Hi everyone! I've decided to share sentences from every result that received that at least one vote! I've combined both polls as well <3
Nesswynriel ABO (Nesta x Cassian x Gwyn x Azriel) 2 Sentences
I’m glad I was able to debunk several beta myths.’ Gwyn signed. ‘Nothing is worse than people believing betas don’t experience pleasure at all.’
I Just Can't Prove It (He Did It) next Ch 7 Sentences
Nesta groaned, putting the phone away. “I can’t get into her phone. I tried our birthdays, even Graysen’s. Nothing.” Cassian tilted his head in response. “You know Graysen’s birthday?” Pushing the strands of hair back, Nesta scratched her arm. “Only because it’s the most basic date ever. September 15th.”
Cassian cracked a small smile. “So he’s a virgo?”
Flying Changes next Ch 9 Sentences
“I guess you have a thing for females in distress.” Nesta amused. Cassian’s gaze fell to her, rolling his eyes playfully. “Regardless, her teenage owner died and the parents of the owner didn’t want to keep her. Their daughter had just started competing not long before she passed.”
Sadness curled in her stomach. “How did she die?”
Cassian pushed his hair back, chewing his lip. Nesta watched with careful eyes. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.
Untitled fantasy gothic romance (for nessian week) 14 Sentences
Looking forward, the door opened as the coachman held out his scarred hand to hers. Nesta made it to the ground safely, looking around at the manor before her. Spinning around, the coachman titled his hat towards her. “I will drive back to your family’s home to drop off your father before I make my return.”
“Thank you.” Nesta hoped the appreciation lingered in her words. But something was haunting her bones, as she tilted her head at the coachman. He didn’t seem to be someone she recognized, but something was there that Nesta couldn’t name. Choosing to ignore the nagging feeling, she turned back around to go up the steps when a force pulled her to a stop. Looking back, the coachman was holding onto her arm. Taken back, Nesta went to pull from his grasp, but it only tightened. His hazel tinted eyes stared at hers.
“Whatever you do, miss, don’t go into the western wing. That is off limits.”
Eris had control of everything in his life. The war was over, he was planning to take the Autumn throne, and nothing was left to surprise him…until he met you. A mating bond with an Illyrian was like a spit in his face and neither of you could understand why fate had put you together. You both swore off relations to each other, refusing to even be in the same court, but you should have known that fate is not to be tested.
(ITS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING BUT I AM BACK BABY! I really really hope you guys are still reading and excited and love this! I missed writing for you guys and I'm so happy to be back!!)
((This is the dress I had in my mind but if you like something different, that's okay!!)
/ Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Four / Chapter Five
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since your world had gone to shit. Three weeks of anger, bitterness, grief, and hundreds of other emotions that could all be summed up with one word. Hatred.
You hated him, hated the bond, hated everything. It showed in your face, your voice, hell you were half convinced you could taste it. Rhysand had assured you that Eris would have broken the bond but yet you could still feel it deep inside. It was keeping you up at night with worry.
And if that weren’t enough, it seemed like everyone around you treated you as if you were infected with plague. The topic of what happened that night had not been brought up whatsoever but the tension was hanging thick in the air. Sometimes it seemed as if they were avoiding you altogether, specifically Mor, and it made your hatred grow.
He had ruined your life.
If you knew how to break the bond you would have that night, that moment, but you had no clue. The books in the library didn’t give you any clear answers and you were too afraid of Amren to go to her. You had considered asking Rhys but he was busy with Feyre, Briallyn, and Nesta so you didn’t want to bother him with this more than it already was.
For now, it seemed you just had to grin and bear it. Faking your smiles and conversations while slowly dying inside.
Training was the only time you felt you could truly let out your frustrations. Your knuckles were red and blistered, muscles sore for how often you were up on the training grounds. Today was no different as you stood before one of the punching bags, dawning only a sports bra and shorts, and beating the hell out of it.
The sun warmed your skin and wings as you threw punch after punch, feeling the eyes of two people on your back that you were sure belonged to Cass and Az. You would’ve thought by now that you wouldn’t have more anger left to give but as you stood there, picturing his face and the way he had stared at you in disgust, it only seemed to increase.
Your mind began to race over the encounter again as you replayed his snarl, the way his mouth twisted down, and his eyes raking over your body like you were the bane of his existence. The bag didn’t even have enough time to reset as you used every muscle in your body to strike it.
His amber eyes appeared in your mind as you closed your eyes, chest heaving and sweat dripping down your neck. It was like he was watching you now and you swore you could feel something down the bond but you closed it off, curling your fist and raising it to hit the bag once more only to be met with a solid object.
Cassian was looking down at you with sympathy, your fist caught in his much larger hand before he let go. “Before you completely obliterate the rest of the training grounds, I suggest you go ahead and get ready.”
“Ready for what?” You ask out of breath, nodding towards Azriel as he handed you a cup of water.
“Hewn City. Two hours.” Azriel replied, his arms crossed over his chest. “We have a meeting with Eris.”
Even the sound of his name made you grimace. You stood straighter, lips turned down into a large frown. “Do I have to go?” You asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
They both nodded solemnly, pity in their eyes. You hated it. You didn’t want their pity or to be treated like some broken doll. If anyone would ask you that, they would know. You just desperately wanted things to go back to normal.
“We will be by your side the entire night,” Cassian assured, clapping your shoulder with his hand. “This meeting is going to be attended by everyone. We want to know what his game is, why the bond isn’t broken yet.”
“You and me both.” You said snarky, finishing the rest of your drink before making your way to the doors. They fell in line beside you, their presence comforting. “And he agreed to come?”
“Rhys said that he was ‘very eager’ to see us, and you, again. I have no idea what that could mean but something does not feel right to me.” Azriel noted, holding the door open for you. “I know Eris and what he is capable of. There has to be another reason for this.”
“Well,” You sigh, finding your bedroom door and opening it. “Just make sure there is lots of wine tonight. I don’t think I will be able to get through this without it.”
Cassian grinned and Azriel gave a small smile. “We’ll take you out to Rita’s tonight to make you truly forget about this.” Cass promised, crossing his fingers over his heart. You chuckled and sent them on their way, shutting the door behind you and leaning back on it as you took some deep breaths.
Dread was heavy in your stomach as you collected your thoughts. What if he was planning something tonight? You knew your friends had assured you that they would be by your side but you still didn’t fully trust that Eris wouldn’t try to kill you the moment they were distracted.
You also knew if you dwelled on the what-ifs you would go mad so you decided to get ready, bathing yourself and making sure you were “Court of Nightmares” potential. Seeing Eris was already going to be hell, you might as well look good to boost your confidence.
The dresses you had were custom-made for your body and wings, a perk of being in the Rhys’s inner circle, while also being designed with your taste in mind. Tonight’s dress was no different. It was a dark green, almost black, with a halter collar that cut out around your shoulders and also completely backless.
Small, golden beads made an intricate design around your breasts and neck while the rest of the gown flowed softly down your legs with a slit that ended right at the top of your leg. It was one of your favorites, allowing you plenty of movement. It was also the perfect dress to conceal weapons with as you strapped your dagger sheath around your thigh, tucking your trusty knife inside.
For a brief moment you pictured Eris standing behind you, his hand on your waist and those damned eyes admiring your outfit with a smirk. You scowled at your reflection before turning away to grab some heels, knowing it was the bond making you envision things you didn’t want. It was pretty good at tricking your brain so you were hopeful tonight would go the way you needed it to.
As you slid on your shoes and went to a different mirror to finish applying your rouge and lipstick, you felt a small tug deep within you. It made you smear the corner of your lip from surprise.
“Fucking hell.” You grimaced, ignoring it as it tugged a second time.
Eris seemed to be testing if you would respond but you refused. You would not be giving him any satisfaction for this sadistic dance he seemed to want to draw out. Tonight was to be the end of it.
This story had one chapter, one page, and the happy ending of never seeing each other again.
-------------------------------
All eyes seemed to be on you when the eight of you strolled into the throne room of the Court of Nightmares. The bond was still a secret as far as you knew but the way they were looking at you made your skin crawl. You passed the tables piled high with food as well as the quartet while keeping your eyes out for a certain redhead, taking your position beside Cassian and Azriel.
He was nowhere to be seen and while that made you more unsettled, you decided to turn your attention to your High Lord and High Lady as they put on their masks. You bowed with everyone else, though you and your friends were the only people in the room who truly meant the respect that came with it.
You looked up and saw Keir approach the throne, trying not to look at Feyre and addressing Rhysand instead. Mor smirked as Rhysand corrected him, putting him in his place in front of everyone, which made you smile. The bastard truly deserved it.
“Look alive.” Cassian whispered beside you as the feast began, sending you a friendly wink as he went to his post. You nodded and looked at Rhys briefly, feeling safer that his eyes were on you as you made your way around the room.
While you were by yourself you knew your friends were keeping attention on you subtly. It would definitely rouse suspicion if you suddenly had two of Rhysand’s best soldiers guarding you so you had to keep it lowkey.
The crowd naturally parted for you as you headed towards the back, your face stoic. Some of the males stared in awe at a grown female Illyrian with wings, others disgusted. Almost all of the women sneered at you. However, you knew all of them thought themselves better than you.
Their opinions of you did not keep you up at night. You knew how bitter and miserable they were, how the game worked down here, and if you were honest, you pitied them most of the time. They would always be stuck here, playing the same old game for the same old prizes that would only get them a vague understanding of freedom and power.
Eris was still yet to be seen and you felt yourself relax after about an hour. It would seem he either was waiting in one of the rooms or had bailed completely. Either way, it delayed your meeting as Rhys and Feyre dealt with small court troubles that Keir was rambling about.
Mor and Cassian were discussing something over goblets of wine, the latter’s eyes straying to the oldest Archeron sister several times. To your surprise she also was watching him just as much, her cheeks lightly flushed if they caught each other’s gaze.
Interesting.
You looked for Azriel but he was nowhere in sight, though knowing him, he was probably lurking in the shadows. As you rounded around the table closest to the hallway, your eyes flickering upwards to admire the chandeliers for a brief moment, you felt a large hand wrap around your mouth and an arm around your waist.
They immediately pulled you into the hallway and inside a small room, their grip tight against your skin as you thrashed, kicked, and finally bit down on the hand covering your mouth.
“Fuck!” Eris hissed in pain, pushing you away from him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Who bites someone?”
He was disheveled from your fight, his shirt wrinkled and hair tousled. However, his face was still the same. It still held all the disdain in the world for you, you could see it in his eyes.
“Someone who is being kidnapped.” You snap back, fixing your dress and standing as tall as you could. “I will slice you into a hundred tiny pieces and feed you to the dogs if you do not let me out of this room.”
“Going straight to threats again are we?” He raised a brow, looking you up and down. “I forget that your kind only communicates in violence and grunts. Shall I draw on the walls so you can understand what I’m saying?”
