I feel like I've already read all the Eris x Reader fanfics, I can't find any more that I like on Ao3, I need recommendations 🙏🙏🙏 at least for some that are finished
Summary: A late night scene in the forest house. A lord and his wife. A gilded cage, a promise of blood, and the first ember of a new fire.
Author's Note: This story has been sitting in my drafts for months, and i've only just found the courage to post it now 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ (pls ignore any mistake)
Words count: 525
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The Forest House is more than a palace; it is a living entity, a slumbering predator whose walls breathe sighs of eternal autumn. Its hallways are veins, its drawing rooms are organs, and its heart is Beron Vanserra's study. But its soul? Its soul resides in the private quarters of its heir.
The bedroom is an extension of the man who inhabits it: coldly imposing. Shades of dark amber, crimson, and burnt gold adorn the space, colors that do not comfort, but warn. It is too vast to be intimate, too silent to be comfortable. The only light fought back the gloom from a single source: a cold spotlight illuminating a large hunting trophy locked in a glass case. A set of ancient, intricately carved antlers, heavy like the crown Eris Vanserra would one day have to bear. And in that setting of gilded oppression, two souls navigated the labyrinth of their own marriage.
The voice that broke the silence from the bed was soft, but clear, a deliberate contrast to the harshness of the surroundings.
"You always look at them before you sleep, as if they might have moved."
The man before the glass case did not turn. His posture was rigid, a reflex from years under his father's critical gaze. "They are a reminder, not of what we are, but of what we must appear to be. Strength. Permanence. A trophy of a hunt that never ends."
"And what was the hunt for?"
"Power. Survival. The right to not be the prey."
He finally turned. His face was a mask carved from ice, but his eyes... his eyes were those of a man who saw ghosts in the dark. "My father mounted them there, a lesson for his sons. He said, 'The stag is noble, but it is still just meat for the wolf. Be the wolf. Always.'"
"And are you? The wolf?"
His eyes flickered instantly toward the door, a nervous tic, a survival instinct. He moved to the bed, the mattress yielding under his weight. "In this house,the walls have ears and the shadows have teeth. Every performance is reviewed. Every weakness, noted."
"We are alone."
A low, bitter sound, not quite a laugh. "We are never alone,the legacy of this line is our eternal audience. It watches from the shadows, from the grain of the wood, from the very air we breathe."
"You speak of this house as if it's a living beast."
"It is, and i am its favorite son, chained to its beating heart. And you… you are the rare flower that somehow took root in its stone courtyard."
Her gaze drifted, landing on the solitary object on the bedside table: a single pomegranate, its skin hard and red like ruby in the low light. Her fingers hovered over it, not touching. "It's a cruel choice,you know."
"What is?"
"The pomegranate. To taste it… to commit to its sweetness… you have to break it open. You have to get your hands dirty. The reward is inseparable from the violence. You can't have one without the other."
His voice dropped to a rough whisper, an admission made for her alone in that private chamber. "I did not ask for a wife. I asked for an ally, Someone who would see the blood on my hands and not flinch. Someone who understood that every jewel in this crown was paid for in pain."
"I have not flinched."
"No. You haven't. You look at the antlers and you don't see a trophy, you see the weight the stag carried on its head until the day it died."
He stood up, his back to her as he approached the monumental black marble fireplace. He placed his palm on the stone, cold and dead. "He used to make us kneel here, on the cold stone. For hours. To teach us that fire is a reward, not a comfort. You earn its warmth only through absolute obedience… or absolute power."
"And which did you choose?"
He turned, and for the first time that night, the mask dissolved completely. In its place was the raw nakedness of centuries of torment. "I chose to become the fire itself, so that no one could ever again decide if I was worthy of its heat, so I could burn the world that sought to control me… and build a new one from the ashes."
He stared at her from the edge of the bed, his gaze no longer that of a lord to his consort, but of one prisoner to another. "This marriage, this alliance… it was the first ember. A small, controlled spark. But from it… we could build a fire that warms, instead of burns. That is my hunt now." She did not say a word. Instead, her hands closed around the pomegranate. With a strength that surprised even him, her nails dug into the rind and the fruit split in half with a soft crack, ruby seeds glistened like wet gems in the dim light. She extended half to him, the scarlet juice already running between her fingers.
