Okay so….just obsessively scrolling through the KP and VP tags every Saturday I end up seeing everybody and their brothers takes. (And if not on Saturday then I will the entire rest of the week because I check that tag like checking the morning newspaper 🤪)
And seeing “Stockholm Syndrome” for the tv series (esp cause I read the VP side story lmaooo rip) really amused me for multiple reasons,,,
Lemme just start right from the bat and say that it is perfectly valid to be confused on Pete’s actions, especially as he’s been held hostage.
“Why didn’t he leave?? He should of left???”
Obv the thought process here is: Pete hates Vegas —> seen what Vegas goes through and empathized —> worries about his captor —> doesn’t leave when presented the option —> therefore he has Stockholm syndrome.
Mhm mhmmm I can understand how you could come to that conclusion. However, I firmly disagree. I saw a post that said they wanted to label Vegas and Pete’s relationship Stockholm sooooo badly but knew that wasn’t entirely it and that there was something more complex but they couldn’t understand what.
Haha let me explain to you just what that “what” is.
Having read the book, I have a bit more of a foundation when it comes to comparison, making it easier to see and understand the intent behind the way the Director and writers have adapted the novel into the series. I’m in the middle of writing an essay about these changes and why the tv show is hands down (no competition) a million times better (written) than the book.
In the book, yeah I would say Pete and Vegas have a Stockholm relationship. Hmmm maybe not even then? Because if we’re defining Stockholm as a coping mechanism of empathizing with the captor during times of stress and harm in order to help make it through a traumatic situation; then I say: So~so. See, Pete’s mindset in the book is completely different than it is in the series.
In the book there was no understanding for why Vegas is a fked up lil maniac. “Parental abuse? Tough, but people out there have had it tougher 😶✌️.”
That was Pete’s mindset.
It was really “well that sucks for you but I don’t care — cuz you’re a henious villain” thought process.
In fact Pete only started being nice to Vegas/doing what he said so that Vegas would get bored and either kill him or let him go. That’s it. That’s like 92% of their novel relationship. Pete being fake asf so Vegas would find him boring.
Even prior to being captor and captive Book!Pete could not and did not see behind Vegas’ mask. In his own thoughts during his time captive, he thinks about how he had always perceived Vegas as y’know “just some guy” even with Kinn/Tankhun’s warnings — these warnings being the only reason he knew to be wary of Vegas in the first place.
Chef’s kiss 💋 👌👌 to the show for the way they made specific and subtle changes from the source material that would greatly change the entire dynamic of all the characters and their relationships with each other. (But that’s an essay for a whole other day 👀)
Now, how did the show change Vegas and Pete’s relationship into something entirely new, even more fked up than it was in the narrative, and yet somehow a million times better?
Simple.
(1) Pete’s observation skills and ability to see through Vegas mask from the very beginning. AND his “there’s no heroes or villains” mindset
(2) Pete *choosing* to sneak in with the knowledge and preparation of his torture and death should things go wrong.
(3) The shared experience of both having abusive fathers.
(Pete being the more mature and introspective and aware one between the two, aKa giving Vegas some solid therapy and enlightenment.)
(4) The clippers that have been left in the room with Pete. These writers have been intentional to the *T* — if all these damn essays and meta aren’t proof enough to yall of that then 🤷 idk what else I could give to prove that to you.
(Listennnnnnn,,, you don’t have all these intentional choices for every little thing and then accidentally leave bolt cutters on set of an important scene. Would make no damn sense.)
(5) The hedgehog 🦔
(Vegas didn’t have a pet in the novel…not one I remember at least.)
(6) The Key 🔑
(7) Vegas not initiating the Kiss
Okay. All of the above 1–7 are just a few of the changes made that have major importance for both Pete and Vegas’ relationship.
With Pete being able to see under Vegas’ mask we know that Vegas’ fake masks don’t fool him. There’s something about Vegas that Pete can see through. So when Pete chooses to sneak into the minor family compound — vocally stating before he does it that he knows the consequences— this informs the audience that he’s prepared for them. For capture, torture, death. Which is why when Vegas comes in to torture him and Pete knows he’s foiled his plans and will most likely die? Dude has nothing to lose, so he’ll be damned if he’ll let Vegas see his fear.
Not only does this give Pete a lot more agency. (In the book it was just, wrong place, wrong time); but — as fked up as it is — it also lets the audience feel less bad when he does inevitably get caught / tortured.
It’s not that he asked for it, but at least he knew what was going to happen. An unsuspecting victim is a lot more pitiable than a suspecting victim. Especially if it’s a consequence of a choice he voluntarily made — compared to being forced to investigate via ‘boss’s order.’ So already the writers are setting us up to not hate Vegas as much as we would if Pete truly stumbled into the situation on accident.