Before he could revel in his comeback, you had unsheathed your knife and shoved him against the door. The knife was cool against his throat, and your bodies pressed against one another as you stared at him with all the anger and hatred you had been swimming in for the last three weeks.
“I will only warn you once.” You say lowly, gaze locked onto his. “If you say anything against my kind, my people, one more time, I will not hesitate to kill you in every way that I know how. Consequences be damned.”
His pupils were wide as you curled your upper lip, pressing the tip of the blade into his pulse point. “Do you understand?”
There was a beat of silence, of tension, as you both shared the same breath before he held his hands up in surrender and nodded. You held him there for a second longer before stepping back and allowing him to fix his suit.
“My apologies…”
Eris looked at you expectedly, his hand waving in front of him as he waited for something. When you only stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Your name.”
“What?”
“What is your name?”
You crossed your arms over your chest, wondering if you should give it to him. He was sure to find out if you didn’t tell him so there shouldn’t be any true harm in it.
“Y/N.” You responded quietly.
“Y/N.” Eris repeated, testing it on his tongue. Your fingertips squeezed the upper muscles of your arms when you heard how he said your name. It made something flutter deep inside you but you drowned it as fast as you could. Damn bond.
“My apologies, Y/N.” He continued, rolling up the cuffs on his sleeves. “For both the words and the ‘kidnapping’, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“That is what I will call it because that’s what it is.” You snark, frowning. “Would you rather me call killing you ‘expediting your trip to the Mother’?”
He couldn’t stop the genuine smile on his face at how quick-witted you were. “I suppose not.”
“Enough talk. Let me out this instant. My friends are sure to be looking for me.” You stated, going to walk around him until he shot his arm out and blocked your path. His face was dangerously close to yours as you turned your head, having to look slightly upwards in order to meet his eyes.
“Move. Your. Arm.” You seethe, growing annoyed by how much enjoyment he seemed to be getting out of riling you up.
“I wanted to talk to you before the meeting.” Eris explained, briefly looking at your wings before back to your face.
“What could you possibly have to say to me?” You argue, stepping back and away from him. “Because I have nothing to say to you. Nothing except to break the damn bond.”
“And why haven’t you?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Do you not think I have tried?” The words shot out of your mouth like poison. “I have no idea what to do or how to do it. Believe me when I say that if I knew how it would have been done the moment it happened.”
Eris hummed and it only infuriated you more. He was treating you like you were dumb, like a child trying to play chess. His arrogance was seeping through every pore of his body.
“And since you do know, why haven’t you?” You question, pointing your finger at his chest. “You don’t want this. I don’t want this. Break it.”
“It is much more complicated than that, Y/N.” He answered with a sigh, gesturing for you to take a seat. However you didn’t trust him, didn’t know if there was someone lurking behind you, so you remained standing. Eris studied you for a second before rolling his eyes and sitting down in the chair closest to him.
“I’m not going to harm you-”
“I will remain standing, thank you.” You cut him off. “Explain yourself or I am leaving.”
“When a bond is severed, it is traumatic for both parties involved regardless if the bond is wanted or not.” Eris began, gesturing between the two of you. “Not only is it painful emotionally and mentally, but physically as well. We will both be sick, tired, feeling as if we had just been through a war.”
You looked down at your feet, mulling over his words. It didn’t register in your brain that it could be that painful. You thought it was as simple as wishful thinking.
“And I’m not saying this out of concern for your well-being, but for mine.” He added, ignoring your scoff. “If my father sees me like that he will know something has happened, that something is off. He will go snooping and if he finds out I am mated, especially to someone like…”
He trailed off as you narrowed your eyes, daring him to say something. Eris raised his hands up in an innocent gesture again.
“I will not restate my feelings for your…people,” He said the last word painfully, and your fist curled up at your side. “But if you think I do not like you, you have not met my father.”
“So it is for my well-being?” You counter with a smirk, letting your wings open just a tad. “You just said that your father was worse than you when it comes to my kind and if you think he will be hard on me-”
“Do not assume that is what I meant.” He snapped, eyebrows furrowed. “I have no care for what happens to you. I care more about the ant underneath my feet than I do for you or this court. However, even being mated to you will have my father’s anger turned to me.”
Your smirk fell as he stood, irritation growing in his voice. “If he finds out who I am mated to not only will he see me as less than he already does, he will know I have been spending time in the Night Court. It would ruin the entire plan and I will not have it jeopardized because the Mother, for whatever reasons, thinks we would be a good match.”
“So what is it that you are proposing here, Eris?” You question, taking a step closer to him. “To keep the bond? To remain mates and forever?”
“Just until the war is over, until I can take the throne and finally end his tyrant ways once and for all.” He corrected, watching you closely. “So as unfortunate as this situation is, and as much as I hate you, this is what has to be done.”
“And what if I refuse? Why should I care what happens to you at the hands of your father?”
“Because if I am killed, he remains in power. That means his alliance with Briallyn stays. They take over once more and kill everyone you love, and you are left with the guilt and regret for letting your stubbornness get in the way.” Eris ranted, stepping closer to you until you were toe to toe.
“I hate you.” You cursed through your teeth. “I hate you, I hate this situation, I hate everything about this.”
“And that is fine. I think the only mutual feeling we share is hatred and if we can work together on this one simple task, we can end this in a few short months and forget all about each other.” He assured, his hand flexing in his pocket as your scent wrapped around him. “But, for now, we must endure this together.”
“Why did you want to talk to me alone before the meeting?” You murmured, the proximity getting to your head. “You know I have no secrets with my High Lord.”
“Of course, you don’t. You are all oh so loyal to him.” He chuckled without humor. “I approached you first because if you come at my solution with a level head around the others, it might make them more willing to understand. I knew you would react poorly to my news so I planned accordingly.”
You looked into his amber eyes, the same ones that had been haunting you since the bond snapped, before over his shoulder at the door. Rhysand and the rest of your friends were looking for you by now, already suspecting Eris. This needed to be wrapped up.
“So keep the bond connected until the end of the war, or your father's fall, whichever comes first. You give me your word?” You ask while brushing past him, ignoring the way your skin seemed to burn at the part where your arms touched.
“Yes.” Eris responded swiftly, his gaze giving away nothing.
As you reached for the door handle you felt his stare on your back, on your wings, and you found yourself slightly turning around and asking, “Is there any way this could go wrong? Could fail? This bond will not strengthen, right?”
He snorted, actually snorted, and shook his head as he looked down at you. Whatever feelings might have just sparked between you from the touch and stares were now washed away with anger as he stared at you with disdain and distaste.
“As long as we steer clear of each other and harbor no romantic or sexual feelings towards each other, it will remain as it is now.” He explained, tugging on the bond which made you involuntarily place a hand over your heart. “That is the most you will be able to feel.”
You nodded, not catching the way he glanced down at your breasts where your hand lay, and opened the door. “Stay as far away from me as you can and you have a deal.”
He hummed and straightened himself out, watching as you left through the door and replying, “That should be easy enough.”
Nesta gets a small injury in training, and Cassian won't rest until she's healed.
Warnings: Mentions of blood, nothing gory.
Word Count: 1,639 | Nessian Masterlist | Read on AO3
a/n: Well...it's been quite a while since I've written/finished anything that can be posted! I think I'm kinda out of practice. I guess I need to be writing more. XD Prompt request can be seen here.
For Day 1 of @nessianweek
"I'm fine Cassian. It's just a scratch."
Cassian chuckled and let his gaze fall to Nesta. "I think we'll let Madja be the judge of that."
"You're fussing. Put me down!" Nesta demanded, wriggling in his arms.
"Why would I do that? We're fifty feet in the air, and I've grown to like you."
Nesta huffed loudly and grumbled under her breath. Cassian wasn't entirely sure what she said, but it sounded an awful lot like overreacting Illyrian baby.
"If the bleeding stops by the time we land, then we can skip Madja and go back home," he offered. As if there was a chance that was happening. Nesta had been slashed good during training. He'd told her the young priestess was too early in her training to be using a real sword, but did Nesta listen?
Of course not. She never did.
Fuck him, it was one of the things he loved about her.
Nesta nodded and sighed, "Fine. But even if I am still bleeding when we get there, I'm sure Madja will say it's nothing."
He flapped his wings and propelled them forward. It wasn't a long flight, but with each beat of the black leather, his heart grew louder.
His mate was probably right. It wasn't an awful cut, definitely something that would heal overnight. But with the blood flowing down her arm, dripping into the air beneath them, his hold on her was the only thing keeping him together. That and breathing through his mouth to avoid smelling the blood. Seeing it was more than enough to drive him crazy.
Cassian landed gracefully in front of the Healer's practice. Nesta attempted to wriggle out of his arms, but he held her firm as he rushed inside. The blood was still trickling down her arm, she had no way out of this now.
"Madja?" he called, entering the small building.
"Can I get down now?" Nesta asked.
He let out a small chuckle and set her down on a chair just as the small Fae walked in from an archway leading to her medical supply room. "Yes-oh! I see." The female eyed the arm Nesta was holding up with her other hand and then rushed back into her supply room.
Cassian flashed Nesta a smug grin. "Told you so." Nesta stuck her tongue out at him and then went back to examining the gash that just refused to heal as quickly as most injuries. He'd have to go check the sword when they got back to the House, make sure it was clean and there wasn't something else on it that could be affecting her.
Madja returned with a small box and some bandages. She didn't bother to address them or speak as she pulled another chair and a table over and began to set up.
"It looks like you're going to need stitches, dear," Madja explained, already threading a needle.
"What?!" Both Cassian and Nesta shrieked the word, Nesta also hopping out of her seat so fast the chair fell over.
Cassian looked over to Madja as he said, "I thought you'd just be able to give her a tonic or rub something on her arm to help her heal quicker."
"I'm not getting stitches!" Nesta added, not waiting for Cassian to finish.
"Calm down, dear. It's completely safe. And the fastest way to ensure you heal." Madja leaned over to pick up the chair and motioned for Nesta to sit.
Nesta shook her head and took another step away from the seat. "No way."
That wasn't a look on Nesta that Cassian saw often. The way her eyes widened and refused to blink, how they focused in on the needle, how her jaw clenched - Nesta was…scared.
"Nes," he breathed, walking over to her, standing between her and Madja for a moment. He placed his hands on her arms and started to rub them gently. He whispered, "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not-" Cassian quirked his eyebrow at her and she cut herself off, pulling her lips thin. "I don't like needles."
"You were just slashed by a sword," he pointed out, laughing breathily. "I think you can handle a little needle."
He tried to hide the way the small frown broke his heart. That every moment she spent staring at the needle in Madja's hand with those big, grey eyes was torture. That wasn't what she needed.
