FFS this ask got me to download and play Inquisition again for like two days straight this past weekend. Anyway, put my attempts at DAI's godawful character creator + some barely-worked-out thoughts on a DA Nessian AU under the cut.
Nesta - Human Mage - Due to my own anti-Orlesian prejudice—(i.e., I cannot imagine Nesta with the French accents they have in DAI)—and the fact I don't think she'd be Ferelden (notable lack of doggos in ACOTAR save for Eris' shadow hounds), I'm thinking of her as a fallen noblewoman from the Free Marches who was only further disgraced when Feyre was found to possess magic. The situation was made worse when it was consequently discovered that, actually, all 3 sisters were mages. Her + her sisters were then scattered to different Circles. Left both the aristocracy and the Circle with no discernable survival or wilderness skills; could be very powerful but has no interest/fears that power. I don't see her as the Inquisitor/Herald of Andraste in this AU, but that might be fun to explore because I feel like Nesta would haaaate that.
Cassian - Human Warrior (currently: sword & shield) - I wanted to stay true to the outside, simplistic perception that the Illyrians are a barbaric warrior people. I didn't make him a Qunari because they're a matriarchal religious society and that doesn't seem akin to the Illyrian culture as shown in the books. I tossed about the idea of having him be Tevinter, but I thought that would suit Rhysand better. I landed on the Avvar because they're a conglomerate of tribes (like Illyria seems to be a conglomerate of war camps/bands), still possess magic/are friendly towards mages, and have occasionally come into conflict with Tevinter (like the Illyrians have occasionally fought against the Night Court/High Lords). I stopped thinking precisely there. He's still bros with Rhysand for reasons I have not yet discerned and tbqh don't really care about. I am here only for #Nessian.
The Premise: Let's say pre-DAI/the Divine getting exploded, Rhysand had whisked Feyre off to Tevinter to be powerful, wealthy, and pregnant as in canon. Let's say Feyre wanted her sisters (who she knows to have magic like her even though they may not want to have magic) to be safe with her in mage-friendly Tevinter. Rhysand could task Cassian with finding one sister and Azriel with the other.* Nesta could be recruited with the mages in Redcliffe; Cassian could be found in the Hinterlands (headed towards Redcliffe). Give Cassian Nesta's location and that's one quest done, they're united unbeknownst to Nesta in Haven, and now she's got one (1) Avvar bodyguard she never signed up for who's insisting he's taking her back to Tevinter once This Whole Thing Blows Over (despite her continuous refusal), absolutely 0 sign of coin or status or eligible suitors, and magic powers she's been raised to abhor. (✿◡‿◡)
* (AN: I feel I should say that I'm not mentioning that for shipping purposes - I could NOT give any fewer fucks about who Azriel fucks because, again, I am only here for Nessian. I would be in a negative fuck zone and I'm not sure if that's mathematically or psychologically possible.)
a/n: An update (finally) 2 years in the making and in spite of the worst case of writer's block I've ever had. I hope that for those of you who are still even mildly invested in this story, the wait was semi-worth it.
I would love to hear your thoughts on these two if you feel compelled to share! Otherwise, enjoy some fluff, some mild reference to the past, and a reunion.
NSFW. ~ 6k words.
——————————————————————————
Nesta surveyed her nails for the fifth time since arriving at baggage claim. Shifting from foot to foot, she checked Cassian’s arrival time— again— to make sure she hadn’t tried to will an earlier landing into existence via her imagination. Logic told her she was anxious to see him, that any unit of time would be feel like an eternity considering their circumstances, but her longing wasn’t getting the memo.
She stood tall on her tiptoes, scanning every face. No luck, at least, not until a small group of passengers descended on the escalators and inch by glorious inch of Cassian came into view.
Her chest was heavy— almost full to bursting. Cassian was preoccupied with making sure his carry-on didn’t tumble down the steps and into his neighbors, and Nesta forced herself to be satisfied with his safe arrival rather than annoyed that she wasn’t yet pressed against him. He’d dressed for comfortable travel— t-shirt, hair half-up, and a pair of black joggers— and while she understood they were meant for Cassian’s physical comfort, she couldn’t help that he looked like the perfect, safe place to land at the end of any long day.
In his attempts to contain his luggage, Cassian hadn’t yet seen her. A good thing, if you asked Nesta, because it offered her the opportunity to summon a shred of dignity as opposed to melting into the airport’s stained, linoleum floor.
