time and heartbreak. Your mind spins as you skim the text again.
“A drop of the caster’s blood may work if they share a strong enough connection. For example, prior work has highlighted the success of blood of kin.”
Or, the blood of a mating bond.
It might not be perfect, but with no other option, it has to work.
You grab a map of Prythian from a nearby shelf of atlases and spread it across a table. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you retrieve a dagger from the folds of your dress and prick the tip of your finger. A single drop of blood wells up, glowing faintly in the dim light of lanterns. You glance down at the open book, and scan over the spell. It’s written in an ancient language—one you’re not well-acquainted with. Your furrow your brows in concentration as you sound out each syllable, your voice a plea more than an incantation. Finally, you whisper, “Find him.”
You press your bleeding finger to the map, smearing scarlet across the parchment. Magic surges through you: a swirl of golden tendrils extending across the land, searching very crack, corner, and crevice. For a moment, hope blossoms. You can feel the bond in your chest stir, faint but real, as if whispering to someone far away.
Just as suddenly as hope came, it fades.
The tendrils of light dull before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing more than a smear of red in the shape of a thumbprint. He must be warded too heavily for the spell to penetrate—as if he doesn’t exist at all.
The winds of anguish sweep you into their clutches as an earth-shattering cry claws at your throat. The weight of everything hits you all at once, and you sink to your knees. The air around you seems to thin. You gasp through the sobs wracking your body—but each mouthful burns. You tangle your shaky hands in your hair, pulling harshly at the roots in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But to no avail.
A low ringing fills your ears, building in intensity to a deafening hum. The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing against your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out. Your hands slip from your hair and wrap around your throat, desperate to pull in just one clean breath—but the air is clinging like smoke.
Your mouth moves, but you’re not sure if the words come out. “Get it together. You’re supposed to save him.”
You try to count your breaths—in, out—but each attempt only narrows your vision to pinpricks. The panic swells and the world spins, tilting on its axis. And then…it stops.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Hours later, you’re shaken awake by the very same panic that pulled you under. But this time, it isn’t your own. Your head pounds from your earlier sobbing, your lashes sagging from the weight of your dried tears. Yet, you’re more alert than you’ve ever been before.
The bond thrums in your chest, pain radiating through the connection. You scramble from the dusty floor with a dizzying urgency. There’s no time to think, no time to question. You don’t so much as glance at the map on the table as you run towards the winding staircase. You’re not sure where you’re going. Only that Eris is there. You follow your instinct blindly, throwing open the door to the library. You beat on into the cold, but before you winnow, the small, rationale part of your mind calls out to your High Lord.
Rhys. His name is a scream in your mind. Eris is in trouble. I have to go now.
Rhys’s response is immediate, albeit groggy: What—
No time.
The world is already twisting and folding around you. When you land, the air is thick with shadows.
The scent of stone and mold hits you first—the unmistakable marker of the Court of Nightmares. You stagger, breath catching in your throat. No. No, this can’t be right. But the bond pulls with conviction in your chest, dragging you deeper into the dark halls.
You know this is a terrible idea. Actually, terrible is generous. This might rival Tamlin and Lucien’s selling out of the Archeron sisters to the King of Hybern in the competition of bad ideas. But as witless as it may be, it’s right.
You move without a second thought. Every passing shadow seems to follow you, but you don’t care. The only thing you can focus on is the bond. As the weight of each step grows, you can feel his pain more acutely. He’s close.
Your pulse roars in your eyes as you come to a halt in front of a rusted, iron door. Your hands find the handles, and you pull with the full weight of your body. It opens with a low groan, and you step inside.
The chamber is dark, lit only by the faint glow of sconces lining the walls. The smell of stone and mold is even more penetrating here. But something else mingles with it. The sour scent of rust is abrasive, curling at your nostrils.
You squint your eyes into the darkness, and you stumble back in shock.
Eris is there, slumped to his knees in the center of the room. The ropes biting into his wrists almost sparkle underneath the light of the flames. Faebane. Crimson hair clings to his sweat-slicked forehead, his bare chest a littered mess of blood and bruises. Agony twists his features—until his gaze flicks to you.
“No—,” he gasps.
You lunge forward, but you yelp as something holds you back—rather, someone. An ironclad grip wraps around your wrists, holding you against a broad chest. Something sharp presses against your throat—a knife, you surmise, from the glint of silver in your peripheral.
“You’re arrived just in time for the reunion.”
The voice is venomous, unfamiliar. Yet, it holds a striking intimacy, almost as if—
Your eyes widen in realization.
No.
“I have waited a very long time to meet my daughter,” Keir continues with a sadistic smile, “It’s a shame Marjorie kept you hidden from me all these years. Even more of a pity that she’s not here to stop me now.”
Your blood runs cold as your mother’s name rolls off his tongue. You thrash violently in his hold, but to no avail. You try to steel your features into indifference, but the panicked look in Eris’s eyes makes it an impossible feat. The dull edge of the knife presses hard underneath your chin, forcing your head back.
Hell freezes over as you peer through the looking glass.
His eyes are yours. The divot of his chin, the bridge of his nose, it’s all yours—or, you suppose, yours are his. But even more potent than your resemblance is the incongruence. For while your dark eyes are marked by curiosity, his are flooded with malice.
Your lip curls back in a snarl, and with all the loving memory of your mother you can harness, you spit. The fat glob of saliva lands right between his eyes.
“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” you snarl.
The initial shock on his features warps into something far more sinister as he twists your bound hands behind you. You grit your teeth against the pain, showing nothing more than a wince as you feel the joint in your right shoulder shift.
“You’ve got my bite, little girl, I’ll give you that. But you’re a bitch just like her.”
You snap your teeth at him, but he twists your arms even further. This time, you can’t contain the cry that bubbles in your throat.