"Then let your hands be stained, so might mine."
He looked at the violated fruit, the perfect symbol of their pact: broken, bloody, but finally true. His hand trembled slightly, an act of vulnerability unimaginable, as he accepted the half she offered.
"The cage is gilded,but it is still a cage."
"Then we will melt the gold, and forge a key."
They remained seated in the dim light, the broken pomegranate between them, a promise and a pact sealed in blood, as the light on the antlers finally faded to black.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
the pomegranate is one of the most symbolically rich fruits, in Greek mythology, Persephone is bound to spend part of the year in the Underworld because she ate its seeds, making it a symbol of an unbreakable bond, a pact that both traps and liberates. It represents fertility and life, but also death and sacrifice. The sweetness of its seeds is only achieved through a violent act -breaking its skin- staining the hands blood-red. For me it is the perfect representation of the Vanserra family and a marriage with them : the beauty and the future life are inextricable from the violence and sacrifice that bore them.
Summary: Eris Vanserra didn't share much with people, but the attachment he shares with you, someone who was meant to be nothing but one of his father's human slaves, is too different.
Cw: Mentions of slavery/sex slavery, Eris is touchy with his human
The new day had started quicker than you wanted, but humans were never treated well in the Autumn Court, so you stood in the kitchen, cleaning dishes and placing them in their spot by hand when the Fae could've easily used magic. But you didn't bother ranting about it to anyone, you didn't have a choice, but thankfully, none of the Vanserras had chosen you to be 'theirs', those poor humans who were chosen, lived far worse lives than you. So you quietly scrubbed away at the plates.
Eris walked into the kitchen early in the morning, his red hair wet from the bath, spotting you immediately. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your form. His expression darkened, he had always wanted to keep you as his, he felt a serge of protectiveness over you that he didn't feel for any other, even if he didn't let it show. "And why, may I ask, are you up so early?"
You paused your scrubbing, the last two weeks had been a lot on you, with the party that happened, the comments some faeries made at you and your fellow humans, and even if you knew Eris was jesting, you couldn't hold the madness that bubbled in you, you had had enough of faeries, and Eris' cheeky grin was pissing you off. "Because you sick freaks burned the maid who would've been up cause she spilt a little wine." You almost growl, remembering how one of Eris' brothers had burned her using his power.
Eris looked precisely like that brother, the middle one, the poor maid had spilt a single drop and he had charred her in front of everyone, "And don't even get me started on all the hollering you do, absolutely horrid." You set a plate down harshly before grabbing another, after every such party, you needed a few days before you could be out otherwise you always knew you would say something that would get you killed, "We're just playthings, right? Fuckers."
Eris's brows furrowed at your outburst, clearly taken aback by your sudden display of anger. He stepped closer, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your face. "Playthings?" he repeated, his voice low and measured. "Is that really how you see yourself here?"
"Playthings, toys, pets, slaves, entertainment, servants... call it anything you want, but the job description is the same." He stepped closer to you, taunting, watching as your spine straightened and you stiffened at his approach. "And I suggest you keep a better leash on your tongue, you're addressing a son of the High Lord of Autumn."
As if on instinct, you grabbed a knife from the sink, holding it to his chest. "Stay back." The knife trembled in your hand, but you still held it.
Eris's eyes widened briefly at the sight of the knife pressed against his chest, but then narrowed again as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well now," he drawled, not seeming particularly concerned about the blade. "Aren't you my feisty little thing?"
He took another step forward until the tip of the knife was practically touching his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Go ahead then, human rebel." he purred, his voice dripping with mockery. "Stab me. See what happens because you're either brave or extremely stupid."
His eyes glittered with challenge and amusement as if daring you to actually follow through on your threat. It was clear he didn't believe for a second that you would truly hurt him.