His attention shifted over his shoulder to a petite, elderly woman a couple of steps above him. She said something that made Cassian smile— a true, joyful smile— before she poked his shoulder to alert him that they were rapidly approaching the end of their ride. He stepped off gracefully with his bags and turned in one efficient movement to extend a hand to the woman. She beamed up at him as he settled her hand in the crook of his elbow and hauled her small, floral duffle onto his shoulder.
Guiding her to the side and out of the chaotic flow of foot traffic, he lifted his gaze to scan the room. Nesta felt the moment he saw her like a punch to the chest, and somehow, his winning smile grew even wider.
Nesta was known for many things— some more damning than others— but not one of them was her patience. She forced a casual pace into her steps to meet them halfway and slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as some rudimentary form of self-restraint.
Her lips parted, but before she could utter a greeting, she heard a soft voice. “This must be your Nesta.”
Eyes crinkling in the corners, showcasing years worth of joy, the petite woman looked up at Nesta with something akin to pride in her smile. It disarmed her enough that the thought of correcting the statement, to tell her she belonged to no one, left her head entirely.
“The very one,” Cassian drawled, his intense focus fixed on Nesta, even as he lowered his travel bag to the ground near her feet.
“She’s even more beautiful than you described,” the older woman beamed. “Striking, really.”
Nesta’s brows shot up in amusement— incredulity, too, but mostly amusement— just as Cassian’s furrowed, and his gaze shifted to the other woman’s face.
“Dorothy,” he chided, although his tone lacked any bite at all, “you’re telling stories.”
Dorothy tutted. “Only the best ones.”
A smile stretched across Nesta’s face. Dorothy’s gaze snapped behind Nesta, and she raised a wrinkled hand in a delicate wave. Somehow, the joy on her face was tenfold.
“My son has deigned to pick me up. Finally.”
“Our flight landed a bit early, Dot,” Cassian said, moving to usher the woman where she aimed to go.
Nesta’s eyebrows flew up again at the nickname and their familiarity. The barest chuckle left her chest as she watched them shuffle around her. Cassian lifted his attention from the woman for a split second, enough to offer Nesta a wink.
“Only minutes, Cassian,” Dorothy fussed, “don’t make excuses.”
“Fair enough,” he relented, with a soft, fond shake of his head at Nesta.
Their voices faded with the growing distance, and as if her body had a sense for Cassian’s growing proximity, her chest tightened. The commitment to his new friend was admirable, and logic kept any true bristling at bay, but Nesta had never been particularly good at sharing. This was no different.
She watched as Cassian passed Dorothy’s duffle to her son and exchanged a few words. Before long, Dorothy was tugging her son’s arm toward the airport’s exit. Cassian lifted his hand in a polite wave and pivoted to face Nesta again. His shoulders sagged in something like relief, his legs carrying him with long, purposeful strides.
Nesta dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and cursed silently at the sting behind her eyes. She would not cry, no matter how overwhelming the emotions felt beneath the delicate barrier of her skin. She and Cassian had fallen apart and come back together in a number of ways over the years. Schooling her reactions should not have been as challenging as it felt.
Cassian gained speed with his final steps, bending at the waist to wrap his arms tightly around Nesta’s middle. Her arms responded in kind around his neck, her face tucked beneath the sharp angle of his jaw. With a bend of his knees, Cassian moved one of his forearms to bracket her thigh and lifted her flush against his body.
She huffed a laugh against his skin and wrapped her legs around his waist. Everything went quiet, from her racing thoughts to the chaos of the airport’s baggage claim.
And maybe it was all in her head, or maybe it was the result of the way their hug muffled any outside sounds, but Nesta didn’t care. She would take the peace no matter how it found her.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Cassian rumbled, his lips dragging the words over neck.
Something in Nesta purred at the sound, and she somehow pressed herself even tighter to his body. Her voice couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret of her crumbling composure.
Kisses pressed against her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Hands with an almost bruising grip against the curves of her body. The scent of his shampoo and the texture of his waves against her fingers. Nothing had ever centered her quite like any of it. She had been naive to think she was ever giving him up. They were always going to end up right where they were.