“Did she ever tell you about how we met?” he forces your head forward. Fear still fills Eris’s eyes, but this time it’s met with ire. Keir dips down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, “Did she ever tell you about how I took her? How I delighted in ruining her? How I—”
Anger blinds you, and for just a moment, all you see is red.
A barbaric scream rips through you and you crouch down to loosen Keir’s grip—a trick Cassian had once taught you. Before he can regain leverage, you swing your leg behind you with as much force as you can muster, hitting him right between his legs. Keir stumbles back with a groan. But before he can find his footing, you spin around and punch him hard—so hard, you can feel the sickening crunch of bone underneath your knuckles. Still, one hit isn’t enough to erase the lifetime of agony he had imposed upon your mother. So, you hit him again. And again. Until he’s sprawled across the floor. And when he’s down, you sink your foot into his beaten body. Over and over. Until—
“Y/N!”
You gasp for air as Eris’s strained cry pulls you from the brink of oblivion. It’s his voice that grounds you, that sharpens your vision to take in the scene before you. Keir is far past consciousness, his face a bloodied mess and his body a tangle of useless limbs. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicate that he is still, unfortunately, alive—although, with the damage you’ve inflicted, he’ll surely wish he was dead when he wakes. With trembling hands, you wipe the hands stained with your father’s blood over your dress.
“Y/N.”
The strain in Eris’s voice pulls you from Keir’s mangled body. Your eyes are wild as they meet his. You stumble forward, heart beating in time with the heavy thrumming of the bond pulling you towards him. He shakes his head frantically, panic festering on his features.
“You need to get out of here.” You ignore his desperate plea and continue surging forward. “Please, Little Bird,” his voice cracks, “Run.”
Tears spring to your eyes, and the pull of the bond only intensifies. But just as you reach him, just as your bloodied fingers graze the iron chains around his wrists, a gust of wildfire sends you flying backwards.
Pain splinters in the back of your head as you’re thrown against the dungeon wall. Nausea coils inside of you and your vision blurs. Still, you bite back the cry that threatens to escape.
“Run!” Eris’s shout rings through your ears, muffled by the pounding in your head.
But the responding voice pierces through the veil.
“That’s quite enough from you, son.”
You haul yourself up as quickly as your spinning head will allow. The High Lord of Autumn scans you from head to toe, taking in the blood splatters soaking your dress, the swelling of your knuckles. His lip curls back in disappointment and he clicks his tongue.
“My, what a mess you’ve made, Scholar,” Beron stalks forward, the hem of his dark robes skimming over Keir’s unconscious form. His sneer deepens as he steps into a puddle of blood. He crouches down and swipes his index finger through the blood of your father, admiring how it glistens underneath the sconce light. “Though I suppose family brings out the worst in all of us.”
You avert your gaze to Eris, who stares back in a wide-eyed panic. Go, he mouths. But you’re paralyzed, your feet rooted into the cold, hard ground. You can only muster a small shake of your head. No.
“Let him go, you bastard,” you demand, eyes trained on your mate.
Beron’s chuckle rumbles through the sodden space. “Such filth from such a pretty little mouth,” he muses. “Though I suppose you never had a father figure to teach you manners. So, allow me.”
Before you can so much as blink, Beron is behind you. You stifle a yelp as he kicks the back of your legs, forcing you onto your knees. “Much better,” he circles you. You fight the urge to spit in his face too when he hooks a finger underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Now, why don’t you apologize for your brutishness?”
The cold press of his fingers makes your skin crawl, but you lift your head defiantly. “You want an apology?” you say, voice low but steady. “The only thing I’m sorry for is not drawing more blood from your pathetic lackey.”
The words have barely rolled off your tongue when Beron raises his arm, landing a punishing hit. Your head swings to the side, amplifying the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in the back of your head.
The High Lord turns towards his son and brandishes a whip of fire. White-hot flames crackle through the air, a blaze of light slashing through the dark, and land squarely across Eris’s bleeding chest. A strangled cry tears from his throat, his body convulsing against the restraints. The sound is horrible—one that will haunt you for eternity, should you survive this night. The noise that escapes you mirrors his as you lunge forward. But a wall of flames circles around you, its heat pressing against your skin and binding you in place.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” you cry. But your plea falls on deaf ears. You can only watch, helpless, as Eris’s body shudders with each lash, the light in those beautiful, amber eyes dimming with each strike. Worse, you can feel it—the bond between you unraveling thread by thread.
Through the river of tears clouding your vision, something mingles with the flames in your peripheral: Keir’s twitching body. He groans something unintelligible, his eyes twitching beneath their blood-soaked lids. Suddenly, something in the air shifts—and realization strikes you as the whip in Beron’s hand cracks again.
This isn’t just punishment; it’s retribution. For Eris’s betrayal, yes, but it’s more than that. This is about the Night Court, the treaty currently being drafted in Velaris. This is an act of violence in the face of blossoming peace. And once Beron has finished, once the fight has drained from Eris’s eyes, he’ll leave you here with Keir. He’ll kill two birds with one cruel stone—ensure your misery serves as a constant leash on his son and the Night Court, and prevent any threat to his throne.
“Hubris is deathly, Beron. And you’re a fool if you think beating us into submission or death will keep you on your throne,” you shout despite the sobs wracking your body. “We are more use to you alive than dead.”
“You think your lives mean anything to me?” Beron roars.
He cracks the whip again, and another flash of fire streaks across Eris’s already ravaged body. Eris sways, his knees crumpling underneath him. His eyes are squeezed tight, his lips parted in a silent cry. Your magic surges through you at the sight, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep it contained. You have only one shot here. Once chance to make your move—a move that will determine yours and Eris’s fate for your immortal eternity.
“Take mine instead,” you blurt, heart pounding. “My life for his freedom.”