"I haven't slept in two week cause I've been waiting literally 200 year old children hand and foot, you do not wish to test me." You scoff, turning back to your work.
The fact that this simple human was standing up to him, in his own home, it set his blood aflame, even if admittedly it was rather fascinating that the flames were burning something like lust rather than anger. "Two hundred years old children who could reduce you to ash in the snap of their fingers," He reminded you, his gaze following the movement of your hands as you worked.
"Yes, you still need branded slaves to bring you food, massage your feet, be your entertainment." You rolled your eyes, and you talk to yourself but he can clearly hear, "Oh, human press my legs, massage my back, what are you staring at? Why aren't you working? Do I need to shove my cock down your throat since you think you're on some break?"
His smug smile only grew wider at your words, though there was a hint of curiosity lacing his tone. "It seems my brother's actions have left quite the lasting impression on you," he said softly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.
"I assure you, most of us aren't quite so barbaric," he added, leaning back against the kitchen slab casually, seemingly unfazed by your proximity and the blade you had once held dangerously close to him. "Though it's certainly amusing seeing you stand up to me."
"I'm just tired..." A sudden tear lined your eye, but you refused to let him look at you.
Seeing the lone tear track its way down your cheek, Eris frowned, momentarily losing the playful edge in his demeanour. "Tired of what exactly?" he asked quietly, tilting his head to the side as he regarded you with newfound interest.
There was genuine concern laced within his voice, despite his earlier taunts. He pushed himself away from the counter, stepping closer to you again, this time without any sign of mockery or aggression. "Talk to me, as a distraction if anything, what do you dream of? What does freedom look like to you?"
"I don't even remember..." You whispered, you knew you could talk to Eris, with how many times you had threatened him and were still alive to do it again.
Seeing your defeated posture and the raw emotion in your voice, Eris's expression softened considerably. He reached out slowly, hesitantly, as if worried you might lash out again, but placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Everyone has dreams, even those bound by duty and servitude," he murmured softly.
"I think you know that better than anyone," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even the strongest among us crave something more than the life we lead. But dreams can be forgotten, buried beneath layers of despair and hopelessness." He squeezed your shoulder gently, offering comfort in his own way. "But I won't let you forget, not anymore. Tell me, what is it that you desire?"
"To rest..." You slump slightly against Eris, "Or something..."
As you slumped against him, Eris wrapped an arm around your shoulders, supporting your weight as he guided you towards one of the chairs at the main table. "Rest then," he said gently, easing you down onto the seat. "Take all the time you need."
He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees as he gazed up at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "As for something else," he murmured, his voice low and enticing, "Perhaps we could explore that together. I've grown quite fond of our little exchanges, haven't you? You threaten me, I laugh at your audacity, repeat."
Seeing your exhausted state, Eris decided to take matters into his own hands, or rather, use his magic to help you find some much-needed relief. With a swift motion, he traced a delicate pattern in the air, the dishes cleaned themselves up, and stacked properly.
His fingers traced idle patterns on your knee, sending tingles up your spine. "I've watched you, you know. Seen the fire in your eyes, the strength in your spirit. It intrigues me, draws me in like a moth to flame."
"You shouldn't say such things, my Lord." You gasped as his hands were behind to massage your calves from where he was kneeling, such a submissive posture, to kneel in front of someone, like he was with you, one your body too had perfected over the years.
"Eris, please," He corrected, his touch firm yet gentle as he kneaded the tense muscles of your calves. "And why not? I find myself increasingly drawn to your company, regardless of the circumstances."
His thumbs dug deeper, pressing into the knots of tension, seeking to alleviate some of the stress that seemed etched into every line of your body. "And besides," he added with a sly grin, "I enjoy making you squirm. It's quite… entertaining."
He moved upwards, his hands now caressing the backs of your thighs, applying just enough pressure to make you arch off the chair. "Let me take care of you," he offered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine.
"Take care of me how?" you ask, hesitation in your voice.
Eris's fingers trailed higher, grazing the sensitive flesh just beneath the hem of your skirt. "In whatever ways you allow me to," he replied, his voice husky with promise. "A massage, perhaps, to soothe these weary muscles of yours."