No, Nesta needed a distraction, and a hand to hold. And maybe a reason to do this beyond herself.
"Can't we just let it heal naturally?" she requested, leaning into him.
She knew. Two years together, there's no way Nesta didn't know. Leaning against him like that, with so much of her body touching his…Cassian could practically feel his will melting away. That perfect scent of a winter's sunrise mixed with embers completely engulfed him, luring him away from reason.
And then the scent of the blood took over, and he was right back in that healing practice, an injured Nesta in his arms, a small healer watching them and waiting.
"The problem is that the cut is so deep, your body is struggling to heal itself," Madja explained. "You need something to help your body find its way, so to speak. That's what the stitches will do, just like they did for Cassian during the war."
"This wound is nothing like that."
Madja's expression didn't alter at the rebuttal. She simply patted the seat again and waited.
"Please, Nesta," Cassian begged. "You can still spend the afternoon recuperating. Maybe curl up with a book in the library. I'll have the House whip up an extra chocolatey cake for you."
Nesta rolled her eyes and huffed, "The House would do that for me anyway."
"Okay. How about you do this, and I'll join you in the library and read a smutty book of your choosing?" Nesta's eyebrows raised, her interest piqued. "And then maybe I'll draw us a bath after dinner?"
"With bubbles." It was an order as much as it was a request. She walked back to Madja and took her seat, and Cassian followed close behind, taking her hand so she'd have something to squeeze.
He lifted his other hand and pulled her face so that those crystal, blue grey eyes were on him. "Look at me, Nes. Don't watch Madja, it'll only make it worse." Nesta nodded, her eyes dropping to his chest as they started to shine. He pulled her head into him and kissed the top of it softly as he watched Madja work.
The healer broke the skin, and Nesta whimpered into him. He kissed her again, brushing his fingers through her hair and softly encouraging her through the process. Cassian wasn’t sure what else he could do, but this seemed to pacify Nesta. It was rather bittersweet, to be able to help her like this. It was nice knowing that he could. But he hated that he needed to.
She remained fairly still, only jerking slightly each time the needle had to pierce the skin again, but soon enough Madja was tying off the stitches and cleaning up the wound again before bandaging it.
"Is it over?" Nesta asked quietly.
"Yeah, it is. And you did so well, Nes," Cassian sighed, pulling back to smile down at her.
Nesta shook her head at him slightly, laughing under her breath as if she found his encouragement amusing now that Madja was done.
Using some fancy solvent, the healer sealed the bandage to itself so that it wouldn't fall right off and then cleared her throat to get their attention. "Now that you have the stitches, the healing will speed up quite a bit. The stitches should dissolve by tomorrow morning, and you'll be good as new by tomorrow night, no scar or anything."
"And I can train tomorrow morning?"
"Absolutely," Madja replied. "You may feel some pain tonight, but that should also be gone by tomorrow. Maybe a touch of soreness, but not much more than you're probably used to."
Cassian stood from where he'd been squatting. "Thank you, Madja. I really appreciate it."
She nodded and waved the gratitude off, focusing instead on cleaning and packing up the materials she'd brought out. "When you get the chance, can you please remind Rhysand he is no longer welcome at Nyx's check-ups? I cannot work with the way he hovers."
"I think you'd survive reminding him far more than I would," Cassian chuckled. He looked over at Nesta and found her wearing a restrained smile, as if she were trying extremely hard to not laugh. "Ready to go?"
She took the hand he held out for her. "Thank you, again, Madja."
"It's not a problem."
The two females nodded at each other. Nesta and Cassian made their way out of the practice and into the bright light of Velaris.
"So, where to next?" Cassian asked.
"We're going back to the House, to the family library. I'm going to pick out the filthiest book for you." Nesta's smile had turned into a conspiratorial smirk that had Cassian already regretting his offer.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and started walking down the street. "Yes, and we will do that. But I thought maybe we could stop by that bakery you love so much. Pick up some desserts for tonight."
"On top of the extra chocolatey cake?"
"On top of the cake," he agreed, pulling her in close as she wrapped her arm around the small of his back. He couldn't help but smile widely as they continued making their way to the shop Cassian spent too much of his money at these days.
Nesta looked up at him from the side of her eyes. "Sounds good. But I'm getting a snack for this afternoon, too."
Prompt - i’m literally so obsessed with cassian rn could you write something with him? i was thinking something along the lines of a badass reader (i hate when the reader or oc is weak, like no we want a #girlboss) and idk you can continue the rest <3
"Get your winged bastards in the air. Now." You stood chest to chest with Thesan, not caring if your muddied armor smudged his fragile white robes. His eyes flared with rage, but he did not move. Such a bold move of a commander of a different court all together to be yelling orders to a high lord. The surrounding area seemed to pause, waiting for the impending fight.
He scoffed, then finally turned from you. Those billowing robes began leaking light, readying him to winnow. You reached out, like a viper ready to catch its prey. Instead of the hood of that perfectly white robe, your hand was caught by a large tan hand.
With a red siphon glowing atop it. You scowled, ripping your hand away from him. Thesan disappeared into a flash of white light. The surrounding crowd quickly got back to work when you shot them an icy glare. Seeing their legion commander bloodied and in a hellish mood was enough to strike fear in all of them.
"We have our own forces to worry about." Cassian muttered under his breath so only you could hear. He kept pace with you easily, years of training and marching together ensuring so. Remembering how he would pin you so easily when you first started training only fuled you to train hard enough to be able to beat him. Hand to hand combat with him was your favorite, aside from the secret nights you laid together with him under an empty field of stars.
You walked faster, boots slushing in the mud from too many soldiers in a small area. The smell of so many males was overwhelming to most, but years of camps exactly like this made you immune to any new smell. "And Thesan has his, which he isnt' worrying about in the slightest." You ground out through your teeth. You nodded to the server as you approached, picking up a bowl.
"Thesan is posturing. How would it look if he took orders from a legionnaire of a different court?"
"I dont give a shit how it looks, Cas. Your Illyrians are the ones that need the help." you took a bite of the stew. It burned your mouth but warmed your belly in a way that made everything else okay for a moment. It was bland, but after hours of battle anything tasted amazing. "Maybe you should be a little more concerned." You glanced at his dirty face. He scowled slightly, but didn't retaliate.
He sipped his stew, much slower than you devoured yours. "I get you're pissed off, but we need to be strategic with our allies as well as the enemies." He said, voice soft. His boot knocked yours slightly under the table. A reminder to not rush. To not dive and give fully to battle. To not yield fully to that intense warrior side. Your heart gave slightly to that small touch. "We need to be able to come back from this." He set his spoon down, lowering a look at you. He didnt look away until your eyes met his.
Your jaw clenched, holding back all the biting rage you had waiting inside. "We will make Thesan look a fool when we take that base without his Perregryns." You gave in to those warm eyes, knocking his foot back under the table. His grin was warm, welcoming. Proud. He took something from the bench seat beside him and held it out to you. Something wrapped in a thick white cloth. Marred by his dirty hands.
"That's my commander." He said with a wild grin. He took the napkin from the plate and revealed a massive roll. Your mouth watered. You could have moaned. Maybe you did, because his laugh and blush made you glance around to see if anyone else had heard. "I need you here, always." He gripped your hand tightly before you took the roll.
Your eyes met his, the strange seriousness there. The non comedic Cassian that you knew to rarely ever come out. You squeezed his hand back and nodded. Finally, he set the plate down in front of you. And you did in fact moan at the first bite. "Mother above, it's still warm." You savored the buttery softness in your mouth.
Cassian laughed, wiping his hands with the napkin. "Only the best for you."
You didnt care that people watched as you devoured the roll, or that you kicked Cassian under the table when he commented about those sounds you
made. You were distracted from the irritation Thesan brought, for the moment at least. Cassian and brought you that peace. You would be forever grateful.
"Tell me, what was your plan once you had grabbed Thesan?" Cassian said around a mouth of stew. The dining hall around began filling up more as soldiers returned from their watches and switched shifts. The loud clattering of plates and bowls made the environment more welcoming.
You wiped the crumbs from your mouth, taking a long drink and considering before answering. "I dont really know. Pray, maybe? That he wouldn't kill me. Or his Guards wouldnt I guess." Cassian rolled his eyes, but remained unsurprised at that. "Maybe hold him down as best I could in the mud until he agreed to letting his Peregryns fight with us."
"I dont think mud will bother him much." Cas slurped the broth from the bowl, dripping slightly on to his black armor."I've seen him in battle." His eyes seemed haunted for a second before he shook it off. You watched as he finished the stew completely, much like you had minutes before him. You checked your sword at your side habitually. Like running your hand over your arm, feeling for any bumps or scratches.
"You gotta stop doing that. You're going to put a wear mark in it." He scolded lightly, eyeing your hand on the pommel of your blade.
You glared at him, he was always criticizing how much he thought you over relied on your short sword and not the longsword on your back. "Get the blacksmiths to forge a shorter long sword, then I'll use it." you stood,
"Wouldn't that still be a short sword but lighter?" He fell right into your innuendo, face first. A rarity for him. You knew he would have caught it if you both weren't so battle ready.
You said the rest a bit louder than necessary - "The length of the sword doesn't matter, what does is how it's wielded." You winked before walking away. soft chuckles rang out near him. He sat in silence and cursed at your back, watching you walk out of the dining hall. He noted each warrior that glanced a bit too long, and let his rage simmer. Save it for another time. He gripped his bowl a bit harder than necessary when he placed it in the bin of dirty dishes.
Fic summary: A feysand/acotar adaptation of Anastasia
Following the rumors of the survival of the Grand Duchess Feyre Archeron, Rhysand and his brothers come up with a plot to escape Russia and claim the Dowager Empress's reward for the princess's return. But could the likeness of the amnesiac they've groomed to be Feyre be more than a coincidence?
Read on AO3 ⟡ Masterlist
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
The streets of St. Petersburg were buzzing more than usual. The people were on edge—understandable, given that the Bolsheviks had seized control of the city seemingly overnight, and the routes out of St. Petersburg were shutting with each passing day.
Rhysand was anxious to get his family, a close-knit group of con artists, out of the city before things turned ugly. And things were turning ugly quickly, especially for the citizens who weren’t so readily embracing the Bolshevik’s new order. Given the price on Rhysand’s head, he doubted his treatment would be very kind once he was caught.
Still, nothing kept Russians down for very long. Already spirits were uplifted by the rumors teeming the streets, exchanged in hushed whispers through the alleyways. Rhysand hadn’t sought out the news that had left gutters in an uproar. Getting caught up in gossip had never done him or his family any favors.
But still, the news had found him. He would need to have his head buried in the sand not to hear of Princess Feyre Archeron, the youngest daughter of the overthrown Czar, and her suspected survival. Already, people were peddling supposed trinkets once belonging to the lost princess. More curious than the princess’s survival, however, was the price that had been promised for her safe return to her grandmother, the Dowager Empress, who had fled to Paris.