The words hang in the air, and finally, Beron’s whip falters mid-strike. Panic flares in your chest, but it’s not your own. Beron turns slowly, a glint of interest sparking in his cruel gaze. “Your life,” he repeats, savoring the words, “In exchange for his.”
Chains clatter behind him with a newfound vigor. Eris’s eyes are wide open, a window to his soul: panic, indignation, but above all, betrayal. Worse, you can feel him clinging desperately to his end of the bond, pulling with all of his might. Just as you were in the library. Just as you have been every day since you left Autumn. And it’s in that moment, you realize, that whatever pain you felt clinging desperately to the ghost of him is unsurmountable compared to the bone-shattering agony of his despair seeping through your skin.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Let him go, and my life is yours.”
“Don’t do this,” Eris pleads, “Please, Little Bird.”
Fresh tears cloud your vision, the utterance of that name worse than a physical blow. The flames surrounding you vanish and Beron steps closer. An eerie grin tugs at his lips. “Very well.”
A ripple shudders through the chamber, and Beron casts a glance to where Keir lies motionless on the cold stone. With a bored wave of his hand a shadowy mist rises, curling around your father’s limp body, sending him away like a discarded pawn.
Eris’s protests are drowned out by the sting of the bargain mark. It snakes up the length of your arm, twisting like a vine. You bite back a gasp as the magic sinks into your skin, binding you to your word. Beron takes another step forward, forgoing the whip for the raw magic at his fingertips.
It’s now or never.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight,” you snarl.
Your magic explodes outwards, shadowy tendrils unfurling like a tempest. Darkness spreads, curling around Beron with the grace of an ancient asp. He stumbles, the smirk gone from his face. You use his surprise to your advantage, swiftly flinging a dagger in his direction. It sails through the air with the precision of a hundred-year-old warrior. But before the weapon can land its mark, a wall of flames is erected, snuffing out your shadows and sending the dagger hurdling back in your direction. You duck swiftly, narrowly missing the fatal hit.
“Impressive,” Beron condescends, “Let’s see if your feet are as quick as your wit.”
Faster than you can blink, the flames surrounding Beron coalesce, swirling into the shape of a fiery claw. It surges forward, hurtling towards you at the speed of lightning. You barely have a moment to raise your defenses. Light exudes from your fingertips as you throw your arms out, forming a shield of blinding radiance. The claw collides with your light, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground beneath you. Beron presses relentlessly against your shield, heat searing through the protective barrier. You grit your teeth and root your feet into the ground to counteract the strain in your muscles and the tremor in your bones. But your strength is no match for Beron’s, as the claw keeps inching closer and closer, pushing relentlessly against your flickering shield.
“Submit!” Beron roars with an authority fit for a thousand-year-old tyrant.
The ball of light surrounding you is rapidly caving in. It’s bound to give any second now. With a piercing cry, you thrust your magic forward, and then let go entirely.
You dive to the side, narrowly escaping the talons of Beron’s inferno. As the momentum of his power sends it barreling into the wall behind you, you lunge for your discarded dagger. Your fingers wrap around the hilt, and you slink into the shadows just in time to escape his new weapon of choice: blazing balls of fire.
With your shadows you leap from corner to corner, trying to get close enough to Beron to wield your own weapon while simultaneously avoiding the flames he hurls at you. Eris shouts something, but it’s muffled by the roar of the fire, the pounding in your head. You will yourself to focus only on Beron, building an impenetrable wall in your chest to block out the desperation radiating down the mating bond in your chest.
As you dodge another flame, the world to twists and folds around you. You winnow across the room, right behind Beron. You don’t waste a second thrusting the dagger forward—but before the lethal blade can sink into his flesh, he spins around. The High Lord wraps his hands around your wrists. And as the dagger clatters to the floor, so does your heart plummet.
“Is this what you wanted?” Beron’s voice slithers into your ear. He swivels you around, forcing you to face Eris while he holds you flush to his chest. Crimson rivulets trickle down his arms from where the chains bite into his skin. “To be brought low, broken in front of him?”
You force your chin high with defiance. But Beron’s grip is unyielding and his molten heat is oppressive, creeping through your veins like poison. As you stare into Eris’s eyes—those amber eyes you love so much—you can’t hide the fear in your own.
“Better broken than a slave to your tyranny,” you hiss.
Sweat beads on your brow, but not from exhaustion. You suck in a breath, begging the cool air to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. But Beron’s heat sinks deeper, licking at the edges of your very soul.
He chuckles darkly, “If only your defiance could save you.”
“Let her go!” Eris bellows.
You desperately try to twist out of Beron’s grip, but with each movement the fever only builds. Sweat trickles down your temples, the salty sting mixing with the agony that wracks your body.
“You know, I had planned on keeping you alive. Sending you off with your pathetic excuse for a father,” Beron says, “But I’ve never been one to turn down a good bargain.”
A white-hot pain blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire. You can feel your skin searing from the inside out, clawing its way through your organs, boiling your blood.
“I’ll kill you,” Eris’s voice breaks, raw with the desperation of a man on the brink of losing everything. “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip the life from you, Beron. Even if it takes my last breath, I’ll see you burn for this.”
Beron laughs, drowning out Eris’s broken words. Every nerve in your body screams as he slowly burns you alive, boiling you from the inside out. Your vision blurs as the fever creeps into your head, your legs crumpling beneath you.
You know there is no way out. You know this is the end. But before you go, you drop the protective barrier around your heart. Tears stream down your face, hot against your skin, as you lay yourself bare before the male who has sent your life into upheaval. The male who has shown you the greatest beauties and worst pains of life. Your salvation, your damnation, your soulmate. You cling tight to the withering bond and show him it all. With one final breath, you force your lips to move and form the words you need him to hear.
“I love you, Eris Vanserra. Darkness and all its shining stars.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Time splinters as Eris watches you fade. As those words escape you cracked lips, something shatters inside of him—the last defense of a soul that, even after years of brutality, refuses to be broken. It’s something that transcends pain, something primal and ancient woven into the very marrow of his bones.