His hands slid further up, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thighs as he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting across your ear. "Or maybe a soothing bath, scented with lavender and chamomile, to wash away the fatigue of the past fortnight."
He nipped playfully at your earlobe before pulling back to gaze at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of course, if you prefer something a bit more… intimate, I wouldn't object to exploring those desires as well, to give you pleasures humans only dream of achieving."
One hand crept under the hem of your skirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh. "All you have to do is say yes," he murmured, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Give yourself over to me, and I will worship every inch of your body until you're drowning in ecstasy." His other hand cupped your face, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "What do you say, my little rebel? Will you let me take care of you? Make you mine so no one else can order you about?"
His words hung heavy in the air between you, tempting and tantalizing. There was a pull, a magnetic force that drew you in and made you consider his offer in earnest. The thought of being taken care of, truly cared for, instead of simply ordered around.
Your heart races, pounding loudly in your ears. This was madness, insanity even. You knew you shouldn't trust a faerie, but Eris had every reason to kill you, yet he actually enjoyed your company and damn if it didn't sound appealing, incredibly appealing. You swallow hard, your throat dry.
"Are you going to brand me?" You ask hesitantly, you had seen a few 'private' slaves the brothers kept, some had multiple, but you had never really seen one with Eris or Lucien.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Eris's lips, clearly amused by your question. "Brand you?" He echoed, feigning surprise. "Why would I want to do that? Unless, of course," He added, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "you wish to bear my mark, a symbol of ownership and affection."
His eyes glided from your thigh, trailing upward along the curve of your waist, coming to stare just below your breasts, then your shoulders. "Perhaps," He mused aloud, "A small emblem somewhere discreet, a reminder of who you belong to when I'm not near." His thumb brushed over the swell of your breast, teasing the fabric of your dress. "Would you like that, my fiery little rebel? To wear my insignia proudly, proclaiming to the world that you're mine?"
"Please, no." You shake your head, "I really would not..."
Eris chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent pleasant shivers down your spine. "No branding then," he agreed, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on your hip, the other playing with your neck, tracing circles. "Though, a collar might do, hmm? You're mine after all. You need to have something that tells others to fuck off."
With a sudden, fluid movement, he stood up, towering over you. His hands found their way to your shoulders, massaging firmly as he leaned down, his breath hot against your neck. His hands began to work their magic once more, tracing lazy circles along your collarbone before slipping down to tease the neckline of your dress. "Mine," he repeated, savouring the word as if it were a fine wine. "That's all I want to hear, my sweet rebel. That you're mine, and only mine. I've wanted you since the day father bought you. I should've claimed you sooner."
The sensation of his hands on your skin, the heat radiating from his body, it was intoxicating. The way he spoke, the way he looked at you, it was all meant to ensnare you, and it was working.
"Yours," You breathe out, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. It feels right, natural, like a secret you've been holding onto for far too long. Your eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of his hands on your body, the warmth of his presence enveloping you.
"Say it again," He commands, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "Tell me who you belong to, my little rebel. Who owns this body, this soul?"
His hands slide lower, gripping your hips possessively as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, evidence of his desire, his hunger for you. It's intoxicating, knowing that you have such power over him, that you can reduce this powerful man to nothing more than a slave to his own lust.
"I belong to you." You whisper again, a faint smile on your lips, watching how his eyes darkened further. "And I would like to sleep."
Eris laughed softly, "Well then, your first order is to get some fulfilling sleep, and you can't rebel against me, no matter how much your firey heart desires to." His fingers traced your jaw, "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"
"Yeah..." You nod gently before Eris winnowed you to his room, leaving you there to follow through with his command and drop on the bed.
Summary: Reader and Eris adventure beyond their courts borders to go hunting in the secluded, evergreen forest.
Warnings: tooth rotting fluff | adolescent Eris is a force to be reckoned with.
2.5k words.