Now one of the most important differences — that shared trauma of having an abusive father, and using it to relate to Vegas. Unlike Book!Pete, our Pete recognizes Vegas’ situation. He’s been in the same place — while having the actual affection of his grandmother to fall back on (which Vegas obv didn’t have); therefore he also understands why Vegas tortures him the way that he does — he understands that Vegas is only feeling pathetic and lousy and is taking that out on him.
But in that tender and melancholic moment when Vegas decides to be vulnerable after patching up Pete’s wounds, Pete talks to Vegas with an understanding only someone in his position (or a therapist lol) would have. Even then, objectively knowing something is different than having experienced it yourself. And it’s the fact that Pete’s *also* experienced that sh*t that lends credibility to what he’s saying — at least in Vegas’ eyes.
This is why Pete knows there’s no good or evil, hero or villain, black or white binary in this world.
Because when you get down to it: we truly are shaped by our environments and the things we experience as we grow (obv not ignoring genetics but that’s not the point). And it’s this reflective and mature/observational outlook that helps him empathize with Vegas.
More than empathize — it’s *this* outlook that helps Pete not hold lasting grudges or hate for past hurts.
It’s always easier to forgive someone when you know where they’re coming from.
And Pete never really took it personally (for the most part) considering Vegas is on an opposing side. When an enemy gets captured on the enemy’s base of course they’d get either killed or tortured, esp for information.
That’s not something special to Vegas.
Vegas refusing to kill Pete tho? Lol. That’s enough for a dislike to sour. But I don’t think it sours all that much once we put in the consideration of Pete’s observations recognizing what Vegas is — a victim of an abusive home/situation.
(Not that it excuses him, but nobody’s trying to do that here LOL.)
Now getting down to the nitty gritty.
The hedgehog, the key, and why Pete isn’t a victim of Stockholm syndrome.
First, I think the hedgehog 🦔 is very important because it gives the audience (and Pete) another reason to empathize with Vegas — humans might not mean sh*t to him, but he loves and takes care of his pets.
He loves something. He cares about something. This humanizes him.
And a small and fragile pet can often humanize a character more than a human. A real sicko kills animals. But Vegas’ care for his hedgehog 🦔 shows that he isn’t that. He’s human too—albeit a really fked up one, but human nonetheless. He’s capable of love too, but perhaps humans have hurt him so much that he knows only an animal would be something he can trust.
This kind of trust and love he can only find in animals is also a very isolating existence. It highlights just how trapped Vegas is — the Hedgehog is literally a mirror of himself and his situation.
Yes he cares for Macau — but it’s “easier” to care for a human than an animal. Easier to empathize with a human. So while yeah, his care for his brother, while subtle in the show, is important, it isn’t as important to the audience as his love for his hedgehog. Especially when it comes to convincing an audience to forgive a character’s past villainy and long list of crimes.
But here’s what’s really important — the key.
Vegas leaving the key there (intentional or not; but imo, I think it’s obv intentional. Dude is way too meticulous for that to be accidental), gives Pete the agency to either escape or stay.
This, again, helps the audience be more okay with the idea of the two of them ending up in a relationship. It’s one thing if Pete has no choice and goes along with things to survive or cope with trauma — but it’s entirely something else if he’s allowed to leave, but doesn’t.
But Pete’s reason for staying has to be rational in some sense so the suspension of disbelief doesn’t attack the audience going 900 mph on the logic freeway.
So him escaping but seeing Vegas sitting pathetically on the grass, alone in the dark, and holding his dead pet?
The person there isn’t the dude that tortured him. Naw, that part of Vegas — is the child trapped in a cage and left isolated in the dark while anything that had ever brought him light or comfort in his life leaves him. He may be sitting on grass, but for Vegas it could’ve been the equivalent of sitting on broken glass.
It’s such a stark difference too from the versions of Vegas Pete’s used to seeing. Yeah he had that conversation about dads last episode, but even then Vegas wasn’t totally broken and left in despair.
But this Vegas?
This Vegas was someone so broken he couldn’t even cry until Pete touched him to provide comfort.
This Vegas isn’t just a sharp edge that can cut you if you get too close, now’s he’s much too broken for that — and his sharp edge has twisted inward from attacking others to attacking himself.
At this point, Pete’s beyond empathizing with his captor — esp because he isn’t a captive here. He’s not chained anymore. Vegas has no interest holding him captive. Pete at any point after he got out of those chains could have left and Vegas would do nothing to stop him.
Vegas is broken. He’s depressed. And he’s numb because it hurts too much to do anything but sit in his own despair. Pete touching him in comfort might’ve opened the floodgates of that hurt, but that doesn’t mean it changed how Vegas felt. Dude is still in despair when he heads inside.