“What are you thinking, brother?” came the low, rumbling voice of Azriel. The trusted informant of their company, Azriel had an unrivaled gift for spying—something precious in their current political climate, where every wall had ears.
Rhys looked to his brother slowly. He supposed he should be embarrassed, since he’d clearly not been listening to Azriel’s report on another border closure. The walls of the city were closing in tightly around them, and if they didn’t act quickly then Rhysand’s circle would be trapped. As good as sitting ducks with the rate that thieves and street rats were being picked off in the slums.
They were sitting in the small dwelling he shared with his three brothers. A place Azriel had managed to secure but hadn’t divulged how—it was remarkably tucked away from the chaos of the streets below. And given the current demand for housing, it was certainly a safehaven for the degenerate group.
“Rhys?” Cassian prompted, his curiosity stirred after Rhys hadn’t spoken.
Rhysand shook away the fog of thoughts, focusing his eyes on his brothers. “I was thinking of the Princess Feyre,” he said plainly.
Both of his brothers groaned in response.
“Not you too, brother,” Cassian complained. “That’s all anyone has been talking about this last week.”
“And we have more pressing matters to attend to,” Azriel added flatly, clearly irritated that his report had been dismissed for something so trivial. “If we don’t cross the borders soon—”
“I understand the urgency,” Rhys interrupted, levelling a glare at his spymaster. “And I have a plan. A con so grand it will earn our tickets out of this Hellscape and enough money to lay low afterwards.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting we find the lost princess,” Azriel said in disbelief. “It’s all groundless rumour.”
Rhys offered his brother a slow, conniving smile. “We don’t need to find the real princess, brother. We’ll find a girl to play the part. Teach her what to say, dress her up, and take her to Paris.”
Cassian pursed his lips in thought. Azriel, as always, was silent in his contemplation.
Rhysand could sense they were not convinced. “Who else could pull it off, but the three of us? No one else with such close connections to the Czar has stayed this long. We’d have everything we need to make it convincing and collect the Dowager’s reward. Then we flee—maybe head west.”
Rhys watched as inspiration flickered behind Cassian’s eyes, and slowly Cass’s face split into a colluding grin that matched Rhysand’s own.
“We’ll give those bastards something to talk about,” Cassian said.
“And with luck we won’t be shot,” Azriel muttered, but Rhys understood that was his unspoken concession.
Rhysand stood up at that, peeking out the window to the spires of the city ahead. “Right then, brothers. Let’s go find ourselves a princess!”
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
They held auditions in the theater of the abandoned Archeron Palace. Azriel’s spies had done well to spread word that their “acting troupe” was searching for a brown haired, blue eyed actress to play their lead role. If anyone was suspicious by the matching description to the lost Grand Duchess, no one unsavory had shown up to inspect. For that, Rhysand was grateful.
A decent number of girls had shown up—the promise of paid work too tempting to turn away despite the questionable troupe. Anything not expressly permitted by the Bolsheviks was suspect, these days, and people were desperate.
Despite the promising number of women, Rhysand and his brothers were entirely uninspired. Not a single one of the “actresses” was convincing enough to pass as the princess. And any who were close enough lacked the grit to pull off such a con.
“Perhaps this was a lost cause,” Cassian grumbled as the last girl departed with a huff.
Rhys was about to reassure his brother when the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen walked through the doors.
“Um, hi,” she said—not shyly, but more in bewilderment from the three pairs of eyes that had turned to her so intently. “I’m looking for Rhysand.”
Curious, since Rhys hadn’t assigned a name to the audition rumor. He sat up a bit straighter, as did Az, searching for a potential threat. “I’m Rhysand,” he said stiffly.
The woman looked relieved. “I heard that I could come to you for some paperwork. For tickets to Paris.”
Rhysand arched a brow. They had mentioned in the rumors that their troupe would be travelling to perform in Paris, but for this girl to have come here specifically for that reason was unusual. Unless she was someone hoping to escape. Who’d sent her onto his path?
“And who are you?” he asked, the words coming out like a purr. He hadn’t meant to, but something about the women was condemningly alluring.
The woman seemed to hesitate. “I’m just a street sweeper. I’ve been given the name Clare.”
Rhys was fascinated by the strange response, and the equally strange wording. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table he’d been sitting at. “I sense there’s a story here.”
“Not one that’s any of your business,” she snapped. “I’ve come seeking passage to Paris. Can you help me or not?”
Rhysand studied the girl carefully, then glanced at his brothers to affirm if they’d noticed the same thing he had. Her likeness to Anastasia was… incredible. Unfathomable, really. Of course, Feyre had been a girl when she disappeared. But if Rhysand had to guess what that girl he’d once met would grow to look like, the woman before him would have been an identical match. He could see the recognition in Azriel’s eyes, too.
“Exit papers are expensive,” Rhys noted dryly, turning his attention back to Clare. “You’d be expected to work for us.”
To his surprise, her attention was turned away from the three men completely. She was staring around the room, looking equal parts awestriken and horrified.
“Miss?” Cassian called, assessing the woman carefully. “Are you alright?”
“I’ve been in this room before,” she whispered. She sounded so choked up Rhysand half expected her to burst into tears.
Cassian stood up from his chair, then, and approached the woman. “Are you feeling okay? When was the last time you ate?” Indeed, she was thin and did look rather faint. “Do you need water?”
Rhysand couldn’t decipher whether his brother’s concern was genuine, or if he were trying to make a move on the poor woman, but he stood up to assist regardless. Rhysand pulled a chair with him and offered it to Clare to sit. Her entire face had blanched as she looked around the palace theater warily.
“Where are we?” she rasped, falling into the seat as if her legs had given out.
Rhys blinked at the woman. How could she possibly not know what this place was? The Czar hadn’t been overthrown that long ago; judging by her age she’d certainly been old enough to remember such a significant event.
“The private theater of the Archeron Palace,” Azriel answered, still watching her from his seat. He’d been studying her carefully, not looking remotely concerned for her wellbeing. He was suspicious of her, Rhys noted.
At Clare’s blank look, Rhysand elaborated. “The home of the royals, before they were overthrown.”
Clare bit her lip nervously, her eyes far-away as they flitted over the stage. “I watched people dance here.” Her voice was soft and astonished.
Rhysand studied her quizzically. She had to be mistaking this theater for another, unless she had been close enough to the royals as a child to have secured an invite to their private theater. From her appearance, she certainly didn’t look as though she’d come from a dignified family—but he supposed neither did Azriel, who had been the son of a count and had also spent his fair share of time in the palace.
“There was champagne…” she mumbled, mostly to herself. “And the most beautiful gowns.”
“Are you from a noble family, then?” Rhys inquired. It would certainly explain her desperation to flee to Paris, since nobility was being hunted with nearly as much fervor as criminals.
Clare looked at Rhysand as if he’d struck her. That haunted look hadn’t left her eyes, but they possessed more clarity now. “I don’t know,” she answered.
Azriel frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
Clare looked at him, noticed his hard stare, and shrugged indifferently. “I was found unconscious on the side of the road one day,” she explained. “I have no memories, no idea who I am or why I was there. The nurses named me Clare and sent me on my way, telling me there was nothing they could do to help my amnesia. But I’ve had this… urge to go to Paris. I think whoever my family is, that’s where they are. So if you’re offering passage to Paris, then I’ll do whatever work you require.”
Rhysand thought that certainly sounded convenient. And her offer to work without knowing what it entailed was too naive. But Clare was staring down Azriel—not an easy feat, especially not for someone who was lying. Azriel looked impressed. The disbelief that had been clouding his eyes had evaporated. Cassian looked inclined to believe her, too, to Rhysand’s surprise.
Rhysand studied the woman before him. Her likeness, her age, her amnesia… he pressed his lips together. It was too improbable, he wouldn’t entertain it. Surely it was all just coincidence. Nevertheless, it would make their story plausible, and that’s what was most important.
“Perhaps we can help each other, after all, Clare,” he crooned.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
“Liars,” Clare hissed at them. Despite her frail appearance, she was a surprisingly feisty woman.
His brothers had taken Clare back to their humble dwelling to teach her the role she was expected to play. Despite her promises of “whatever work they required”, she was resistant to scheming to be a fake princess.
After a hasty glance towards Azriel, Rhys quickly recalculated direction. “We’re not lying, Feyre,” he assured. Her head whipped towards him at the use of the name, eyes blazing in fury.
“I revealed my amnesia in good faith,” she snapped. “Do not use it now to manipulate me.”
“We’re trying to help you,” Rhysand reasoned. “Haven’t you put it together yet? How you recognized the palace theater? Your amnesia beginning the same year the princess went missing? Your inexplicable likeness to the missing Grand Duchess? And how curious you suspect your family is in Paris, where the royals have all fled. Do you have any other explanation, besides the one we’re proposing?”
Clare pressed her lips together. She didn’t have a better explanation, but Rhysand knew she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
“Look, Clare, it’s a win-win situation. If you are the woman I’m convinced you are, then your grandmother will recognize you immediately and you’ll be reunited with your long lost family.” She was already crossing her arms in indignation, and Rhysand continued on before she could interrupt. “And if she doesn’t recognize you, then it’s an honest mistake that would have granted you passage to Paris with the opportunity to find your true family.”
Clare shut her mouth at that and Rhysand thanked the Gods that she actually seemed to be considering his words, for once. They’d done nothing but argue with each other since the moment they met. He was already regretting choosing her to be the princess, though he could admit she had the tenacity required.
Sensing he had her snared, Rhys pushed just a little bit harder. “Either way, it gets you to Paris and it gets us out of Russia. Everybody gets their happy ending.”
Clare caved. “How do you… become a person that you’ve forgotten you ever were?”
Cassian grinned wide, swooping in to place his arm around her shoulder. “That’s what you have us for!”
Rhysand stepped back to let his brothers take over. Azriel began inundating her with information about princess Feyre—where she was born, her hobbies, her lineage. She took it all in with wide eyes, muttering her disbelief with each additional fact.
Rhysand didn’t truly believe she was the lost princess. At least, he wasn’t as convinced as he was trying to make Clare believe. It was cruel, he knew. But if manipulating Clare got him and his family to safety, then it was a price he was willing to pay. And he justified it by telling himself she was ultimately getting what she wanted, too. Still, a sense of dread had settled over him to take advantage of someone’s vulnerability—no matter how hot-headed of a woman she was.
He was drawn out of his musings at Clare’s sudden outburst.
“I’ve had it! And I hate you both! I don’t remember everything, now giving me a fucking second to breathe and leave me alone!”
His brothers looked taken back as she suddenly stormed from the room. He blinked at them, shooting a look that said what did you do?