The crisp, cold air fogged in front of my mouth as I let out a relishing breath. Officially winter, the season sacred to my Court. I nearly giggled with delight as my boots crunched in the snow, the sweet sound putting a beaming smile on my face.
I was on my trek towards the Autumn Court border, where I'd meet with Eris. Vanserra, a young lord and the sole heir of the Autumn Throne, though rumor has it that the Lady of Autumn was pregnant with another.
Eris and I met last year when he scared off my prey with his loud steps, I practically growled in his face but he only stared at me wide-eyed with flushed cheeks— and then I realized he had never met a girl who wasn't tripping over themselves in attempt to charm him, a young handsome lord would be any Court Lady's dream. That day he had claimed he didn't know what he was doing, that his father sent him out here with some fancy arrows and told him to bring back dinner. I gave him my harvest that day and he demanded I teach him how to hunt, and we've met every morning since.
"I hate the cold," The young lord grumbled, his reddened nose awfully adorable and destroying his facade of distaste.
"Of course you do, Lordling." I sigh. "Accustomed to a life of warm meals and crackling fireplaces," I drone on as I approach him, my white fur cloak blending in with the blinding snow.
His lip curled. "You're a princess, you're accustomed to that too."
I shrug. "Yes but I, unlike you, don't whine when the weather isn't to my liking," I hum with a snarky smile.
He deadpanned. "If I recall, five months ago you were moaning and groaning about the heat." He retorted and my smile fell.
"Well then," I click my tongue. He looks down at the basket in my hands, his brow raised.
"This is a gift for you, for our one-year friend anniversary." I hum and hold the wicker basket out to him, the blanket over it shifting with movement. He looked at it curiously, as if whatever was inside might bite his hand off.
"Friend zoned? After all my efforts of attempting to enchant you?" He says, taking the basket from me. I give him an incredulous look. He knew it'd never work, that the Prince with fire in his veins and Princess of ice and snow could never be together, forever opposing courts. No matter how badly I wished for that fact to change.
"Just, open it." I push the basket into his hand and he takes it, a sniffling snout peaking out from beneath the blanket. Eris looked at me slightly alarmed but I only gave him an encouraging smile. He sighs and flips back the rest of the blanket, revealing a pup with a gray coat, his tail wagging excitedly at the sight of his new owner.
"Where did you get this?" He looked at me with alarmed confusion and I rolled my eyes.
"My uncle gifted him to me on solstice, but we don't have the right environment to train and take care of him," I took the pup from his basket and cradled him in my arms, he chuffed and attempted to lick my cheek.
"He's a hunting dog, a smoke hound to be exact," I explain and hand him to Eris, who holds the dog like he was an alien.
"I know what he is. Do you understand what you're giving away?" He raises a brow. Smokehounds were the best breed in Prythian, not only that but this was a pure breed, so rare that even one was extremely difficult to come by. I knew the Autumn Court had prized them, and I could think of no one more deserving than the young lord who had snuck his way into my frozen heart this past year.
"Yes, very aware." I smile.
"I can't accept him, any of this," He shakes his head and puts the dog back into the basket, and attempts to hand it back to me.
"But look, he's already so attached to you," I argue with adoring eyes as the pup licks at Eris's ringed fingers.
"Let him hunt with us today, and then we'll decide who he goes home with." I place the basket down and watch as the hound spills out of it, trotting through the deep snow. His thick coat kept him warm, and his tongue lolling out was enough to say he was happy to be outside rather than trapped in my castle, to be doing what he was born to.
"Fine," Eris sighed, then grabbed his bow from his back. I did the same with mine. We followed the dog through the forest, allowing him to lead us as he tracked an invisible scent that even our fae senses couldn't pick up. His long ears nearly dragged through the snow as he trudged forward.
"What will you name him?" I ask softly, my voice quiet in fear of scaring off any prey.
"You can name him," Eris grumbled, showing only disinterest in the dog. I'd find it rude if I didn't know him better than that. He was trying to let it not get to him, he had never received such a meaningful gift for no real reason. He didn't like the warm feeling in his chest that he had never quite been able to control.