Anyways this is getting too long so I’ll make a part two — getting more particular in the psychology of why Pete stayed, and why he kissed Vegas.
Closing words to end on:
Pete doesn’t leave because he knows what it’s like, and he’s sees the humanity and pain in Vegas and he cares. He cares because no broken and abused kid should be left isolated in the dark, not even knowing how to cry. He cares because he wants to do for Vegas what his grandmother did for him. What he wished more people would have done when he was in that pain and darkness.
He cares because he looks at Vegas and he sees himself.
For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:
What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)
What stories are left: Lucien
When Lucien introduces himself:
"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."
Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."
When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:
"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."
When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:
"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of.
"Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat.
I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep."
"It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at."
At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it.
"You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already.
Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."
When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:
He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile.
Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door.
A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.
When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:
Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"
When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:
“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword.
Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”
When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:
"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?"
Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"
When they run into the Boggee:
"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look."
Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.
When he gives Feyre a title:
"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that?
Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?
When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:
“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?"
"Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back.
Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that.
But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.
When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:
Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow.
An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.
When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:
A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?"
Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."
When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:
Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you."
Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin.
No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."
When Lucien hides:
"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."
When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:
Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut."
He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."
When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:
“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?"
"Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?"
That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats."
Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh.
"I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre."
I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat.
"I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said.
A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”
When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:
What?”
Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”
“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.
“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.
When Lucien is the mom friend:
"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?"
"Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck.
"What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded.
I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it."
Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.
When Lucien loves drama:
"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!"
Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.
"While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair.
I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.
When Lucien bolts:
“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.
Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.
“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.
When Feyre goes to a party:
"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae."
...
I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight."
"Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party."
"Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?"
Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....
"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.
When Lucien plays a prank:
"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."
When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:
“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”
“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.
“Human fool,” he hissed.
But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.
“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.
"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”
When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:
Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?”
Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.”
I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous.
“You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.”
He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him.
“Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath.
“Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me.
“I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”
When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:
"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again."
He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
"If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"
When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:
Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm."
"I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said.
Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."
When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:
“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?”
“I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.”
Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”
When Lucien is a fashionista:
Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.
When game recognize game
“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.
I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.
But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.
Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.
Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.
When Lucien is scared of Amren:
“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”
“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”
“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”
“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.
When Lucien is a little murderous:
“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”
Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”
When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:
“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”
“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”
My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”
A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.
When Lucien makes a friend
“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”
“You sound like an acolyte.”
Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”
Cassian's Love: words from a guy who speaks through actions
Something I love about Cassian is that he doesn't really hide the ball when it comes to his feelings for Nesta. He's most definitely an actions speak louder than words person (physical touch is his love language), but he does use words in ACOSF. I read someone say that Cassian didn't show his love for Nesta, and I completely disagree. Even though SJM never showed us Cassian saying the actual words, we see it so often through the small touches like flicking her cheek, the way that he never makes fun of her (many) questions, or the way he's always there, but he never pushes her too far.
In ACOWAR he confesses his love
" I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world -- the next life. And we will have that time. I promise. "
Yes, there is a lot he doesn't say - that they are mates, that he wants more than just sex, that he loves her. He even goes far enough to attack Lanthys to prevent him from revealing the truth. (I can write a whole post on why he wouldn't tell her about being mates, but I think Nesta's reaction to Lucien's declaration at the end of ACOMAF can suffice as explanation).
After his heartbreaking confession in ACOWAR, it makes sense that he's more reserved with Nesta. When thinking about his almost confession on solstice, he even says, "He hardly managed to walk away with some semblance of pride. Over his cold, dead body would she do that to him again." He is protecting himself by ignoring the mating bond too ("Some small quiet part of his brain whispered otherwise. He ignored it. Had ignored it for a long time now.")
Still throughout the book, he owns up to his feelings for Nesta when given the opportunity -- he just doesn't say the words "I love you" or "You're my mate". This post goes through some scenes in chronological order, since they show how Cassian does care.
(I could write another whole post on how I feel cheated of two months of happy Nessian between Solstice and Starfall, but that's what fanfiction is for, right?).
When Mor asks if it pains him to see Nesta like this, he says:
"All of it pains me... It pains me that Nesta has become... this. It pains me that she and Feyre are always at each other's throats. It pains me that Feyre hurts over it, and I know Nesta does, too. It pains me that ..."
When he's pleading her to train, she asks him why he isn't negotiating harder, he says.
"For you, I have no strategies."
Then there's the confrontation before, "I'm always thinking of that look on your face". (Yes, he's goading her here, but I don't think he's lying)
"Why so many questions tonight?" // "Because we're talking like normal people, and I want to know. About all of it." // "Let's nor retread old territory, Nes." // "It never mattered to me whether you took half the Cauldron's power or a drop. It still doesn't matter. // "Why?" "Why do you even bother?" // "Why did you stay at my side when we went up against the King of Hybern during the last battle?"