Darkness and all its shining stars.
It’s those words that echo in his mind as the realization burns: this bond, this love, is Beron’s undoing.
A tyrant once said that the secret of supremacy lies in knowing when to be a fox, and when to be a lion. Beron Vanserra is both. It’s his cunningness and ferocity that have allowed him to rule so predominately for centuries—longer than any High Lord in Prythian. However, Beron Vanserra has been wearing the fox and lion’s skins for a long time—too long. For Beron Vanserra’s greatest pitfall is not a lack of strength or guile, but an utter void where empathy should lie—a deficiency born of his detachment from true, selfless love.
It's precisely that absence of compassion that blind him to the unbreakable forces that bond others. And now, as he stands over you and Eris with a hand stained by centuries of bloody conquest, it’s precisely that bond, carved from unadulterated love, that will be his undoing.
A roar befitting of a lion rips from Eris’s chest. Muscles taut with rage and agony and love, he pulls against the chains binding him. Blood flows freely from his wrists; but fueled by the bond—by you—he pulls harder, harder, until iron cracks.
The chains give way, crashing to the floor in a thousand pieces. And Eris unleashes hell on his father.
One thrust of his bloodied arm sends Beron flying backwards, releasing you from his deathly hold. You crumple to the ground, barely conscious. Although the boiling of your insides has halted, you’re still burning. You splay your hands out across the cold ground, willing it to soothe the dangerous fever.
Eris flicks his wrist, sending stone raining down upon Beron. The air is thick with dust and fury as Eris charges forward, each strike landing with sharp precision. This isn’t a mere battle of power—it’s a reckoning.
But Beron, unyielding, retaliates with a blinding wave of flame that consumes the chamber. The fire surges, forcing Eris to halt and shield both you and himself.
“You think you can defeat me, boy?” Beron bellows.
Eris snarls, his own fire igniting. You blink your eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness as your magic fights to hold you steady. You watch as Eris matches Beron with every movement: strike for strike, flame for flame.
But it’s clear he’s faltering. Each thrust of his arm sends ripples of pain across his battered body, the hours of torture taking their toll. Eris sways, his flame flickering at the sheer force of Beron’s power, honed by centuries of conquest.
Your limbs ache with the remnants of the ash inside you, but you focus on the steady ground beneath you. Fire blazes around you as you slowly push yourself up. You can see the light dimming in Eris’s eyes as his breath comes out in ragged gasps.
“Eris!” you cry, but the words sound like nothing more than a whisper against the raging inferno. He doesn’t look at you, locked in the hopeless battle. Your heart races as you struggle to rise.
Eris lunges forward, but Beron anticipates him and counters with a blast that sends him crashing back against the wall. A sickening thud shatters through your bones as the bond pulses with pain.
As Beron’s fire grows larger and brighter, you kick your leg out, sliding the discarded dagger on the floor towards Eris. You shut your eyes tight, summoning the last remnants of your strength. The blistering fever returns as you call on every ounce of your magic. This time, however, you embrace it.
Light and dark exude from your fingertips at the same time. With one hand, you send shadows swirling around Beron, engulfing him in darkness. With the other, you send a beacon of luminescence, lighting Eris's path. You focus on Eris, willing him to rise, to fight back. Determination fills his gaze—and the rest is history.
With one swift motion, Eris retrieves the blade and thrusts it into his father’s chest.
The swirling shadows still, and Eris twists the dagger into the chasm of his chest with a sickening crunch. Beron falls to his knees, and your shadows retreat—but your light remains.
As the former High Lord collapses, the echoes of the battle fade into a haunting stillness. Eris stands over his father’s fallen form, chest heaving and flames flickering at his fingertips, mingling with the light surrounding him—a testament to the battle fought and the price paid.
Your eyes meet, and in that moment, the world falls away. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty—it all dissipates, leaving only you and him.
“Little Bird,” Eris breathes.
Fresh tears line your eyes and your bottom lip trembles. Ignoring the all-consuming heat that’s still threatening to pull you under, you haul yourself up from the ground completely. You stumble forward and your legs give out underneath you. But before you can crumple, Eris is there.
His embrace feels like coming home.
A sob of relief escapes you as you sink to the ground together. Despite the agony pumping through your veins, the blood and sweat covering you both, your heart sings. You bury your face into his chest. The scent of him—sandalwood and cardamon—fills your lungs, giving life to breath. You can feel the pulse of his heart against your cheek, steady and strong.
“Eris,” you gasp. But the name feels inadequate. There’s so much you want to say—but the words are swallowed by the lump in your throat. His hands find your hair, threading through it and anchoring you to this moment.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. The feeling of his breath against your neck sends another wave of emotions crashing over you. “I’m right here, Little Bird. I’m not going anywhere.”
Around you, the air shifts, and you sense the arrival of the High Lords. But their presence, Rhys’s panicked voice, is a distant echo in the back of your mind. Nothing else matters—not in his arms.
As you sink into the warmth of your lover’s embrace, the toll of the battle settles in. The world blurs at its edges. Eris holds you tightly, murmuring sweet nothings you can’t quite grasp, and darkness begins to close in. You cling to the sound of his voice, feeling it reverberate through you.
“Come on, Little Bird. Stay with me,” his voice breaks as he feels your strength slipping away. But as you look into his eyes—those fierce, beautiful eyes—you know you can’t fight anymore.
With a shuddering breath, you succumb to the pull of unconsciousness, your body surrendering to his embrace. And as darkness takes over, you hang on to the whispered promise of safety in a world that has been anything but.
When Rhysand asked Nesta to dance with Eris, Cassian yelled, "Over my dead fucking body!" But when Rhysand threatened Nesta with punishment or execution, Cassian did nothing. Cassian cares more about Nesta dancing with Eris than he does about her being punished or executed?