"Come on," I groan. "At least bounce ideas with me?" I suggest but he ignores me and I stop in my tracks, staring at him and sheathing my arrow back in its quiver.
He halted too after realizing I had stopped and turned to me with a raised brow.
"Why do you do this," I sigh.
"Do what?" He slings his bow over his shoulder.
"Deny any form of admiration I try to give you?" I stride closer, only a pace but enough to send him a message.
He stayed silent, only swallowing thickly as a reply. "It's a hound, Princess. I appreciate it but it's too grand of a gesture—" He begins to argue after a moment but I cut him off.
"This isn't about the dog." I shake my head. "Why do you refuse to let me you let me love you?" My brows crease and he bristles at my wording, but that is what it was, isn't it? That warm feeling he couldn't control that twisted him into knots, it was love, and he was terrified of it.
"Because I don't feel the same." He wills himself to say and a twinge of pain cracks through my heart but I remain strong.
"Liar," I snarl. "What are you so afraid of?" I take another step forward, so close that if I reached out, I could grab his hand in mine.
He shrugs and looks to the side, at the long line of evergreen trees that were more free than him, rooted into the frozen soil but still, alive and thriving. Far more than he'd ever be while chained to a throne. "Eris," I whisper and he shudders at the way I say his name. It was too intimate, it held none of the malice it often did when his father spat it, only heavy with adoration and guilt. "Eris look at me," I say and he steels his features, because my eyes were too much for him to bear, the eyes of the female he loves, and that horrifies him, because he cannot fool or trick me when I stare at him with those all-seeing eyes, cannot attempt to plot or ensnare when I look at him like that.
"I'm afraid of my father finding out," He confesses. "Terrified that if he discovers that something other than power makes me happy, he'd destroy it." His voice was as pure and raw as the fresh snow beneath our feet.
"We're seventeen, we shouldn't have to worry about that—" I begin but it was his turn to cut me off.
"But we're not normal kids, we will never be normal kids." He reached out and cupped my cheeks, and despite the negative temperatures, his palms were warm and soothing against my icy skin. "And I can't risk you."
"I'm a princess of my court, sole heir to the Winter Throne. To hurt me would be an act of war, he cannot touch me." I claim.
"No, but he will find a way. He will cleave us and tear us apart until you hate me." He claims and I frown.
"That will never happen." I shake my head, refusing the idea of ever hating the male that stood in front of me.
"Won't it?" His hands on my face press firmer, stressing his point. "We're heirs of opposing courts, inevitably we will become enemies." He explains.
"But we could be the ones to form an alliance," A fool's dream. The autumn court was too prideful to accept any other court, and the winter court would never ally with fire bringers. "Can't we just be stupid and reckless and young, for once?" I plead. "Even for only a few moments?" I say and reach forward, gripping his tunic in my fist.
"Is that too much to ask for?" I murmur and his eyes soften.
"Far too much," He replies, his warm breath mingling with mine. "But I'm willing to give it to you," He says, his voice steady and warm like crackling embers to a recently put-out fire.
"As a friend-anniversary present?" I taunt him with a teasing smirk and he shakes his head.
"You don't know how to shut up do you?" He drawls and I smile.
"I can think of one way," I suggest, stumbling forward and his breath hitched as I rose onto my toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. I pulled back with a soft smile and that was enough to send him reeling. He advanced forward, his fingers singing with heat against my cheeks as his lips, finally, met mine.
It was innocent and gentle, and a little awkward, but gods was it perfect. The kiss alone heated my entire body, all the way down to my fingertips which were still clutching his green tunic. Realizing I was still gripping him I relaxed my hands and allowed them to slip up his chest, around to the nape of his neck so I could pull him closer and encase myself in his warmth while he deepened our kiss.
My stomach clenched when he pulled away, it was quick, only a moment— exactly what I had asked for. I hadn't realized I was now going to crave those moments until the end of me.
He looked at me, his cheeks flushed and I knew it wasn't the cold that tinged them. "You ruined my makeup," I say, reaching up and wiping away the smear of cosmetics on his bottom lip.