Answer: because they're mates.
After Nesta fights with Elain, he tells her he'll be there for her.
"Whatever you need to throw at me, I can take it. I won't break." No challenge laced the words. Only a plea. // "You don't understand," she said, voice rasping. "I am not like you and the others." // "That's never bothered me one bit." (emphasis added)
When Rhys gives Nesta a mental warning about Gwyn:
"I'm pissed off that you can't seem to believe one good thing about her. That you refuse to fucking believe one good thing about her."
When they are discussing the Dread Trove and pushing Nesta to scry: Yes Cassian for arguing against only protecting Elain
" There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that should not be exposed to." // "But Nesta should?" Cassian growled.
"It's not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying." "There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy" "You're a fool if you think threats will make her obey you." ... "If we manipulate Nesta into scrying, even by using Elain against her, then we'll do what is necessary." "I don't like it."
After Nesta's nightmare:
"Hey." "Hello" "Are you all right?" "Yes." "Good" "You want to talk about it?" "No" "That's fine." "You want breakfast?" "I like your priorities, General." (italics added)
When Rhys and Feyre mention bringing in Helion:
"He'll help...If only for another shot at her." // Nesta rolled her eyes, and and the gesture was so normal that Cassian's smile became more genuine, edged with relief // You wear your heart for all to see, brother. Rhys said without turning Cassian's way. // Cassian only shrugged. He was past caring.
When they finally have sex , we have this short back-and-forth:
"I'll hurt you." // "I don't care" // "I do."
and my personal favorite
"I'm beyond lies right now, Nesta."
When Nesta asks whether Cassian enjoyed their previous encounter, he tells her:
I enjoyed myself too much. I've thought about it for days and days.
"Whatever you want. Whatever you need from me." He knew those were a fool's words, knew he offered up too much.
And when Nesta asks "How can I need you again so soon?" Answer: because they're mates.
"I've needed you from the moment I first met you. And now that I get to have you, I don't what to stop
When they find out about the new Dread Trove, he's quick to defend Nesta to others:
This scene isn't really dialogue, but I'm including it because I love Cass.
They moved on to far merrier subjects, but Cassian mulled it over throughout the evening. The fighting was only part of it. The Training would sustain her, funnel her rage, but there had to be more. There had to be joy. There had to be music. (emphasis added)
When Nesta breaks down at the end of the hike, we see that Cassian doesn't just love Nesta, but he likes her, he may even admire her.
"I don't know how to get there. I don't think I'm capable of it" // "You are. I've seen it -- I've seen what you can do when you are willing to fight for the people you love. Why not apply that same bravery and loyalty to yourself?"
"You don't need to become some impossible ideal. You don't need to become sweet and simpering. You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look - which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don't want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself."
"I'll be with you every step of the way... Just don't lock me out. You want to walk in silence for a week, I'm fine with that. So long as you talk to me at the end of it." (emphasis added)
When Cassian and Nesta go to the prison, there are some more telling moments:
"What if my presence would go unnoticed, but yours sets off a trap? We can't risk that." // His throat bobbed. "I can't risk you." // The words slammed into her heart. (emphasis added)
and later,
"I have always been your friend Nesta. Always"
When Nesta and Cassian return from the Prison:
Nesta brushed her fingers against Cassian's in silent understanding. His own curled against hers, meeting her stare as if to say, See? We're the same after all.
But when Rhys suggests having Nesta dance with Eris, Cassian is territorial to the max
"You're not going to use her."
"Over my dead fucking body," Cassian exploded.
"Nesta hasn't agreed to anything," Cassian snapped. "Even one dance with that prick is too much --"
"I don't like it."
He also agrees to go with her to the cottage in the human lands, and is so damn supportive and kind to her there. Action not words here but I love this himbo so much
Cassian stood beside her through all of it. Not speaking, not touching. Just there, should she need him. Her friend -- whom she'd asked to come her with her not because he was sharing her bed, but because she wanted him here. His steadiness and kindness and understanding.
And of course, the amazing and wonderful solstice scene:
"I'm sorry for how I behaved last Solstice. For how awful I was."// "I know. I forgave you a long time ago."
"Because I was fucking jealous!" He roared, wings splaying. "You looked like a queen, and it was painfully obvious you should be with a princeling like Eris and not a low born nothing like me! Because I couldn't stand the sight of it, right down to my gods-damned bones."(emphasis added)
"You're not going to marry Eris." "No" "There will be no one else. For either of us." "Yes" "Ever."