I'm not even a Neris shipper, but I know for a fact that Eris would never allow Rhysand to enter his home and threaten Nesta. Eris would have ripped out Rhysand's throat or died trying. Eris would have sided with Nesta and stuck up for her because he would have known that she's a badass who wanted to defeat the Asteri, who wanted to free Midgard, who wanted to end the threat to Prythian and all worlds that the Asteri presented. Eris would have believed in Nesta and trusted her.
The only one of them who's too much of a coward to act like a good male is Cassian.
hiii, hope you’re doing well 🫶 literally been thinking about eris and what happens next in your mastermind story…you left us on a cliffhnager 😭 any updates pls? 🙏
sorry friends writer's block has been a little bitch😣 chapter 8 is in the works though and I'm hoping to have it done this weekend!
Rain pounded against the glass. It was made worse from the height. The House of Wind always did experience extreme forms of weather. It was a house made for storms. The steady rumble of thunder seemed to rattle the glass in the window panes.
‘He’s doing it on purpose,’ said Feyre, her arms crossed.
Rhys gave a low chuckle in response. ‘Do you think Eris Vanserra does anything without a purpose?’
Nesta had thought little of the Vanserra heir in recent months. Communication had been quiet for other reasons; Feyre had survived her son’s birth at the price of Nesta’s magic. She’d come through the Blood Rite relatively unscathed physically, but it had left marks elsewhere. Cassian bearing down on her with a weapon – even if he was controlled by the Crown – was a vision she struggled to shake off. They had not been intimate since before that day. Her body was repelled by him despite his attempts to find his way into her room at night. She could not picture his hands without imagining them around her neck. They hardly spoke at all.
‘You shouldn’t let him make demands,’ Mor said, scowling from her chair near the window where she sat with her ankles crossed upon the windowsill. ‘He’ll think he has power if he you give him wiggle room.’
‘If he wants to hunt down a suspected Made object then he can take Elain to sniff it out,’ added Cassian.
That rankled her. Elain wasn’t going anywhere near Eris, Lucien’s brother or not.
‘My sister is not a hound. Nor am I.’
‘I can go,’ Feyre suggested. ‘Nyx is feeding every few hours so I can winnow there and back in between.’
Rhysand trailed his fingers down her bare, tattooed arm. ‘How generous you are, Feyre darling, but Eris has been very insistent that Nesta should be the one to assist him.’
‘Eris can get fucked,’ declared Cassian.
Whether they liked it or not, Eris had the upper hand. Somehow, he had Keir eating out of the palm of his hand and they needed that sway to influence the steward of the Hewn City. He wanted only Nesta with him, claiming her brand of magic was what was needed. They had been reluctant to tell him that the fabled magic was gone. They had tried to bargain that Azriel would go as an escort but Eris claimed that any others would not be shielded and he was reluctant to allow more eyes into his father’s fortress.
‘Let us be done with this,’ muttered Nesta. ‘I am tired of hearing of it.’
Maybe one day she wouldn’t be used as a pawn.
***
The meeting was arranged quickly. A summons to Eris courtesy of Azriel and his power so that within moments he was in the Hewn City awaiting them. Nesta had not bothered to change into leathers or arm herself, much to Cassian’s frustration. She had not trained since returning from the Blood Rite; the idea of picking up a weapon made her sick to her stomach. The absence of her magic was a relief, despite what Cassian proclaimed. A lack of magic hadn’t mattered when she was dragged from her bed a second time and forced into the Blood Rite.
Eris had been insistent with his letters that no harm would come to her, she was merely needed to sense if a Made object was close in his father’s trove of treasures.
A tendril of Rhysand’s magic scratched its claw against the walls of her mind. She hated when he forced his way there. Hated knowing he was in her head, left to rifle through her thoughts and memories at his pleasure.
Take in as much as you can of the Forest House, he said. I want to know exactly what is in Beron’s treasure vaults.
Nesta was a tool to be used when Rhysand felt like it – and now, apparently, when Eris wanted her.
‘No harm is to come to her,’ warned Cassian, a hot, heavy hand clinging to her shoulder. It took every effort not to throw it off.
Eris, dressed in a suit the colour of scorched earth, gave a lazy grin. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. On my honour as a Vanserra, Nesta will come to no harm.’
There were another four or five warnings thrown his way which he took in good faith, smiling blandly and picking the sleeve of his jacket as though he was bored. It amused Nesta to a degree to see how unmoved he was in the face of threats from the Night Court. If anything, Eris seemed quite amused by it too.
A pale hand was extended to her. She remembered how it had felt on the Winter Solstice – like a glove that fit perfectly to hers.
Before she could say a goodbye, Eris had tugged her closer and winnowed. Magic swirled around them, the red flame of his power enough to scorch if she didn’t move closer to him.
There was no rain in the Autumn Court. A blustery wind blew through the thick woods, sending gold and amber leaves spiralling to the ground, but the temperature was mild. The sun shone in the sky as it began its slow descent for the evening.
Behind a set of gilded gates, the Forest House sat. It reminded her of the many manor houses that she’d visited as a child whilst travelling with Mother once she was of the age to join her pinched-face friends for tea.
‘The Forest House is smaller than I expected,’ she said bluntly.
Eris kept a grip on her hand as if she might disappear.
‘This is not the Forest House. This is my private residence.’
The gates opened for him as Eris tugged her through before they slammed shut again. She felt the seal of magic trapping them there, the wards fortifying and old.
‘You said you would take me to the Forest House.’
A smirk crept onto his face. ‘I lied.’
This male did not care. Lies spilt freely from his tongue. There was not a single soul in the world he cared for except his own.
‘Take me back,’ demanded Nesta, relinquishing her hand from his grasp. ‘Now.’