Cassian nodded to Azriel, looking exasperated, and Rhysand could guess that the girl hadn’t taken kindly to his brother’s coarse nature. With a sigh, Rhys followed after her to do damage control, being the only silver-tongued one among his brothers.
“Feyre darling,” Rhysand murmured in greeting as he stepped out of their dwelling. She was leaning against the alley wall, her cheeks flushed in anger. He smothered a laugh as he marveled at how someone so furious could be so… adorable.
“Don’t call me that,” she instantly shot back. “And I thought I told you and your miserable friends to leave me alone.”
“Look, I’m sorry about Azriel. He can get a little intense. The truth is that we’re all a little wound up and scared. You know as well as we do that these streets aren’t safe for people like us. And if I was in your position—I’d be terrified. Honestly, you’re holding it together pretty well, all things considered.”
He saw that her lower lip was trembling and suddenly felt like such a prick to spring so much on her. Rhysand had convinced her she was the last remaining member of the Czar—perhaps one of the most dangerous identities she could have had. Sure, the promise of finding her long last grandmother must be compelling, but it also meant she had a massive target on her back. The Bolsheviks would have her head the second they caught wind of it, which meant they needed to flee Russia as quickly as possible.
“You’re a courageous woman, to have struggled through so much for so long—much stronger than I could ever hope to be. And my brothers in there, they want to help you. I know they’re a bit brash, but you don’t have to face this all by yourself. You can trust us.”
He was a bastard. Even in consoling her he was a lying piece of scum. But something seemed to resonate in Clare, because she blinked away her tears and stood a bit straighter.
“And you have my permission to punch Azriel if he gets on your nerves again,” he said, which made her laugh. She hadn’t laughed or smiled yet, since he’d met her, and Rhysand swore the sound made his heart stop beating for a full minute. He nearly choked at the way it constricted his chest. Fuck. Just a small laugh, and it had completely knocked the air out of him.
Clare gave him an odd look, the smile already gone. “Are you alright?”
“Peachy,” he quipped, gesturing her inside. “Come on, let’s go show those bastards up.”
This time, Rhysand took a more heavy-handed role, not trusting Clare to his brother’s devices. She was actually picking it up remarkably fast, despite her earlier setback.
“Your Great Aunt Olga was a dancer—she was given a performance at every ball the Archeron family held. For your fifth birthday, the two of you danced together all night,” Azriel explained to her, more gently after Rhys had pulled him aside to chide him for his cold demeanor.
“Your distant cousin Vanya loved his vodka. He was thoroughly sloshed at every party before dinner was even served,” Rhys added, handing her the small portraits they’d procured from the abandoned palace.
“The Duke of Oldenburgh was…?” Cassian prompted.
“Short?” Clare guessed, which made the Rhys chuckle.
“Quite tall, actually. And married to your Great Aunt Ripleigh,” Azriel supplied flatly, shaking his head in exasperation. Clare shot him a dirty look, which earned her a timid, apologetic smile from Az.
“Count Sergei is notable because he always wore a feathered hat, and looked absolutely ridiculous because of it,” Rhys handed her a portrait of the count, his ostentatious hat on full display.
Clare uttered a soft sound of recognition when she saw it. “He had a yellow cat,” she murmured. “Dima.”
Rhysand looked up to his brothers, who both looked perplexed. That wasn’t in the intel they’d gathered.
No time to dwell on it, they quickly moved on to etiquette. Azriel, being a count’s son, knew how to dance far better than Rhys and Cassian. But Clare had adapted an aversion to the spymaster, and Cassian had been too handsy for Rhysand’s liking. So Rhys was the one to teach her, ignoring his brother’s taunting eyes all the while.
The girl was surprisingly graceful and dancing seemed to come naturally to her, despite stepping on Rhysand’s toes more than a few times. Rhysand took the rare moment to admire her face devoid of glares. She was starting at their feet, concentrating hard on getting the steps of the dance right. Rhysant thought in that moment she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever laid eyes on. She glanced up, suddenly, and seemed to start when she noticed his gaze. He watched a blush bloom across her cheeks, emphasizing the smattering of freckles found there. But she didn’t look away.
They held each other’s gaze for a long while. Rhysand marked the blue in her eyes, certain he’d never seen a color so vibrant. He’d never had a favorite color before, never had the luxury to care about such things. But if he had to pick one now, it would be the blue-gray he saw before him.
Cassian cleared his throat, causing Rhys to immediately let go. Clare stumbled at the sudden release, but caught her footing nimbly. Rhysand averted his eyes from his brothers, not wanting to see the warning that would inevitably be on their faces. She was pretty, sure, but it would be dangerous to entertain any feelings for her. They were con artists after all, and she was a victim in their scheme. He allowed himself one more look at Clare, and Rhysand knew she was going to condemn him to the very depths of Hell.
Cassian is always playing with Nesta's iPod, but Nesta has no idea why.
Warnings: None | Word Count: 2,141 | Nessian Masterlist
Read on AO3
a/n: This is a throwback to different technological times! To the early/mid 2000s and the first few generations of iPods. For Day 5: Music of @nessianweek.
Nesta walked through the crowded hallway straight to the student center, head bobbing along to the music playing in my ear.
She loved her massive, over-ear headphones. They really did the trick of drowning the entire school out. All she could hear was the music cascading through her bones, and it took a great amount of control to keep herself from starting to rock out and dance in the middle of the corridor.
Do or die, you'll never make me
Because the world will never take my heart
Go and try, you'll never break me
We want it all, we wanna play this part
She made a beeline for the student center, finding a table on the outskirts of the junior section quickly before the other students with an open period started filling up the tables. Gwyn and Emerie weren't free this period, and she had no interest in hanging out with anyone else.
The room was basically a massive square with tables organized into four sections. The sections created a big, open square in the middle of the room that students walked through when traveling to the different wings of the school. From the entrance to the student center, the senior section was first. To the right of the open square was the freshman section, at the top of it was the sophomore section - which was right in front of the cafeteria that was open almost the entire day from about 7:30 until the end of the last lunch period - and then to the left was the junior section.
Nesta picked a table in the far corner, so close to the stairwell to the library it was practically beneath it. The chairs around her were strewn about in a way that made most of them look like they belonged to none of the tables. High schoolers didn't care about pushing chairs in when the bell rang and it was time for class. And the other tables nearby remained empty as the student center cleared out, leaving only the sophomores, juniors, and seniors who had an open period.
The room seemed rather quiet once the bell rang again and classes had officially started. Far more preferable.
She pulled her iPod and computer out of her bag and set them both on the table. The movement caused her earphones to wiggle a bit, and she had to push the connector back into the jack fully.
That had been happening a lot lately, much to Nesta's chagrin. But there wasn't much she could do. Two years prior she'd saved up about a year's worth of tutoring money to buy her forty gigabyte iPod, and she had no interest getting back into tutoring. People could be so dumb and she had no patience for it.
Sure, she'd love to get a new iPod. They now have ones with video capability and go up to sixty whole gigabytes. She probably wouldn't use the video much, but the screens also are in color. And she's always watching that storage bar as she gets increasingly close to being told her iPod is full. But she also loved her current iPod. It's far sturdier than the new ones, and she'd spent so much time working to get one. How could she just throw it away?
Opening her laptop, Nesta pulled open her iTunes and started working on a new playlist. She'd just purchased My Chemical Romance's album 'The Black Parade' and was obsessed with 'Welcome to the Black Parade'. So, of course, she needed to create a playlist themed around that song.
She'd managed to plug her iPod in - it needed a quick charge, it ran out of battery so fast these days - and add that one song to the playlist before a chair was pulled up to her table and a large mass of a boy plopped down into it.
Cassian Laskaris sat there, grinning at her as she looked up from her screen. And damn him, he looked good. It was only the second period of the day, so his hair was still slightly damp from his shower after Monday morning football practice. He left it all down that morning, falling in dark waves to his shoulders, instead of the typical half-messy bun. Nesta had to fight back the impulse to run her fingers through those luscious locks. It would give him the wrong impression.
He mouthed some words at her, but with her headphones still on, she had no idea what he'd said. She pointed to her headphones and shrugged her shoulders to say as much, but Cassian's smile only grew.
Apparently, he took that as an invitation to lean over and pull the headphones off of her. Nesta would've fought against him, but she was frozen by the nearness and the woodsy scent of his body wash.
"I said, 'Good morning, sweetheart'," he repeated, flashing her that damn crooked smile that had her toes curling involuntarily. Gods she hated him.
"I've told you not to call me that."
He chuckled, "You're right. My sincerest apologies. What are you doing? Working on a playlist?"
Nesta straightened her back and looked down her nose at him. "As a matter of fact, yes. I am."
"Cool! Let me see!" He took her computer and slid it over to himself, turning it so he could look at the screen. He also pulled the iPod closer so that it wouldn't disconnect.
"Hey!"
Cassian was always doing this. He shared every open period with her and, without fail, always came to join Nesta…uninvited. And he was constantly stealing her iPod, looking through her playlists, commenting on her music. She wasn't sure why he bothered. He always had the newest model, the joys of being part of one of the richest families in Velaris.
Nesta couldn't help but wonder what that must be like. To always be able to get the newest model of everything. To never have to worry about your gadgets breaking cause you can just get a new one. She'd practically built a bed for her iPod to make sure the back wouldn't scratch too much, and that her iPod wouldn't fall off her nightside table as it charged while she slept.
He started clicking around her computer and Nesta moved to pull it back, but Cassian just slid it away from her further.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Nothing," he replied. "I'm just looking. Finally have access to your full library."
Her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "I don't want you on my computer."
"Why? What do you have on here?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her as his lips spread into a stupid smirk. "Something dirty? What are you trying to hide?"
She rolled her eyes and stood, the chair scraping on the floor and letting out a shriek. "Nothing you'd understand. So fine, have fun. I'm going to the bathroom."
It took Nesta at least five minutes to get to the bathroom, use it, wash her hands, and look herself over. She was absolutely in love with the deep blue streaks she'd put into her golden brown hair the week before. They brought out the blue in her eyes, and were a lot of fun. She even matched her American Apparel solid-color zip-up to them that day, hoping it might bring more attention to them. Tomorrow she might have to pull out the deep blue, super tight skinny jeans she has hiding in her closet. Today, she chose her black ones.
Yet, even as she checked over her outfit and hair, every second her brain was focused on her computer and what Cassian might be looking at, what he might find. What if he went into her writing folder and found all that fan fiction she wrote but never posted. No one was supposed to see that. Luckily he couldn't access the internet on her laptop at school, so she didn't have to worry about him checking her browsing history - all that research being done for her new fic…he'd definitely get the wrong idea.
Not that it mattered what he thought of her. But she'd rather he not go tell his friends about whatever he finds. She didn't need the entire football and cheerleading teams knowing about it. Being ignored by them was a far preferable existence.