The big ole fight
"Say what I've guess from the moment we met. What I knew the first time I kissed you. What became unbreakable between us on Solstice night"
"I am your mate, for fuck's sake!" "You are my mate! Why are you still fighting it?
"You promised me forever on Solstice," he said, voice breaking. "Why is one word somehow throwing you off that?" (emphasis added)
And the conclusion that just wasn't satisfying enough:
"What do you want? // "You" // "You've had me from the moment you met me."
“We—Rhys, Cass, and I—will occasionally remind each other that what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.”
The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)
I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?
Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:
" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."
"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."
I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)
What I gained from this exercise was a few observations
Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment
Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?
The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)
See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court
A Court of Thrones and Roses:
Tamlin tells Lucien's Story
"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”
A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”
---
“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”
“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”
Under the Mountain
When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:
Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.
---
Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.
---
“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.
Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.
“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.
---
Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.
---
A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.
When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:
Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.
---
We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along
During the second trial:
In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them
---
“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.
The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.
---
“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.
When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:
“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.
After Feyre breaks the curse:
The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle
His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”
Rhys tells Mor's story:
His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”
“What happened?” I breathed.
“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”
Nailed—nailed to her.
Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.
“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”
A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”
Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”
“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”
Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:
“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”
“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.
That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”
“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.
I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”
“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.
---
“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”
---
Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”
Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.
Cassian snarled his warning.
I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.
Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.
Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.
Lucien advises the Inner Circle:
Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”
A snarl from Rhys.
“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”
Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”
Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.
Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”
Eris in the Hewn City:
If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.
The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.
And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”
“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.
Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”
“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”
Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”
I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”
Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”
---
“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”
“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.
“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.
“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”
Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.
Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”
“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”
“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”
Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”
“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”
Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”
Silence.
“Indulge me,” was all I said.
Eris stared me down. I stared right back.
“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”
Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.
Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”
Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”
And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.
“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”
Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”
Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.
“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”
Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.
“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.
“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.
“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.
Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”
“Watch it,” Azriel warned.
Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”
“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.
A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”
Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:
Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”
“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”
Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”
Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.
“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”
“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.
High Lord's Meeting
(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)
Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.
But Eris did.
A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.
Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.
Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.
Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”
Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”
I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.
Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?
---
Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”
Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.
---
Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”
“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.
For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.
---
“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”
Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.
--
But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”
Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.
“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.
Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”
If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.
But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”
Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.
---
Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.
Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.
Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”
His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.
---
Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”
“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”
Beron rolled his eyes.
But Eris said, “Father.”
Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”
Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”
“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”
“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”
A female of pride and hard work.
Eris said, “I will take it.”
It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.
Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.
Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.
Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.
---
Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”
“I have not yet decided.”
Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.
---
This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”
At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.
But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”
I didn’t deign responding.
“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”
---
Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”
But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”
Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.
She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.
“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.
---
She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.
I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.
Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”
A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.
Expected.
The Lucien Paternity Revelation:
Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.
While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.
I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.
It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.
My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?
It would seem not.
The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.
The War:
Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.
Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”
---
But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.
---
Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”
“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.
The Final Meeting:
Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.
Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.
We did not bother to nod back. None of us.
Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.
But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.
Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.
Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”
That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.
Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.
Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.
And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …
Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.
Help. Someone to help—
A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.
Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.
“Don’t touch her.”
Those steps stopped.
It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.
She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.
“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”
Cold, unfeeling words.
“But—but they nailed a—”
“No one touches her.”
...
She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.
A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”
She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.
He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”
Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.
She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.
Eris took a step away.
Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”
“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”
She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.
“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.
“Move out.”
There was no dissension after that.
And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.
The sun and the wind and the leaves.
The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.
The pain.
Eris in the Hewn City:
“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”
Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”
“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.
Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.
“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.
Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.
Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:
Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.
The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.
---
Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.
---
Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”
Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”
Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.
“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.
“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”
Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.
But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”
---
Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”
“Why? And no.”
“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”
“To overthrow your father.”
“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”
Cassian started. “What?”
“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.
“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”
Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”
---
“What does Beron say?”
“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”
Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”
Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”
“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”
“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”
“Why would I work with you on this?”
“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”
The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:
And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.
Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.
Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:
“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.
“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.
To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.
Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”
“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.
Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”
Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:
“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”
“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.
“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”
Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”
“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”
“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.
Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”
---
Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”
“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.
“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”
“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”
Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”
---
“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.
---
Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”
Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”
“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”
Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”
Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”
Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”
Eris and Nesta dance:
"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”
Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”
“Why?”
“Because she is afraid of it.”
“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”
“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”
---
Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.
“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”
His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”
From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.
Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”
---
Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”
Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.
Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”
Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)
Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”
“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”
---
“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”
Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”
“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”
Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”
---
Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”
“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”
Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.
---
Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”
---
Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”
“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”
Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”
Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.
Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.
And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.
Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”
She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”
Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”
Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”
Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:
Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”
---
I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”
Eris might be a good male?
Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”
Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”
Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”
Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.
And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?
Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.
Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.
The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?
“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”
Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”
Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”
“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”
“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”
Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”
Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”
“Give me a damn answer.”
Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”
“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”
“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”
----
Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.
---
“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.
So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”
The Lady of the Autumn Court: what the fuck is happening in Autumn (part 2)
As I said in my Eris Vanserra post, it seems that the Lady of the Autumn Court is a bigger piece to the Eris and Lucien puzzles.
We don't know what the fuck has been happening in the Forest House but we do the following:
The Lady of the Autumn Court is/was extremely powerful
Lucien (and to some extent Eris) are mama's boys (even though Lucien has been exiled for centuries)
The Lady met Helion before she was married to Beron
At least one of the seven brothers - Lucien - is Helion's child, but Helion saved the Lady after she had already had some kids (so Eris probably isn't his, even though they both have amber eyes)
The Lady chose to stay with Beron
Beron is aware of the affair between Helion and the Lady
Beron is physically abusive towards the Lady and had tortured Eris
Helion does not know Lucien is his heir, but Eris seems to know Lucien isn't Beron's son
Things that aren't mentioned below the cut, but are interesting:
Eris is the ringleader of the brothers, the commander of Beron's forces, and is Beron's most trusted son (the other three don't even have names)
In ACOWAR, Eris says has never denied Beron anything - except to save Lucien - but is angling for the throne and betraying him in ACOFAS and ACOSF (this reminds me of Lorcan betraying Maeve for her own good in TOG)
Beron wanted to kill Lucien for wanting to leave Autumn and marry Jesminda (this doesn't seem like a good reason if he isn't in line for the throne - or isn't part of their bloodline, but I guess Beron doesn't need a reason to be cruel)
Helion alludes to having trouble at home in ACOSF
The remaining unnamed brothers are all angling for the throne (this reminds me of the Khaganate in TOG and the Cruel Prince)
I got a little carried away with the color coding, but here's every major scene involving and discussing the Lady of the Autumn Court (and some breadcrumbs because I'm convinced SJM is purposeful in her writing)
Rhysand uses the Lady of the Autumn Court taunt Lucien in ACOTAR:
Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” Rhysand ran an eye over me. “I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned. Lucien was trembling—with rage or fear or sorrow, I couldn’t tell. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”
The Lady of the Autumn Court also helps Feyre with one of her tasks:
A door clicked open somewhere down the hall, and I shot to my feet. An auburn head peered at me. I sagged with relief. Lucien— Not Lucien. The face that turned toward me was female—and unmasked. She looked perhaps a bit older than Amarantha, but her porcelain skin was exquisitely colored, graced with the faintest blush of rose along her cheeks. Had the red hair not been indication enough, when her russet eyes met mine, I knew who she was. I bowed my head to the Lady of the Autumn Court, and she inclined her chin slightly. I supposed that was honor enough. “For giving her your name in place of my son’s life,” she said, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed apples. She must have been in the crowd that day. She pointed at the bucket with a long, slender hand. “My debt is paid.” She disappeared through the door she’d opened, and I could have sworn I smelled roasting chestnuts and crackling fires in her wake.
Rhys (while wearing the mask of hte High Lord) uses her to taunt Lucien again in ACOMAF:
“Little Lucien,” Rhys purred. “Didn’t the Lady of the Autumn Court ever tell you that when a woman says no, she means it?”
“Prick,” Lucien snarled, storming past his sentinels, but not daring to touch his weapons. “You filthy, whoring prick.”
Lucien explaining how he was treated since Beron may suspect he's Helion's heir and as we know from Tamlin: future high lords have physical markers:
His jaw tightened. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”
“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”
A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”
This may not relate to the Lady of the Autumn Court's relationship with Helion, but I'm gathering all the crumbs (why does Eris hesitate before calling his brothers brothers?)
“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”
Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”
Eris has no love for Beron (he literally asks Rhys to kill him), but he does seem to protect the Lady during the High Lord's Meeting:
“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”
Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.
Helion and Lady of Autumn lock eyes:
The violence simmering off my friends was enough to boil the pool at our toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him, his wife—Lucien’s mother—at his side. Her russet eyes scanned the room, as if looking for that missing son.
They settled instead on Helion, who gave her a mocking incline of his dark head. She quickly averted her gaze.
The High Lords discuss the past war:
(also reminder: Eris has Amber Eyes like Helion)
Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”
Beron’s lip curled. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”
“Right,” Viviane said, “because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”
Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”
Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.”
“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counted coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”
Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.
Beron smiled a bit. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.” Helion was watching Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.
The Lady of the Autumn Court kept her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drained from her face. Dagdan and Brannagh flashed through my mind—along with the corpses of those humans. What they’d done to them before and after they’d died
After Nesta makes her speech:
She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.
After Azriel attacks Eris:
Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier of my own. I lifted my gaze to the High Lord of Autumn. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”
Helion laughed
---
Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”
His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.