‘Are you so eager to return to the Night Court?’
Nesta could not give him an answer. She felt like an imposter amongst them. The court wasn’t home, merely a place she resided in because there was nowhere else for her.
‘You are wrong for this,’ she warned him, hurrying her steps to match his long strides. ‘When we return, I will ensure they know what you’ve done.’
Eris gave an unworried laugh. ‘Who said I will return you?’
When her expression slipped into confusion, Eris laughed again – this one different. It was warm and he’d tossed his head back briefly, before touching a hand to the small of her back to sweep her ahead of him.
‘I will,’ he promised, mouth tipped near the point of her ear. ‘When I’ve had my fun, I will return you.’
Rich wood panelled much of what Nesta could see inside Eris’ private residence. It was coupled with opulent paintings and thick rugs woven with red and gold threads. Yet it was quiet. A manor of this size should have been bustling with servants who’d suddenly go silent in the presence of their master. Eris kicked off his shoes, leaving them where they fell, then tossed his jacket onto a hook. He peered through the front window then remarked, ‘The dogs are outside. Should I let them in?’
Nesta was so taken aback by the sudden carelessness he displayed that she was momentarily silenced – and when she could speak, all Nesta could manage was a single utterance of, ‘Dogs?’
There were many of them – more than she could count. All of them dashed across the lawn or sniffed at the grass tracing Eris’s scent.
‘Come,’ he beckoned, curling his fingers.
As if compelled, Nesta stepped towards him. What was his game? Why bring her here?
‘I thought I was to sniff out Made items for you.’
‘Are you a hound?’
Nesta tried not to scowl.
An arm went around her shoulders, the touch too familiar from him. But he was warm. So delightfully warm that Nesta paused from throwing him off. Even as he tucked himself closer to her, Nesta did not fight him off.
‘Your shoes. Are they comfortable? You can be barefoot.’
Nesta felt as though she’d missed a step upon the stairs or that a conversation had happened without her knowledge as they walked through the long, central corridor of his home towards a room near the back of the house.
‘Are we going to your father’s vault?’
‘No. My father would never let me near it, much less you.’
‘Then why am I here, Eris?’
He pushed open a set of doors that led to a ballroom. It wasn’t as large as the one in the Hewn City; it was more suited to the sorts of balls that they had once hosted when her parents were wealthy where daughters were offered up like meat.
‘Our dance was interrupted.’
‘That was months ago,’ she said, dumbfounded.
The floor had been polished well enough to see part of her reflection and a great, glass chandelier hung in the centre of the ceiling. The waning evening sun streamed through the tall windows that lined one wall, catching on the dangling prisms, coating the room in scattered light.
‘I have not stopped thinking of that night,’ he admitted, voice cautious. ‘It was the first time I ever saw you smile.’
Nesta could not muster a response. It was likely the last time she had smiled without restraint, lost in the music and led by Eris.
‘I ask for a single dance,’ he said. ‘That’s all. Then I can return you.’
‘What’s the trick?’
‘No trick,’ Eris replied. ‘One dance.’
‘You made up a story to the Night Court, wrote to them for weeks, and offered all manner of incentives for my assistance. You lied and lied for a single dance.’
Eris didn’t have the decency to look at least slightly embarrassed. No, if anything, he seemed proud of the lies he’d spun. It would keep the Night Court wondering about what Beron could possibly have in his troves.
‘In fairness, it is difficult to find a good dance partner.’
The male had to be possessed. Normal males did not go to such lengths for a dance. And Nesta should have been repulsed by his schemes, but instead she found it oddly flattering that they were the lengths he’d go to for a single dance.
‘There is no music,’ she said, raising her chin indignantly.
Eris swept his hand outwards. A spiralling flame followed its path then the hairs on her arm stood on end. Sweeping notes of beautiful music filtered through the room as if the instruments were being played just beyond the doors.
‘You have music and a dance partner. I shall ask again: are your shoes comfortable to dance in?’
To match Eris, Nesta removed her shoes too and she suddenly felt so much smaller than him. His hand slid into hers, a second going to her waist as she settled a hand upon his shoulder. They moved to the music with little thought, their bodies reacting to each other intuitively. There was no awkward fumbling, no mistimed steps. They flowed together as easily as twin flames.
It was easy. Nesta did not need to think. Did not need to prepare a defence or hold a shield to protect herself. Eris was silent, leading her through song after song as their bodies moved across the floor, a muted, closed-lipped smile upon his pale face. When he lifted her, Nesta knew he’d hold her safely. On each spin, he was careful and restrained until they moved back into hold. And when their steps slowed, and her hand slipped down his back, and his moved lower, Nesta didn’t fight it.
A reasonable part of her warned her off of this. No good would come of dancing with Eris. They shouldn’t press their bodies so close. She never should have agreed to be alone with him in his court. But how could it be wrong when every part of her ached for him?
Their feet remained still as Nesta tilted her head up. Eris’ lips were a balm that soothed, but she didn’t want softness. She wanted desire. Wanted to be the match that set them both on fire.
Their kissing grew frantic. The fingers that grappled with his clothing were desperate. Eris took a knife to her bodice, carving it open with a sudden slash so her dress pooled around her on the floor.
The press of his lips was urgent and all-consuming like a fire that would never be sated. Nesta let herself be burnt by it. Let the flames of desire engulf her. The hands on her body were soft, reverent. Every pound of her heart was answered by his own. Eris kissed the new expanse of bare skin, treasuring each inch exposed to him.
His waistcoat fell to the floor then his shirt soon followed. The sunset bathed him in golden light. He was so warm and beautiful that Nesta stopped their kissing to press herself against him. She wanted to feel him. His body was rakish, not the well-built muscles of her mate, but more comfortable - softer and easier to fold herself into. Eris kept his hands covering her shoulder blades; a thumb tracing back and forth over the skin.