Bracing herself, she took one last look in the mirror and headed back to the table, where she found Cassian sitting there with her computer closed, his hands folded over it.
He was grinning like an idiot. She didn't like it.
"What?" she asked as she sat back down.
"Nothing."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing!" His voice got a bit defensive, but his smile didn't falter. "I told you, I was just looking at your iTunes."
She didn't believe him, but she doubted he'd admit to anything. And she really didn't feel like continuing with a pointless conversation. "Whatever."
Nesta had just sat back down when the bell rang.
"Well, see you later, Nes!" He popped up and practically fled the student center. He really was one of the weirdest guys she knew, but it sure was a good view from behind.
She shook the thought away, cursing herself for even thinking it, and then packed up her computer, sliding it into her backpack. She then picked up her iPod and pulled her headphones back on. She didn't yet have her new playlist, but she could just go back to the new album and listen through it again.
She went to click play and pick up where she left off, only to find that she was on the playlists screen, and at the top was something called 'Punk Rock Princess - Nesta's Mix'. That definitely hadn't been there earlier. She'd never once put her name on a playlist.
Class was starting in three minutes, Nesta didn't have time to look through it, so she put her iPod and headphones into her bag and rushed to math. She tried to distract herself with her classes, but her mind kept drifting to the playlist.
It had to have been Cassian. There was no other explanation. Playlists weren't just randomly generated or created by her iPod. She wished iTunes was so advanced. That would make life so much easier.
What did he put on the playlist? And why did he even bother? She couldn't imagine it being any good. He didn't know her music taste that well. It was probably just a joke playlist, maybe a bunch of dumb sounds. Something to annoy her, as he loves to do. Or worse…it might just be Disney Channel pop. A bunch of TV stars autotuned and singing songs written solely to be popular. Gross.
She should just delete the playlist. Not give Cassian the pleasure. But something was stopping her. She wasn't sure what it was, but she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it. Not without listening first.
So, the moment the bell rang for her lunch period, she grabbed her iPod and headphones, and headed to the library where she could sit in the stacks and listen in peace. Clicking into it, she found the first song was, in fact, 'Welcome to the Black Parade'. Surprising, but she wasn't going to turn that gift away. She clicked play and then began scrolling through the list.
It was one favorite song after another. Blink-182, Green Day, Good Charlotte, Sum 41, Autopilot Off, Simple Plan. But there was also a sprinkling of stuff she didn't know. In particular there were a couple songs by a band called Paramore she hadn't heard of yet, but damn were they good. The vibes were on point and Nesta was shaken to her core. This was exactly the playlist she'd wanted to make that morning. She wasn't sure how that was possible, since she didn't even know all the songs earlier in the day, but this was it. This was what she wanted.
Nesta couldn't believe it. It was the perfect playlist. How did Cassian know? All he ever did was comment on her music, and ask questions about it. He'd never heard of half the bands he saw on her iPod, at least. So how did he make something like this?
Unless…was that why he did it? Why he was always looking at her iPod, asking her about her music? Had he been planning this?
She skipped around a bit, playing through the songs she didn't know, listening to the ones she did only partially so she could get through it all during lunch. And with just a few minutes left she made it to the last song, "Punk Rock Princess".
Nesta listened to it the whole way through, and for some reason she almost felt as if it was Cassian singing that song straight to her.
a/n: If you don't know "Punk Rock Princess" by Something Corporate, here's what the meaning is as written by someone on genius.com, but it's the interpretation I always had of the song, too: "It’s a classic story of a boy obsessing over a girl who’s outside his circle—Andrew is the classic surfer boy playing small gigs when writing “Punk Rock Princess” but he’s in awe of the coolness and attitude of this punk girl, and wants to find a way into her life." So hopefully that makes sense for the ending. XD
No shame or judgment to those who enjoy music by past Disney Channel stars' music from that time (or now). I owned Metamorphosis by Hilary Duff, and the Lizzie McGuire soundtrack. And I still listen to those cause they had some true bops. I just felt little teen punk rock Nesta might be a bit pretentious about them. Lol
Also, about Nesta not knowing Paramore, and/or questions on the timeline. That band came out in 2005, but didn't become more well known until 2007. This takes place autumn 2006, and while it's totally likely a Nesta-type would know them, I needed something for Cassian to have to make her be like "oh?".
Nesta needs to cover for Feyre as Cassian's assistant while she's on her honeymoon.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,351 | Nessian Masterlist | Read on AO3
a/n: There's really not much to this, but I had this idea for how to interpret magic day I knew I wanted to use for @nessianweek. And then realized I know nothing about any of this, sooo....this it what ended up happening. XD
"How on earth did I let you talk me into this?!"
"Because you love me and want me to have a nice honeymoon."
Feyre's voice was soft and sweet on the other end of the line. The 'little sister' voice she would put on whenever she was asking for a favor.
"But I also wouldn't mind Rhys having a crappy one…"
"Nesta!"
"Kidding!" Nesta lied. Well, half-lied. She did want Feyre to have a good honeymoon. And she doubted Rhys would be able to have a bad one while Feyre enjoyed herself….unless Feyre finally found a trade-up. But that was wishful thinking. "Just remember that you owe me. Big."
"It's not going to be that bad, Nesta," Feyre sighed.
Rolling her eyes, Nesta replied, "Easy for you to say. You don't have to go spend the night with him, doing this stupid act."
"You mean the act I help out with every other night?"
"Voluntarily. Hence the difference." Nesta stared at herself in the full length mirror in her tiny dressing room, at the tiny, silver sequined dress she was being forced to wear as her sister's cover. It was really more like a leotard with a fringy skirt. An outfit to help with the distraction.
How her sister put up with this every night was beyond her. She hadn't even gotten on stage yet and was already done with it. Thank the Mother it was only one night. After this, the magician was taking off for the rest of the week to keep Feyre from stressing, but he couldn't cancel his Saturday show.
"You still owe me," she said again, just as a stagehand was calling out five minutes to showtime.
"I know. And I promise, I'll make it up to you. Just, be nice to Cassian."
Nesta shook her head softly. "I will if he is."
"He's always nice to you, Nesta," Feyre chuckled. "You just don't want to believe it."
"Bye! Talk to you later!" Nesta called, speaking over Feyre's last words before her sister started in again on how Nesta needed to give Cassian a chance.
She needed to do no such thing. She'd spent more than enough time with Cassian, being Rhysand's brother. It only got worse with all the wedding planning and events. And then Nesta had to spend over three hours with him every day this past week just to prepare for this darn show.
It was a lot more work than Nesta had expected, if she were being honest. And Cassian was a good teacher. Patient and kind, he never once got frustrated with her when she got a trick wrong for the fifth time in a row. A very different side of Cassian than the cocky, exercise guy she knew him as.
She heard a knock at her door. "Nesta, are you ready?"
Think of the devil. She took one last look at her ridiculous outfit, pressing the pins of her braided coronet deeper into her hair, and let out a sigh. "Yes."
Walking to the door, she swung it open to see Cassian standing there, looking as handsome as he did ridiculous.
He really was quite attractive - not that Nesta would ever admit that. And if he were wearing just a tuxedo, he'd look like a wet dream. But that idiotic cape! It was incredibly cliché, black and top and red on the inside, and made him look more like a dorky tween putting on a magic show for his parents than a professional magician. No, wait…illusionist. That was the word he always used to correct her.
It was all part of the gimmick, of course. The theme of his show. Traditional tricks, with a twist. Hence the cape.
Nesta probably should be grateful for it. Otherwise she might be frozen in place, staring at Cassian and looking as dumbfounded as he did looking at her. Nice to know the dress was doing its job.
"Come on, Cassianini, let's get this over with." Shoulders high, Nesta walked past him, hiding the small smirk that surfaced at the feel of his eyes on her.
It took him a moment, but then he was snapping into action and on her heels. The two took their places, Cassian at center stage, Nesta to the side by some big box device. The stage lights shut off, and they were thrust into darkness as they waited for the curtain to open.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Please put your hands together for Cassian Warrior-Heart!"
The crowd erupted and the curtain was drawn. The spotlights came on, and Cassian was welcoming the audience to the show.
It wasn't until the curtain closed that Nesta could finally breathe again.
"Finally," she sighed as the stage lights came back on.
"Oh, don't lie, you enjoyed yourself."
Nesta let out a sigh. "I don't know if I'd go that far, but I can say that this has been one of the strangest nights of my life."
"I'll take it," Cassian beamed. "And it's not over, yet!"
Her face fell and her eyes narrowed when Cassian began to chuckle at her expression. "Don't worry, Nes. It's nothing too crazy. Definitely not another show."
She muttered beneath her breath how he better not be trying to get more magic, but still followed him when he asked. Cassian led them to one of the empty dressing rooms and flung the door open.
Nesta was speechless.
A candle-filled room stood before her, with one single table in the center and two chairs. The table was filled with dishes - chicken, salad, potatoes, and various vegetables. There was even a small plate of biscuits she was dying to dig into.
"Cassian…what is this?" she asked breathlessly, walking into the room without thinking.
"Consider it a thank you for stepping in for Feyre."
She looked up at him skeptically. "You did all this…just to say thank you?"
"No, I did this to say thank you," he said, pulling his hand out from his back and handing her a large bouquet of flowers that seemed to appear out of thin air. She knew that wasn't really the case, but there were lilies, roses, and lilacs in the bouquet, so she certainly wasn't going to complain.
Nesta accepted the bouquet and took a sniff. She couldn't help but give him a small smile as she said, "Thank you. You didn't have to. But…what's all this, then?"
"An attempt to take you out on a date?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I thought I might be able to convince you if you were hungry enough and already at the location."
Something fluttered within her and warmed her cheeks. She and Cassian had always had an amusing relationship, mostly built on a running gag that he was flirting with her. She hadn't realized he may have been serious in his attentions.
Nor had she realized how much she wanted him to be.
"Well, I'd say yes, but there's no chocolate cake. You can't have a date without chocolate cake," Nesta decreed, smirking up at him.
"You always did underestimate me."
Cassian took her hand and led her to the table, pulling out her chair for her. "Did you not notice this completely empty plate right here?" He motioned to a silver platter that stood in the center of the table, on top of a holder so that it towered over the rest of the food.
Picking up his crimson napkin, he shook it out and placed it in front of the plate so Nesta could no longer see it.
"And, because I know it's your favorite Halloween movie…Hocus Pocus." He let go of the napkin and it fell to the table, revealing a large, frosted chocolate cake with truffles lining the edge.
Nesta's mouth fell open and she couldn't stop her hands from clapping together. "How did you do that?!"
"Ah ah ah…a magician never reveals his secrets, Nesta," he teased as he took the seat across from her.
"Illusionist."
Cassian grinned widely, the two laughing together as they dug into their dinner.