An annoyed voice offered a well-timed interruption to her thoughts, and her head snapped up from Cassian’s shoulder at a passerby’s passive aggressive grumbling about dodging their PDA. Nesta’s spine went ramrod straight, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, her tongue curling around some scathing retort.
Cassian hummed in warning, followed by a soft, “Not worth it.”
He bent down to grab his bag and turned toward the exit without another word. Nesta looked down at him, a little disoriented at the sudden change in location and the fact that he was hauling her out of the airport as if he’d just grabbed her from the luggage carousel. Her brows furrowed in irritation.
“I can walk.”
Cassian rolled his eyes, but the soft uptick at the corner of his mouth gave him away. The fact that he found Nesta’s tendency to bristle endearing was a miracle most days, only followed closely by the way his body always felt sliding against hers. Her legs released him on instinct as he lowered her toward the ground, and she landed gracefully on her feet. Gracefully enough anyway, for someone who hadn’t gotten a proper warning.
It was curious the way Cassian carried himself with a certain strength and grace all at once. Without missing a beat, he gripped her hand as they waited at the crosswalk and smiled down at her with so much affection that every hard edge of her mood went soft almost instantly.
“You’ll have to lead the way from here,” he said, turning to scan traffic as they walked. “I don’t know where you parked.”
Nesta nodded and stepped slightly ahead. It took a second to remember where she’d left her car, but in minutes, she was opening the trunk to allow Cassian the opportunity to toss his bag inside.
With her hand was poised over the door handle, she allowed herself a quick glance over the top of the car to remind her that he was there. He was nowhere to be seen, but warm lips against the side of her neck chased any worry into a distant memory.
“Missed you,” he murmured, gripping her gently and turning her body to press it against the car.
Nesta placed her hands on the sides of his neck and tugged him forward, his mouth resuming the tortured affection against her heated skin. The departing planes were thunder, the sounds of traffic a buzz that matched the feeling in her veins.
Her nails dragged soft scratches against the nape of his neck, and Cassian hummed his appreciation. His body shuddered, curling tighter around her and trailing kisses across the line of her shoulder.
“Missed you, too,” she admitted and felt freer. Lighter.
They broke apart, climbing into the car and heading to The Merchant to check into their room. Nesta was renting Clare’s extra room, including the furniture that was already staged in the guest room. The twin bed she slept in every night wasn’t a viable option for Cassian alone, much less the two of them together. She appreciated her friend’s kindness more than she could express, especially since Nesta wasn’t ready to admit that the idea of finding her own apartment made her mouth dry and her skin erupt in goosebumps.
Circumstances had certainly changed since the last time they’d stayed at the hotel together, but the ugliness and heaviness of that visit didn’t linger the way they might have in the past. The guilt that choked her over Cassian’s involvement in her conflict with Tomas never boiled over. The tension associated with those memories didn’t crush her ribs from the inside.
Maybe the countless hours she’d spent in therapy were showing their effects in some tangible way after such a distant, abstract idea of improvement over the months.
Shaking the thoughts away, Nesta focused on the present. On the warm hand ghosting over the top of her thigh as she drove, the grip of the man who had loved her before she had a shred of progress to show of her healing. Who had loved her before and loved her through it, even when she hadn’t loved herself. Had loved her when he hadn’t truly known how, and she hadn't thought she could love him enough. Who loved her still.
—
The small flames atop each of the centerpiece’s candles danced over Cassian’s face, and while Nesta was happy to take her time admiring the way they enhanced the sharp contours of his jaw, his expression stopped her short.
His eyes tracked the room as his immutable attention to detail demanded, his left thumb rubbing absent-minded circles over the calluses of his opposite palm. The action stirred something in Nesta, a desire to ease whatever trouble roiled beneath his bronze skin, and she reached out to slide her hand over his.
“Let me,” she breathed, all but an order, and a smirk pulled at the edge of Cassian’s too-enticing mouth.
He stretched his arm toward her and rested it atop the table cloth. Nesta cradled his hand in both of hers, the size of it making hers look impossibly small. With slow, methodical pressure, her thumbs worked against his budding tension.
“What’s all this?” he teased. His smirk bloomed into an outright smile, and Nesta’s heart thudded in answer.
“You do this when you’re nervous,” she offered by way of explanation, “so I thought I would help.”
“Ah.” He nodded his understanding but didn’t elaborate.