This momentary pause in their lust gave Nesta a moment to gather herself. What was she doing? Another attempt at self-sabotage? Nesta had a mate waiting for her in the Night Court. A mate who loved her. A mate who she hadn’t touched since he’d been under the Crown’s thrall. A mate who she couldn’t think of without imagining his hands around her neck squeezing the life from her.
How exquisite it was that Nesta could take something good and let her rotten core ruin it. Only she could find a mate and instead of the rare, unending love it offered, want to see it spoiled to give her a reason to run.
‘Nesta?’
‘I shouldn’t do this.’
But she made no move to pull away from the wicked heir of the Autumn Court. Her face remained tucked into the crook of Eris’ neck. It felt safer to stay there. Her soul was as broken as his.
His hand forced her head to raise so that Nesta could see her reflection in his eyes.
‘I will be burned by you,’ she whispered.
Eris pressed his lips to her forehead and inhaled. ‘Then let the flames consume the both of us.’
Her hand slipped down his body to the hardening length within his trousers. She pressed her palm to it, rubbing once, twice, until a hiss of air escaped from between Eris’ pursed lips. He tipped forwards, lips coming to her forehead.
‘I truly only wanted a dance.’
But Nesta was too far gone to reel herself back in.
They went to the ground together, his body covering hers as the music still played from a distant room. The last remnants of their clothing – her chemise and his undergarments – were discarded hurriedly until there was only skin between them. Eris kissed his way down her body, stopping between her legs.
‘If I told you that I’ve dreamed of this, would you believe me?’
Nesta pushed his head downwards. Her head rocked back as his tongue traced up her core.
This was what she did. Mindless sex to make herself forget. A deep-rooted need to sabotage herself. The Night Court was her home. Her mate was there. The mate that hadn’t come for her in the Blood Rite. The mate that had been so easily swayed by the Crown. A mate who’d have killed her.
She spread her legs wide, damning the consequences. Eris gripped her thighs, his fingers digging deep into the flesh as he licked a circle around her clit. Nesta got lost in it. Her eyes closed as Eris pushed his fingers into her sex. His techniques alternated based on the different moans that he elicited from her.
Breathless and flushed, Nesta curled into herself on one side upon their abandoned clothes. Eris’ steps faded as he departed. That was familiar to Nesta, to be used and discarded. Even her own mate couldn’t be bothered to spend a night beside her once he’d got what he wanted. She waited for shame to crawl up her throat from what she’d done yet none came.
Surprising her, light steps sounded upon the ballroom floor. Nesta braced herself for a servant who’d tell her to leave.
A full skin of water was settled by her head then a blanket tucked around her bare body. Eris knelt near her, still as bare as the day he came into the world. He flattened her disarrayed hair gently, face giving nothing away.
‘You are a very good dancer.’
‘I can say the same,’ she said, sitting up with the blanket pressed to her body. Nesta uncorked the skin of water and drank deeply, aware of Eris’ amber gaze on her scorched cheeks.
‘Call me greedy for not waiting until the Winter Solstice for another dance,’ he said.
Nesta could not muster a reply. The solstice felt so far away. When she reflected on the last one, dancing with Eris had been the highlight because she’d felt like herself again after so long. They told stories of his cruelty and schemes so what did it say of Nesta if her only joy was found in his arms?
‘I am not the villain you believe I am,’ he stated, as if he’d heard her thoughts. For once, he looked innocent as if a mask had been stripped away. A young male was beneath it, soft-eyed and curious as he waited for her reaction.
‘You do yourself no favours.’
‘And they do? Have you never wondered why Illyrian females still have their wings clipped? Or why Morrigan is the only dreamer in a city of nightmares?’ Eris laughed callously, the mask slipping back on. ‘I told you not to believe the lies they say about me. Perhaps I’d have been better off warning you about the lies they spin about themselves. Could the most powerful high lord in history really not enforce an anti-clipping law – or perhaps he values an army over the lives of females.’
Nesta forced down her emotions. She couldn’t say it was anger, because when she looked to Emerie’s ruined wings, she had wondered similar. Why weren’t Illyrian females offered a safe place in Velaris to heal and grow like Gwyn was?
‘You showed your heart in the Dawn Court – and it was enough to make my father pay attention, Nesta. You are wasted in the Night Court.’
‘Enough talking,’ she said, unwilling to face the truths she’d been running from. Too often those same questions had bubbled on her tongue. Once or twice Nesta had pressed Cassian on it and instead of being met with a calm discussion, he flew to the defensive and claimed she didn’t understand ruling or life in Illyria. ‘I didn’t come here to talk.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Eris smirked from the side of his mouth. ‘You can’t have believed I truly would take you to my father’s vaults?’
‘A release,’ she admitted. ‘A release from that court. I hate to be there. I cannot breathe when I’m there.’
The words rushed out of her before she could take them back and bury them.
‘Then let me be your release, Nesta.’ Eris kissed against the column of her neck. ‘How would you like it?’
His lips were tender making pleasure skitter over her skin.
‘Soft,’ she declared, to see if he could. See if he could resist the urge to pound in a frenzy until his own release took him. ‘Slow.’
Nesta had never been with a male who could put her needs first, who could put aside his own wants.
He lay her back down with the thick blanket beneath her to soften the floor then his body covered hers. It wasn’t suffocating, wasn’t heavy and imprisoning.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘When you are in the room, I can see no other. You are the flame that guides me.’
She opened her legs to fit him better between her thighs. ‘You hardly know me.’
‘I want to,’ he said, a hand gripping hers and pressing it above her head. ‘I dreamt of ways to meet with you. Not for this. Just to look upon you. To speak with you. To hear you.’
It couldn’t be wrong when her body was begging for him. The slick heat between her thighs made Nesta squirm upwards to feel his length. It made Eris press his sharp teeth into his lip.
‘Slow, you said.’