Fic summary: A Feysand/acotar adaptation of Anastasia
Following the rumors of the survival of the Grand Duchess Feyre Archeron, Rhysand and his brothers come up with a plot to escape Russia and claim the Dowager Empress's reward for the princess's return. But could the likeness of the amnesiac they've groomed to be Feyre be more than a coincidence?
Read on AO3 ⟡ Masterlist
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
One week. That’s how long they’d given themselves to prepare Clare, gather documents, and seek entrance to Paris. Four days in and rumors were already circling like vultures over their heads. It was pushing Azriel on edge, his informants coming back with gossip too close to the truth—a street sweeper rumored to be the lost princess.
Azriel was usually the stoic, cool-headed one. His agitation did nothing to soothe Rhysand’s rising anxiety. He was pacing the halls of Acheron palace relentlessly. The three of them were meant to meet Clare here to continue their preparations. Azriel had set off early that morning to procure train tickets and hadn’t yet returned. And Clare was late. Extremely late.
It was almost midday when Azriel stormed in. Rhysand went rigid, reading his brother’s mood immediately.
“What is it?” he asked warily, already certain he didn’t want to know.
“Clare’s been arrested,” Azirel said grimly. Cassian swore.
“When?” Rhys demanded.
“This morning. I assume she was on her way here.”
“But how did they know to take Clare of all people?” Cassian asked, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “We’ve been as discreet as possible.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened. “I assume one of the girls who auditioned saw her and turned her in. One of them must have put it together.”
It was foolish of them, Rhys thought, to have described the princess’s appearance so explicitly and then hold auditions in this very palace. Too on the nose.
“They’ll kill her,” Rhys whispered, feeling grief-stricken for the woman that he’d only known a few days. Cassian looked disheartened, but not truly ready to submit to the idea. They’d all warmed up to her. She was a spit-fire, but an endearing one.
Rhysand’s mind was whirling. He wanted to go after her—barge into the office and demand they free her. But he knew it would accomplish nothing besides getting his brothers killed. He wondered when he’d come to care about strangers enough to feel so reckless. Gods, he wanted to punch something.
“I’m here!” the sound of her voice, strained and unnerved, was nearly enough to undo Rhys. Nothing but his pure shock prevented him from falling to his knees in relief.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice rough even to his own ears. “We’d just heard you were arrested.”
He studied her appearance, checking for any injury. The new order wasn’t one for gently apprehending people. Clare’s face was flushed, her hair mussed. She looked flustered, a bit jittery, but not harmed. He nearly wept with relief, then shook himself for feeling so overcome with emotion. Rhysand convinced himself it was because of the stakes at hand. His family’s survival was on the line, afterall.
“I was,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “By a man called Tamlin Vaganov. He… just wanted to warn me.”
“Warn you?” Rhys repeated in disbelief. He’d run into Tamlin, the Bolshevik general, enough times to know that the man wasn’t particularly forgiving. “What did he say, exactly?”
“That the Princess Feyre is dead. And that I shouldn’t be parading such dangerous rumours around. He warned me to stop, or else I’ll be killed.”
“So he threatened you,” Cassian growled. His brother’s anger was justified, but a threat was merciful. Rhys didn’t understand why Tamlin would let Clare go.
“He was… trying to be nice, I think,” Clare said, bemused. Rhysand sincerely doubted it. “I’ve run into him before, once,” she added. “Just in passing on the street. He helped me when I’d fallen. I-I don’t think he’s a bad person.”
The three brothers scoffed. They’d seen enough first-hand brutality from the Bolshevik soldiers to not so readily agree.
“Count yourself lucky for being a pretty female, Clare,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Any other who has ties to the Czar, no matter how fictional, has not been dealt with so mercifully.”
Clare looked outrage at the dismissal, but she quickly shut her mouth as she studied the three brothers. Her eyes narrowed, then softened. Whatever she saw, she decided not to comment. Rhysand could tell that despite her words about the general, she was still shaken by the encounter.
“Why don’t we call it a night, guys?” he asked, clapping his brothers on the shoulders. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day.”
“There’s still one more piece of bad news,” Azriel said, frowning.
Rhysand groaned. “What else?”
“We don’t have enough money for the train tickets. I tried to barter the price down, but even pulling in old debts wasn’t enough for four tickets.”
Clare looked stunned, as if she’d assumed the tickets would be acquired through some other means. Rhysand swallowed a string of curse words. He knew they wouldn’t offend the lady—who turned out to have the mouth of a sailor—but they would do little to help the situation.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said stiffly, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
This brush with the Bolsheviks had gotten under his skin. They needed to leave as soon as possible, before Tamlin made good on his threat to Clare. But how he’d come up with the money, he had no idea. It was distressing, always being in charge of such things, but the stakes were too high to lose his cool.
Rhysand had sought sanctuary on the rooftop above their dwelling. It was where he always went to clear his mind and think—sometimes living in a small room with his two brothers could drive him up the wall. It was nice to have a place to escape.
“Azriel told me you’d be up here,” said a bewitching voice behind him.
Rhysand turned, the corners of his mouth curling into an easy smile. “So you found me,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you and Az were on speaking terms.”
“I realized he’s actually a massive teddy bear with a sharp mouth,” Clare answered with a soft laugh.
The sight of that little amused smile was rare and it melted Rhysand’s heart every time, despite how hard he tried to ignore it.
“Cassian’s the real teddy bear,” Rhys mused. “There’s no sharp mouth or thick walls you have to break through with him.”
“And with you?” Clare asked, coming up beside him to lean against the railing.
“What about me?”
Clare bumped him with her shoulder. “What’s your tragic backstory?”
Rhysand scoffed, a bit shocked by her forwardness. He was a street rat, it wouldn’t take a genius to guess. “Who says I have one?”
Clare frowned, studying him carefully. Rhysand felt a bit unnerved by her expression, as if she could see him past the facade of nonchalance he’d perfected at an early age. He didn’t like feeling so laid bare, and quickly turned his eyes towards the skyline of the city.
“The look you and your brothers shared, when I said that Tamlin seemed like a good person. I sensed there was more… like you had first hand experience that said otherwise.”
Rhys nodded, frowning at the church spires he’d fixed his eyes on. Clare was more perceptive than he’d given her credit for. “There’s not much to say, Feyre darling. I’m a Russian street rat through and through. And since the Bolsheviks have taken over, they've been trying their damndest to wipe the streets clean of people like me.”
“People like you?” Clare repeated, ignoring the nickname.
Rhysand allowed himself a sideways glance towards her. He sighed, sensing she wouldn’t drop it until he gave her something a little more.
“I was an orphan,” he said. “And I was pretty much left to my own devices in these gutters. So I got good at getting by. Bartering, stealing, peddling, whatever I needed to survive. My choices were to be clever, or dead. And somewhere along the way I met Cassian and Azriel, clever street rats like me. We banded together and have looked out for each other since.”
“It must have been nice to find each other, at least,” Clare said, a bit wistfully. “I’ve been left to my own devices, too. But I didn’t find a family to look out for me. Fairing for yourself… it’s lonely.”
Rhysand understood. He’d been eight when he’d met Cassian, and twelve when he’d met Azriel. But those years when it had just been him… they’d been tough. Rhys couldn’t say for sure that he would have survived so long if he didn’t find his brothers.
Rhysand turned to Clare, regarding her carefully. She looked a bit confused by his sudden attention, but met his gaze head on. It almost made him chuckle. So resolute, even in the smallest moments.
“You might come to have a family yet,” he reminded her. “The answer awaits in Paris, right?”
“Right,” she echoed, but her voice had taken on a somber note. Rhys guessed that she was reluctant to let herself hope for such a thing—lest she just be disappointed. It was a plight he could relate to, and he suddenly found himself desperate to cheer her up.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Clare blinked. “What?”
“Just—close them,” he repeated, an edge of humor creeping into his voice. She could never just follow directions, could she? After a moment’s scrutiny, Clare eventually shut her eyes. “Good. Now, put your hand out.”
She extended her hand towards him, eyebrows nearly raised to her hairline. Rhysand stifled a laugh, not wanting to discourage her. She was just so fucking cute.
Not productive, he snapped at himself, hastily shaking the thought away. He pulled the item out of his pocket and gently placed it in her outstretched hand.
Clare opened her eyes when she felt the weight in her palm. She looked at the object curiously, bringing it in front of her face to examine.
“What is it?” she asked curiously.
“A music box,” Rhys answered. Then, bashfully, added, “but it’s broken. I’ve never been able to open it.”
“It’s beautiful,” Clare gasped, fingers delicately searching it. Then, she frowned. Rhys saw something flicker behind her eyes, and she looked very far-away as she found a hidden notch and began winding the music box, opening it with an ease of familiarity. A slow, tinkering melody floated between them.
“H-how did you do that?” Rhysand gaped, completely astonished. He, Cass, and Azriel had all tried to get the damn thing open on several occasions.
Tears were glittering in Clare’s eyes as she stared at the music box, which completely caught Rhys off guard. Shit, he thought panickedly. He’d given it to her to try to cheer her up!
“Clare?” he asked gently, pressing a comforting hand behind her back.
She snapped her eyes to him, furiously blinking back the tears. “How soon do you think we can go?” she demanded. “Trains are being cancelled right and left. And Tamlin’s threat…”
She trailed off, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Rhysand nodded, understanding anyway. The longer they stayed, the more Clare was at risk.
“The money—” Rhys interrupted himself with a heavy sigh. “We’re not even close,” he said honestly.
Clare bit her lip, seeming to consider something. Then, she thrusted the music box back to him. He almost felt inclined to let her keep it, since it had seemed to trigger something sentimental, but there was a fervor in her eyes that he didn’t want to deny. So he accepted, then watched as she dug through her coat, searching frantically for something.
“Now you close your eyes,” she instructed.
Rhysand eyed her warily. “Why?”
Clare scoffed. “Are you kidding? You’re the most stubborn person I’ve met!”
Rhys laughed wholeheartedly, but obeyed as he muttered, “that’s rich, coming from you.”
Feyre made a huffing noise, but then he felt the soft touch of her fingers as she pressed something hard into his palm. He nearly shivered from the contact.
When Rhys opened his eyes, he was certain they were nearly bulging out of his head. “A diamond!?” he exclaimed, looking to Clare for an explanation.
“One of the nurses found it sewn into my jacket when they found me. She kept it safe until I could leave and told me not to reveal it to anyone… until I found someone I could trust.”
Rhys inspected the diamond carefully, holding it up to the sun. This would be enough to pay for the train tickets, and then some. He was completely stunned. Clare was watching him carefully, if not a bit nervously. As if she didn’t fully trust that he wouldn’t pocket it right then and run. Instead, Rhys pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and twirled her around. She yelped, half in surprise and half in joy.
When he set her down, they were both grinning at each other.