With his free hand, he lifted his water glass and took several pulls. Nesta tried to be subtle in watching the way his throat bobbed, but the glimmer in Cassian’s eyes noted her failure. At least he was gentlemanly enough to stay quiet about it for once.
After a moment of taut silence, Nesta caved. “What?”
Cassian huffed a laugh at her irritation. “It’s just…” he trailed off, looked into the ether for the proper words. “It’s not only when I’m nervous.”
Her gaze snapped toward their hands and back to his face. “You always do this when you’re anxious.”
“Sure,” he agreed, and Nesta felt her brow furrow in both confusion and annoyance. “But it’s more when I’m antsy in general. When I feel like I need to move. Or like I’m crawling out of my skin.”
Dread pooled in her stomach while her brain picked furiously at each of Cassian’s words. If he was two ticks away from meltdown barely 8 hours into his visit, that didn’t bode well for the next several days. Or the rest of their days, for that matter.
Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Nesta continued in an effort to keep her chaotic emotions contained. Better to direct her attention to something productive, she reasoned.
An awkward squeeze of Cassian’s hand forced her attention back to the bustling restaurant and out of her mind. She struggled to keep it there, but the look on Cassian’s face fortified her.
Heat, unbridled and solely focused, turned his eyes a deeper shade of brown. “As much as I appreciate this,” he began, his voice like gravel, “you aren’t helping, Sweetheart.”
Another flex of his grip, and he pulled his hand away. For a moment, she missed the warmth that left along with it, until she realized all he’d done is send that warmth right to her core.
Understanding hit her with very little grace, and the force of his honesty went straight to her bloodstream. She reached for her own water for no other reason than to do something with her hands.
Something that didn’t involve dragging them across every inch of Cassian’s skin.
“We should go.” Never mind the fact that they’d only ordered a glass of wine and an appetizer. The waiter hadn’t yet made it back to take the orders for their first course, but every moment felt too full of inessential details.
Cassian chuckled, low and rough. Just for her.
“Dinner first,” he ordered, redirecting his gaze to the menu.
Jaw slack, Nesta blinked incredulously in his direction.
“Once we get back to the room, we’re not leaving again,” he promised.
Nesta had never been so decisive in choosing dinner.
—
Despite the earlier urgency, Nesta was enjoying dinner. Living in the moment wasn’t on her list of sharpest skills, but she managed if she did say so herself. The atmosphere was warm, yet private enough. The company was top tier, if not long overdue. And watching Cassian roll his head back and laugh at some harmless barb she lobbed his way, Nesta thought that maybe this could have always been enough.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she disguised it by taking another long sip of wine. Cassian’s eyes lowered to her face, smile still as bright as before, and shook his head before returning his attention to what remained of his meal. The speed at which the man could eat was remarkable, and even though he’d hardly held back in sharing about what she’d missed back home over the last few weeks, somehow he was almost finished. Nesta hadn’t even made it halfway through hers.
Spearing another bite with her fork, she popped it into her mouth and scanned the room. Her eyes caught over Cassian’s shoulder, and to her abject horror, she choked.
“Shit,” Cassian muttered, reaching across the table to shove Nesta’s water glass closer. It sloshed over the side, only barely, but enough that another curse fell from his mouth.
Nesta grabbed it, if for no other reason than to save it from an ill fate at the hands of the mother hen across the table. She forced her cough down long enough to take a deep breath and gulped the water down. It did wonders to soothe her throat, but unfortunately, it only served to recruit attention from the face that made her choke in the first place.
What was his name? God, she should know. They hadn’t been serious— especially since Nesta hadn’t been capable of anything remotely close to it when she first moved. They had seen each other a few times and had fun, but no one had ever written poetry with their arrangement in mind. Eventually, the pretense of dates had stopped, and they became a matter of convenience until they just… weren’t anymore.
Nesta couldn’t remember who ultimately called it off, and even worse, she wondered if no one ever had. For all she knew now, they fizzled out and never bothered with a proper ending. And if she’d had it in herself to be honest back then, she could have admitted they’d had decent chemistry at best. That was generous, in fact. Her best memory of him and sex actually didn’t involve him at all.
They made eye contact, and he smiled at her. The same way someone smiles at a co-worker or someone they met through a mutual friend. He lifted a hand in a wave, as if totally oblivious to Nesta choking, and she blinked through the tears in her eyes to wave back. His attention returned to the woman he was with— his date presumably, if the hand on her waist was any indication.