‘Slow,’ she agreed, but for every moment that Eris lay upon her, it was a moment that she’d have to explain away to the Night Court. The longer she was away, the more implausible her reason.
Eris took his length and stroked it between her folds.
‘Inside,’ breathed Nesta.
Their lips met in an urgent press and Nesta forced her tongue into his mouth. If she was going to burn, she wanted to be nothing but ashes. Let it consume all of her.
When Eris finally pushed the crown of his cock inside, she moaned into his mouth. It had been a long time since she’d been with a male who didn’t stretch her and sting on his entry – and she’d forgotten how pleasurable that first thrust could be instead of one that made her grit her teeth and wince through the pain. He was a careful lover with hands that canvassed her body and lips that only left hers to ask over her wellbeing. When he moved in her, Eris never hurried. Every thrust was slow and deep enough to have her body rising from the floor to press closer to him.
At the increase in his breathing, Nesta wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in close. With a final thrust, Eris spilled himself inside of her.
They lay together, bodies tangles and soaked with sweat. The last light of the evening was fading, leaving a bruised sky in its wake.
She waited for Eris to run. To laugh at her for being so foolish. To mock her that she’d fallen for his trap.
It didn’t come.
Eris remained holding her tightly, kissing her face from time to time.
‘I can take you back,’ he murmured. His nose nuzzled against her neck.
‘You ripped my dress. I can hardly return naked.’
‘It was a very pretty dress too. I apologise,’ he said.
‘What am I to wear?’
Nesta was led upstairs to a tidy bedroom with little in the way of personal artefacts. In the large wardrobe, Eris held up a few dresses to examine the cloth against her complexion.
‘Your lovers’ dresses?’
A brief frown flashed upon his face. ‘My mother’s. She used to come here. They’re plain gowns, but should fit well enough to return you.’
Plain was an understatement. They were well-made from expensive fabrics with simple patterns that suited Nesta. The colours were those of the Autumn Court; rich golds overlayed with burnt orange and umber. Nesta had never even looked at such a colour, much less wear it.
‘You will need to wash,’ Eris reminded her. ‘Illyrians have noses like smokehounds when it comes to arousal.’
He led her to another room, a silent figure walking a few paces ahead. She wondered if he regretted it. Nesta couldn’t say that she did. The inevitable regret hadn’t come. Was unlikely to. There was nothing for her to regret. She had an immortal life ahead of her with a male who Nesta wasn’t sure truly liked her company. There was still so much of life that she hadn’t experienced – wouldn’t now.
This bedroom was neat in a way – the curtains tied back from windows, the surfaces clean – but it was littered with piles of books and stacks of letters that gave it a chaotic sense of disarray. A large map of Prythian had been pinned on the wall with notes written around markings on it.
‘Take as much time as you need,’ he said, opening another door that led to a bathroom.
For a while, Nesta stood stunned in the luxurious bathroom, not quite sure which Eris would greet her when she exited. He had seemed almost shy. She washed quickly, well aware of the darkness that had encroached. The dress, which she had been fearing to wear, fit like a glove. It brought a lightness back to her silvery eyes. She’d lost a couple of hair pins so abandoned her coronet in favour of leaving it down, the ghost of the braids leaving her hair in waves. She pinned back the strands from her temples to hide her ears.
‘This is an exquisite sort of torture,’ Eris mused as she exited the bathroom. ‘If I touch you again then my scent will be upon your skin. Then again, maybe art is there to be worshipped with the eyes rather than hands.’
With that, he entered the bathroom to wash her from his skin while Nesta stood bereft in the centre of the room.
Eris’ home reminded her of her life back in the mortal lands. It felt so familiar. She ran a finger across the top of a leather-bound book; a compendium of mosses across Prythian. She wrinkled her nose at it. Eris, it seemed, was full of surprises.
They waited until his hair had dried, sat by the silent fire in his rooms while they exchanged hesitant conversation. Nesta was meeting a different male. A quieter one who shared parts of himself with nervous reluctance. They spoke of the books he’d gathered and the map upon the wall, each minute had him shedding another layer of skin until she could see the person he was beneath. There was less cocky arrogance or cold calculation. Instead, Eris was clever and sensitive, listening to her few remarks about the similarity of his home to her old one with attentiveness.
‘We should go,’ he said, holding out a hand.
Hand in hand, he led the way back through the grounds of the manor – after warning the dogs away with their muddy paws – then winnowed back to the Hewn City. The Night Court’s leaders awaited them with nervous expressions. Cassian practically flew from his chair to scan her from head to toe.
‘Why is she in different clothes?’ Feyre demanded.
When Eris released his grip from her hand, she felt hollow.
He bared his palms to them, an irritating smirk on his lips. For a moment, her heart plummeted, believing it all to be another act to ruin her. She’d helped to ruin herself. Then, Eris said, ‘It turns out my father has more defences than I first thought. I am not such a bastard that I’d return Nesta to you covered in Middengarm wyrm innards.’
They looked to Nesta in confirmation. ‘I could not breathe without retching.’
‘I trust it was worth Nesta’s time,’ said Rhysand, violet eyes dancing between the pair of them.
Before Eris could speak, Nesta cut in. ‘I sensed something, but there was not enough time to trace it. I will need to return.’
Something sparked in Eris’ eyes. ‘I will collect Nesta in a couple of days. Who knows? Maybe she’ll take a liking to the Autumn Court.’ He gave a short, wicked laugh. ‘She wouldn’t even need to officially defect, since she isn’t aligned to any court.’
Cassian pressed a hand to her shoulder. ‘Nesta will join your court over my dead body.’
‘Do not tempt me,’ he replied. ‘Two days. Farewell.’
imagine having Nesta being compared to royalty, to an untouchable queen only to have her end up with a man who laughs at her falling down the stairs and not the untouchable prince of the autumn court