Thesan rubbed his temples. “This does not bode well.”
But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”
Feyre loses her shit:
Beron shielded barely fast enough to block me, but the wake singed Eris’s arm—right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.
---
The Lady of Autumn was clutching her arm, angry red splattered along the moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. I said to her as I reclaimed my seat, “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes lifted toward mine, round as saucers.
Beron spat, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”
Helion tells the story of the Affair:
Helion tapped a finger against the carved arm of his couch. “He played games in the War and it cost him—dearly. His people still remember those choices—those losses. His own damn wife remembers.”
Helion had looked at the Lady of Autumn repeatedly during the meeting. I asked, carefully and casually, “What do you mean?”
--
Helion’s jaw clenched. “The Lady of the Autumn Court was sent to stay with her sisters, her younger children packed off to other relatives. To spread out the bloodline.” He dragged a hand through his sable hair. “Hybern attacked their estate. Her sisters bought her time to run. Not because she was married to Beron, but because they loved each other. Fiercely. She tried to stay, but they convinced her to go. So she did—she ran and ran, but Hybern’s beasts were still faster. Stronger. They cornered her at a ravine, where she became trapped atop a ledge, the beasts snapping at her feet
--
Helion didn’t so much as shift in his chair. “She was still young—though she’d been married to that delightful male for nearly two decades. Married too young, the marriage arranged when she was twenty.”
---
But it was Mor who said coolly, “I heard a rumor once, Helion, that she waited before agreeing to that marriage. For a certain someone who had met her by chance at an equinox ball the year before.”
I tried not to blink, not to let any of my rising interest surface.
The fire banked to embers and Helion threw a half smile in Mor’s direction. “Interesting. I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didn’t give her a choice before they sold her to Beron.”
--
“How long did the affair last?” I asked. That withdrawn female … I couldn’t imagine it.
Helion snorted. “Is that a polite question for a High Lady to be asking?”
But the way he spoke, that smile … I only waited, using silence to push him instead.
Helion shrugged. “On and off for decades. Until Beron found out. They say the lady was all brightness and smiles before that. And after Beron was through with her … You saw what she is.”
“What did he do to her?”
“The same things he does now.” Helion waved a hand. “Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them.”
I clenched my teeth. “If you were her lover, why didn’t you stop it?” The wrong thing to say. Utterly wrong, by the dark fury that rippled across Helion’s face.
“Beron is a High Lord, and she is his wife, mother of his brood. She chose to stay. Chose. And with the protocols and rules, Lady, you will find that most situations like the one you were in do not end well for those who interfere.
I didn’t back down, didn’t apologize. “You barely even looked at her today.”
“We have more important matters at hand.”
“Beron never called you out for it?”
“To publicly do so would be to admit that his possession made a fool of him. So we continue our little dance, these centuries later.” I somehow doubted that beneath that roguish charm and irreverence, Helion felt it was a dance at all.
But if it had ended centuries ago, and she’d never seen him again, had let Beron treat her so abominably …
The Lucien Paternity Revelation:
While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.
I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.
It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.
My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?
It would seem not.
The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.
Beron must have discovered the affair when she was pregnant with Lucien.
He likely suspected, but there was no way to prove it—not if she was sharing his bed, too. Rhys’s disgust was a tang in my mouth. I have no doubt Beron debated killing her for the betrayal, and even afterward. When Lucien could be passable as his own of spring—just enough to make him doubt who had sired his last son.
I wrapped my head around it. Lucien not Beron’s son, but Helion’s. His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him.
His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.
You never suspected?
Not once. I’m mortified I didn’t even consider it.
What does this mean, though?
Nothing—ultimately nothing. Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir
YOUR MATING BOND IS SHOWING: Some underrated Nessian scenes pre-ACOFAS
alternatively titled: how did no one in the Inner Circle accidentally tell Nesta?
I didn't include the big moments (the Cauldron, the Bone Carver, Next Time, Emissary, I'll Come Say Hello, CASSIAN, and Hybern) because they are longer scenes, but these are some small and medium sized moments.
When Cassian can't stop staring at Human Nesta:
Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.
...
Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.
Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.
...
Rhys gave me a warning look. I gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention to me. “Can we just … start over?”
I could almost taste her pride roiling in her veins, barking to not back down.
Cassian, damn him, gave her a taunting grin.
But Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.
Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.
...
“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”
“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement.
When Nesta gives Cassian the finger:
He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.
Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.
When Cassian comes back from Wings & Embers:
I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.
When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans (ACOMAF version)
His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”
I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.
When Feyre notices the mating bond:
When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well.
I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister.
The sorrow. And the longing.
When Cassian tells Nesta exactly what is going to happen to Briallyn:
“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.”