"But you look beautiful," He mumbled, too caught up in the action of me so casually touching his lips. I lift my eyes up to his gold-flecked ones and smile wickedly.
"That kiss really did a number on you," I taunt because it was the only way to stop myself from being greedy and kissing him again, and again, and again until I could recall the exact feel of his lips from memory.
He looked to the side, attempting to get rid of his blush, forget about how perfectly he slotted against you.
Then his brows bunch in concern and my spine stiffens with alarm. "What is it?" I ask, looking out towards the empty forest.
"Your dog already got lost." He grumbled and I relaxed, my shoulders slumping.
"He's your dog," I stress. "And he's not lost. He's hunting." I say proudly and Eris casts me an unbelieving glance. I smile at him and press a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"Come on," I take his hand in mine and drag him through the frosted-over forest. "We have to catch at least a few squirrels before leaving," I say and he mumbles a string of curses but follows me anyway.
We had been crouched behind a bush for so long now that my legs began to ache from my position. Eris was fletching an arrow leaning back against a tree, his auburn hair blending in with the trunk of the redwood. I admire his pale features, his sharp nose, and high cheekbones. His amber eyes that were flecked with gold if you were close enough to notice. I was just about to blurt something foolish about how handsome he was, when the crunch of snow sent my ears peeking up.
Eris froze too, becoming alert and peering over the side of the tree as I drew my arrow from its quiver and nocked it against my bowstring. The sound of steps comes from behind, straight at us, growing faster.
I whirl around and aim at the grey creature bounding towards Eris.
The smokehound pup trotted towards him with a limp rabbit in his maw. The hound chuffs then drops it at Eris' feet as an offering. "Aw, he's brought you a gift," I beam wildly. "You should turn the rabbit into jerky and treat him with it. He'd love that," I say while patting the pup's dark coat.
His gaze lingers on you for a long moment, analyzing your gentle features when you look at the dog. "Maybe I will," He mutters and I look over to him with a soft smile. "I think we're done for the day," I say and stand upright, stretching my legs as I do so. He does the same, the pup looking up at him with his tail wagging excitedly. Eris bent down and patted the dog's head and the hound began running circles around the both of us.
Eris shakes his head with feigned annoyance. I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him forward, right into me. His arms wrapped around my waist on instinct, stabilizing himself with his hands planted on my torso— and even through all the layers of clothing, I could feel the warmth emanating from him. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, right?" I tilt my head up at him and he nods with a soft smile.
"Mhm, bring Flynt," I say and he raises his brows.
"Is that his name, now?" He asks, looking down at the dog weaving between us happily.
"You said I could pick," I shrug innocently and his smile grows.
"Flynt it is," He nods, then leans forward and places a soft, precious kiss on my forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Princess." He whispers against my frosty skin and I nod, taking a wobbly step back and turning away towards my Court before I got the idea in my head that I could find us an empty cabin to live in until we were old and rotting.
I don't bother with goodbyes and continue my march towards the Mountain Home. But I did look back, just once, to see Eris and his new obedient pet walking alongside each other back towards the realm of crackling bonfires and falling leaves.
Content warning: Forced marriages, implied sexual violence.
Word count: 1k
Notes: A small writing experiment.
The sun descends into its grave; Night Court is again at the height of its power. Where the rest of the world goes to sleep, those within the metropolis of Nightmares rouse. Like shadows, they tethered themselves to cobblestone walls and slink through downtown streets.
Hewn City came to life at night. A haunted house of phantoms—bleak, hungry, vengeful.
Connected to the arteries and veins of this place was the castle heart. It was carved into the mountain itself. Gargoyles coiled at the gates, stone beasts nestled in fangs and claws as they devoured each other. Between them grew the only natural flora: flowing vines of jasmine and moonflowers and poisoned ivy.
If one were lucky enough, or ambitious enough, to make it inside, they’d be welcomed with spirals of polished ebony and tapestries of hideous figures—begging, revelling, fornicating.
To receive an invitation to enter was a blessing, all would be made to believe. It would show status, that you had climbed above the desperate.