“Congratulations, Feyre darling. Consider this your official initiation as one of lowly street rats of St. Petersburg.” He extended his hand towards her. After a moment, she took it, offering him an unrestrained smile.
He might as well have been hit by a train, for what it did to him. He took several moments to catch his breath, and even longer to meet her eyes and smile back.
“Let’s go take this to Az, eh? We have a train to catch.”
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
There was a train at midnight. As soon as Rhys had delivered the diamond to Azriel, who had uncharacteristically gaped at the precious stone, the group wasted no time springing to action. They had a diamond to pawn off, tickets to buy, and exit documents to procure.
Azriel was able to buy them passage as members of the Diaghilev Ballet Russes. Clare was a buzzing energy ball of nerves beside Rhysand as they waited on the platform. He watched as she clenched and unclenched her fingers, shifting weight between her feet.
“Cool it,” he whispered to her under his breath, subtly eyeing the platform guards. “We’re trying not to attract attention to ourselves.”
The platform was crowded with aristocrats and intellectuals alike—the very people the Bolsheviks were scrambling to get rid of. It was no surprise they were flocking to few trains leaving Russia. Frankly, it was a miracle Rhys and his family had gotten this far.
Suddenly, a man fell to his knees before Clare. Rhys and his brothers started and Rhys went to put himself between Clare and the strange man, but Azriel put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“That’s Count Ipolitov,” Azriel murmured in shock as the man grasped Clare’s hand and kissed it.
Clare looked stunned, and uncertain how to respond. Especially as the man bowed his head and praised, “God bless you, your highness.”
Cassian’s mouth fell open. Rhys restrained the urge to smack himself. So much for not drawing attention, he thought dismally.
A voice overhead announced the train was boarding, and Azriel grabbed at Clare with an urgency that nearly made her stumble. The Count gave Azriel a hard look for manhandling the assumed princess, but he went on his way.
“We should go,” Az said gravely. The four of them wasted no time, hurriedly boarding the train before the platform guards could think too much on the spectacle.
They sat in the carriage on bated breath, pleading that the train would move. Praying that the guards wouldn’t barge in and apprehend the girl parading around as the missing Grand Duchess. Tamlin had only arrested Clare that morning—surely the Bolshevik spies didn’t move quickly enough to catch wind that she was fleeing the country.
When the train lurched forward, they let out a collective sigh of relief. Rhysand noticed the glistening in his brother’s eyes as they watched the station retreat from sight. This place, this country, was the only home they’d ever known. It had been a brutal and unforgiving place, to all of them. Yet there was something difficult about saying goodbye so definitively.
Azriel bowed his head solemnly, as if paying his respects to their homeland. The place where they had shared tears and sorrows. The place where they had found each other.
“Я благословляю свою родину,” Cassian murmured gruffly. I bless my homeland. A bittersweet farewell.
Clare took Cassian’s hand, her eyes glittering with tears. “Я благословляю свою родину,” she repeated. “пока я не умру.” I bless my homeland, until I die. A much more fervent prayer.
Rhys studied Clare in surprise. With her desperation to flee to Paris, he hadn’t taken her for having a sentimental attachment to the motherland. She’d grown up in the streets, too. And as a woman on her own, he suspected she’d faced worse cruelty in some cases. Yet she stared out the window, now, with something like grief on her face as St Petersburg faded in the distance.
Clare noticed his unassuming stare, and her eyes hardened. “No prayers for Russia, comrade?” she demanded, her voice a tad defensive.
Rhysand nearly scoffed at the use of the word, comrade. It’s what the Bolsheviks had taken to calling everyone. She’d used it purposefully to grate on him. Suspecting her anger was mostly grief driven, Rhys shrugged his shoulders.
“Blessing to my homeland, sure,” he said casually. “But my home is wherever my brothers are.”
They had raised each other almost as much as the city had. Clare’s eyes seemed to soften at that. She didn’t have a family she could remember, so he understood why she would feel loyalty to the only scrap of identity she possessed. Feeling like a prick, he reached to take her freehand, the other still holding Cassian’s.
“I know it’s hard to leave,” he murmured softly. “But we’re safer for it.”
To his surprise, Azriel began humming. He was a gifted singer, but he used his talent so rarely. Rhysand recognized the melody instantly. God Save the Tsar. The national anthem of Russia, before the Bolsheviks had taken over. It was an act of rebellion to sing it, but they were on a train flush with aristocrats. Rather than the dirty, panicked looks they might have received in the gutters of St Petersberg, the others in their carriage began joining in. A soft, hushed hymn of Russian people, offering a bittersweet farewell to their homeland. For what it used to be, and for what it became. Clare joined in, her voice a soft, lulling soprano that wafted around Rhysand’s chest, constricting his lungs for a moment. Then, surprising even himself, Rhysand began to sing, too.
The moment was touching, and had almost moved Rhysand to tears. Were it not for the gunshot that suddenly rang through a neighboring train cabin.
The singing halted instantly. Rhysand’s ears were ringing.
All heads swiveled to the doors to the cabin, where Bolshevik guards were barging through, demanding to see people’s papers. Whispers raised through the crowd, and Rhys caught the name Count Ipolitov. The man must have been caught, then, he thought solemnly. He turned his panicked eyes to Azriel, then to Clare. She was already shaking with fear.
“Calm her down,” Az snapped in a low voice, so that the guards didn’t hear. His brother stood up. “I’ll investigate what’s going on.”
Rhys glanced to Cassian, both of them paralyzed for a moment. Being the one sat beside her, Rhys slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest.
“Shhh,” he cooed in her ear, stroking her hair soothingly as he pressed his face close, so the guards wouldn’t hear. “It’s alright, darling. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Clare seemed to relax a bit at his touch. Rhysand continued to murmur gently to her, but he flicked his eyes up to watch the scene unfolding before them. The guards were inspecting each passenger’s papers. They hadn’t made it over the Russian border yet—someone must have tipped the guards off about illegal passengers.
“You’re safe,” Rhys repeated in her ear, rocking her gently against him.
Clare murmured something into his chest. Rhysand pulled away enough to look at her.
“What was that, darling?”
Her eyes were wild with panic. This was something more than being frightened by a gunshot. “That’s what the soldiers said,” she whispered.
“The what?” Rhys asked, moving his hands to cup her face reassuringly.
“The soldiers,” Clare repeated. She had that far off look again. As though she were in another place all together. “They had their guns pointed at us, but they said they were taking us somewhere safe…”
“No one’s pointing any guns at you,” Rhys assured, trying to meet her with his steady gaze. If she could just focus on him, let him ground her away from whatever memory was trapping her, then maybe she would calm down. “Look at me, darling. Look.”
Her eyes focused as they met his. Again he felt swallowed by those deep, deep blues. “I’m here. My brothers are here. We’re not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”
He tried to avoid the word safe, that seemed to be a trigger word. Slowly, Clare nodded, and he could sense she was coming back to herself. Still, she gripped Rhys tightly. Which was fine, since he didn’t feel particularly inclined to let go. He continued stroking her hair soothingly, even as Azriel approached, his face grim.
“We need to go,” he said hurriedly. “Soldiers have boarded with instructions to arrest three men and a woman.”
“That could be anyone,” Cassian protested, glancing around the cabin. The guards were still on the other side of the cabin, inspecting papers. Azriel handed him a folded up piece of parchment.
“I don’t think so,” Az responded grimly. Rhysand leaned forward to see the paper Cass was unfolding. Wanted was printed in bold lettering across the top. Then, an illustration of Clare, and a description of the three men travelling with her.
Rhys felt himself go pale. “Let’s go. Now.”
Cassian looked pointedly out the window, to the landscapes rushing past. “Go where?” he demanded. “We can’t exactly get off.”
“We jump,” Rhys said coolly. His brothers went silent, but didn’t protest the idea. Their options were limited, and if they stayed on the train then they were going to be shot. Clare, however, looked aghast.
“Jump!?” she screeched in a barely hushed voice. “Are you out of your damn mind?”
“Got any better ideas, princess?” At her silence, Rhys snapped, “didn’t think so.”
As discreetly as possible, they hurried out of the cabin. Rhys and Clare went first—an exodus of a group matching their description would certainly raise eyebrows. Rhys kept his body between Clare and the guard’s sightline, grateful that he towered over her slight figure. They stood on the rickety gangway, waiting for Cassian and Azriel, who joined them after several tense moments.
Rhys released a breath of relief to see his brothers alright. As much as he wished to hug them and wish them luck, they couldn’t waste time. Knowing it could very well be the last time he saw them, he met each of them in the eye and gave them a solemn, affectionate nod, hoping to convey decades worth of love and loyalty. Then, he helped Clare over the safety-rail and joined her.
“On the count of three,” he said to her breathlessly, taking one of her hands. The other held firmly to the rail. They jostled from the movements of the train, wind whipping around at a ruthless speed. “One… two... three.”
He leapt. Rhysand had been worried he’d need to jerk Clare with him to ensure she left the train, but she jumped on his count with a blind trust that made his heart ache. He used their connected hands to pull her closer, hoping to sustain the brunt of the impact.
They landed on the ground, hard, and Clare was thrown from his grip as they tumbled with the momentum. Rhys struggled out a wheezing breath as he finally fell onto his back, his body already sore and aching. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t broken anything.
“Clare?” he rasped, meaning to call out to her. But he couldn’t sustain enough breath in his lungs to shout, so it came out weak and gasping. He didn’t have the strength to sit up yet, but he angled his head to search for her.
He could hear her wheezing breaths, so she had to be close.
“Here,” she choked.
Thank Gods. Rhys wasn’t capable of looking towards the noise, but his body went limp in relief to know she was conscious and breathing—however laborious.
Hands were on Rhysand’s shoulder, hauling him up. Rhys hissed as they jostled his bruised body, struggling to recollect himself on his feet. How his brother’s were already so spritely from the fall, he’d no idea.
“Come on, brother,” Cassian was saying. “We’ve got to hurry. We haven’t passed the Russian border yet—Az suspects the Polish border isn’t far off.”
“Just a moment, you bastards,” Rhys groaned. He looked to Clare, who was being helped to her feet much more gently by Azriel. She was sore and wincing, too, but didn’t appear injured. The fact that they were all alive was a miracle in itself. “Is everyone alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” Cassian grumbled, waving away Rhys’s concern. His brother grimaced at the movement, but seemed to grit his teeth against the pain. “We’ll be better once we’re in Poland and there’s no longer a price on our heads.”
Rhysand turned to Clare, who was leaning heavily on Azriel. “How are you feeling, darling?”
She offered him a dry, humorless smile. “Peachy,” she quipped, though he noticed she was holding her elbow delicately. Still, she was feeling fine enough for sarcasm.
Rhys allowed himself one heavy sigh. They were all survivors, they’d certainly all suffered through worse. “Right then, let’s go.”