When Cassian speaks of his own intentions:
I blew out a breath. “Who else thinks it’s a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?”
Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.”
...
Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.
When Cassian wants revenge:
Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.
“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”
His Siphons flickered in answer.
Rhys said casually, “I’m sure the king will thoroughly enjoy the experience.”
Cassian glowered. “I mean it.”
When Cassian realizes how beautiful his mate is:
Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …
Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
When Cassian got out of an uncomfortable situation:
Mor blinked, but confided to me with a wince, “I think we’re going to need a lot more wine.”
Nesta’s spine stiffened. But she said nothing.
“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors too quickly to be casual.
Nesta stiffened a bit more.
When Nesta wants revenge
“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.
Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”
Nesta examined her wineglass.
Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”
Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”
When Cassian is mad at Feyre and lies:
I studied him, the wings tucked in tight, the shoulder-length dark hair. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring.
“Is it Nesta?”
“Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”
I kept my mouth shut on that front.
When Nesta shows up to training:
Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes.
I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.
“Care to join?” Cassian purred.
Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”
I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian.
Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”
I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”
...
Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”
When Cassian has manners: (and realizes his mate may never fly)
Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?”
“I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ”
Nesta vomited again—then silence.
Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.”
The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned.
When Cassian helps her calm down:
There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed.
Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame.
She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys.
Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered.
“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?”
Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.
He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.”
She blinked slowly.
But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.
When he calls her "Nes" for the first time:
Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”
---
Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”
“Don’t call me that.”
The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.
When she flies with him for the first time:
My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back.
“You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.
When he rescues her and can't hide his disappointment the she didn't hug him:
He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead.
...
Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.
When Nesta is recovering from the library attack and he's an attentive mate:
Nesta looked like she was going to be sick. Cassian wordlessly refilled her glass.
When he's protective and we find out about their height difference
Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.
Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”
...
Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.
When Cassian still isn't back from Adriata:
Nesta was waiting at the breakfast table the next morning. Not for me, I realized as her gaze slipped over me as if I were no more than a servant. But for someone else. I kept my mouth shut, not bothering to tell her Cassian was still up at the war-camps. If she wouldn’t ask … I wasn’t getting in the middle of it.
When Cassian is proud of Nesta:
“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”
When Nesta defends Cassian for the first time:
Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”
...
“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”
She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.
When Feyre dismissed Nesta but Cassian doesn't:
The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”
He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.
But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.”
I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”
When the Cauldron made Nesta barf and Cassian is an attentive mate
“What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain.
Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.
“Nesta,” I said, reaching for her.
Nesta seized—then twisted past Cassian to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.
When he touches her forehead:
Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”
He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though.
Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place.
When Nesta watches Cassian in Battle:
Only Nesta strode toward the edge of the tents to watch the battle on the valley floor below. Mor joined her, then me.
Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one black-armored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle
...
Cassian was trying. Azriel had lunged into the fray, nothing more than shadows edged in blue light, battling his way toward where Cassian fought, utterly surrounded.
“Mother above,” Nesta said softly. Not in awe. No—no, that was dread in her voice.
...
By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.
When she wraps up his wrist (and when he's an idiot and focuses on Mor)
But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian....But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.”
Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion.
But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.
Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—
“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.
“I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance.
I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.
“And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise.
But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.
“How do I fix it?” she asked ...
Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”
She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.
I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle... Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.
And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.
She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.
Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—
“You’re hurt?”
At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”
Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.
Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.
Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.
When Cassian almost dies, and she's worried sick, and then she looks him over to make sure he's okay:
Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—
“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.
Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.
...
Still coated in mud up to her shins, my sister paused on the other side—away from where Cassian now sat. Looked him over. Her face revealed nothing, yet her hands … I could have sworn a faint tremor rippled through her fingers before she balled them into fists and faced Amren. Cassian watched her for a moment longer before turning his head toward Amren as well.
...
Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.
Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.
When Nesta Scries: No harm no harm no harm
Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up—
Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated.
Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before.
Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back.
...
With a gasp, Nesta’s fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. Cassian caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed. He hissed in pain at the movement. “What the hell—”
When Cassian makes an offer most women would not refuse:
“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.
Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.
When Elain is taken:
“We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully...
Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”
When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans, pt. 2 (ACOWAR)
“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.
When Cassian was going to say something before the last battle:
Rhys only asked, “How long do you think we have?”
Cassian clenched his jaw, glancing at my sisters. Nesta was watching him keenly; Elain monitored the army from our minor elevation, face white with dread....
Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say. My sister said nothing as Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings. Yet she tracked his flight until he was hardly more than a dark speck.
When they decide to lure away Hybern:
Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”
I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”
...
“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.
Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”
To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.
...
Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.
...
But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”
Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”
And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …
Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.