But she knew better.
She was fourteen when she first entered the Hewn City castle walls. A new gallery was opened for viewing the same month her father made an advantageous trade. His business in wines fermented with mirthroot made your family wealthy enough to brush shoulders with those of noble blood.
Her mother silently stood by her father as he whispered in ears and sweetened his pockets. She was left to enjoy the art alone.
There was a painting larger than she hung as a centrepiece. A woman with a head of pythons, her mouth hung open in a curdling scream, silenced by the man who tears his sword through her neck. Her body was depicted naked, back arched, splayed over a rock below her raised head. Erotic—males would mumble under their heavy breaths. Their female counterparts would press their lips together and bow their heads.
She didn’t stop staring into the eyes of the angered, crying woman, even as her father laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You once asked me how you can help me,” her father would murmur into her ear, cold and unforgiving as the warrior who raised the female’s head. “You can help me now, daughter.”
The woman with the head of pythons became her mirror, while her father sharpened the sword later given to the male who promised to become her new keeper.
In the opulent drawing room, the flickering faelights cast a warm glow over the unfolding precession. The man she was to marry was called Abernathy—an Earl with coffers made of gold. Her dowry was wine and pure flesh.
The body of present witnesses were all family members and close council, as well as the officiant himself. She was adorned in a gown of ivory silk and lace, a garland of baby’s breath weaved into a crown atop her head. She held a taper candle, dripping white wax into her fingers, the burn a comfort against her new husband’s cold leer.
She had once dreamt of flying so she could touch the clouds. As a child, she imagined them to be more plush than a feather-filled pillow, malleable yet dense to create small, safe creatures.
She imagined she was flying on her wedding night. High above those clouds, far from her marital chambers. Far from her physical body.
The High Lady of The Night Court. The title that was gifted to the mate of The High Lord. An equal in power and body—the first ever made.
Talk within the streets of Hewn City ignited—hesitancy, anger, hope. Those in the castle walls spoke fervently of this change. Males scoffed and begrudgingly bowed their heads in submission to the new instatement. It was the females who excitedly gossiped and grinned behind palms over afternoon teas and gatherings.
“I believe this will change everything,” one of her closer confidants affirms, smiling into the rim of her china cup. She toasts in agreement despite the uncertainty within her second friend.
“Do not be excited over the slim possibilities,” her second friend warns.
She shook her head, hopeful for what the figure of the High Lady could represent, what she does represent—equality, freedom, and progress. The weight of the diamond on her left hand was a chain she vowed to remove one day. She believed The High Lord’s mate would be the one to set her free. To set all of them free.
She wore violet blue to the Winter Solstice. It was a statement in of itself, a calling, a dream. Her head was bowed, and her lips were tight as she followed close beside her husband. She did not speak until dismissed, so she resigned herself to listening. Trades, relationships, machinations. The hall was another business deal disguised as a celebration.
Dark magic rumbled the core of the mountain, warning the approach of the High Lord and the High Lady. Faeries turned and gathered as the Throne Room doors yawned open. Gasps and sighs echoed at their court leaders—their Lady, garbed and crowned. And pregnant.
She followed the crowd and dropped into a deep curtsy as they made for their throne. The hairs on her neck stood on end as she felt them fly closer. Despite knowing better, her gaze raised to peer through her lashes. Her heart sang with hope as she looked upon her High Lady.
Look at me, her eyes pleaded, look at us. Do you see the invisible chains that keep us shackled? The rings we did not accept around our fingers?
The High Lady only looked where she was going, climbing the dias to her throne. Untouchable and unreachable.
She rose, yet her stomach sank. The fae around her drank and toasted with her father’s wine. Her husband dismissed her early in the night, and she joined her circle of friends.
The painting of the woman with a head of pythons still hung in the gallery—marvelled by males, empathised by females. She did not have a head of pythons, but she silently screamed into the abyss.
She had hoped, and she was wrong. The High Lady was not their saving figure of change. Girls will still be given manacles while the Lady is here.
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
janainaart
snowghoul
prguitarman