Cassian glanced over his shoulder to follow Nesta’s gaze, and before she could toss a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for the man’s diverted attention, his eyes rose again to to land on Cassian. His smile faltered, if only momentarily, but Cassian wasn’t pressed.
Her eyes must have been the size of saucers watching Cassian lift a hand over his shoulder in a casual wave. They exchanged a very bro-like up-nod, and just as quickly, Cassian turned back around to face Nesta. With a smile full of mirth, no less.
“Friend of yours?” he purred through a smile, eyes dancing with amusement. He was at his most beautiful like this. Relaxed, happy, and teasing Nesta. She hated him for it.
She indulged in another long pull of water before deciding on, “Mm.” She tilted her head side to side in consideration. “Not exactly.”
Cassian chuckled. “I have a few of those myself.”
She wished she had it in her to be unbothered by the reminders of their past. But Nesta had never been particularly graceful about accepting anyone else’s attention on Cassian. Whether it be for one night or for some short, doomed attempt at a relationship. Doomed, only because Nesta now had the benefit of hindsight. She’d never considered those relationships quite so rationally before now. Sometimes, progress was minimal, but it was progress all the same.
“Yep,” she said, forcing nonchalance into her voice.
Cassian didn’t buy it.
“Nes,” he groaned, though not in frustration. More like empathy and reassurance rolled into one. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes…” he trailed off, staring into the ether in that way of his. The way the night was going, Nesta was tempted to glance over her shoulder and check for Julia. “I know it matters, so I won’t say it doesn’t. But I guess it’s just easier to laugh about it now. It’s safer, anyway.”
“Safer?” That hadn’t been what she expected him to say, but oddly, she thought she understood it. Better to laugh it off than think on the details too much.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, running his hand over his jaw. “We’re here now, you know?”
“I think so.” Nesta chewed the inside of her lip, considering her next words. Guess she was sharing. “Can I tell you something? And you not judge me?”
Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know I won’t.” A beat, then, “Tell me.”
The waiter chose the moment to offer refills on their wine. Nesta was tempted to ask for the bottle to drown the embarrassment of the last several minutes, but she saved those thoughts while Cassian politely refused and asked for their check.
Nesta took a deep breath. “I don’t even remember his name,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut and easing one of them open to gauge Cassian’s reaction. His face gave nothing away until his head dropped forward, and Nesta noticed the subtle shake of his shoulders.
“Are you laughing?” she hissed, throwing her cloth napkin into his chest. A laugh bubbled out of her in answer. Everything about him was contagious.
“I’m not laughing at you.” Cassian wiped his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, his wide smile still on full display. “I thought you were going to tell me something serious— shit, Nesta.” Another chuckle, and he leaned back to prop his elbow on the back of his chair.
His casual posture and clear amusement, contagious as it was, spoke to the haunted little part of Nesta that couldn’t resist poking at his resolve. A night, so many months ago that it felt like a lifetime, knocked at the forefront of her mind. An unhealthier version of the two of them, near their lowest. A brief visit to Velaris, a stupid gathering she should have blown off like she’d originally intended when she realized she’d only packed clothes befitting of a couch potato.
She leaned forward, her voice pitched low. “It was his, you know. The sweater you’re so fond of.”
Cassian’s head cocked to the side, but Nesta noticed when it clicked. The way he righted his head, the glint in his eye. The way he fixed his focus on her and leaned forward on his elbows, his voice gravel.
“Makes sense that you wouldn’t remember his name, then.”
Nesta huffed a laugh through her nose and leaned forward, too. Cassian was close enough for secrets and bad decisions, and for a moment, they were in another time— full of both.
“That was the goal, wasn’t it?” she murmured, dragging a slender finger over his clasped hands. Cassian rolled his palm up and laced their fingers together. Breathing seemed to be harder, the air thicker.
“Not really,” he rasped. “I was the one who needed to forget.”
Nesta squeezed her hand tighter around his. “Cass—”
“Don’t,” he admonished. “I don’t want to make it heavy.” His thumb traced the back of her her own as his eyes lifted. All she could do was nod. “Truth be told, I kind of hated how good you looked in it when it wasn’t mine.”
Nesta huffed another laugh. A lump formed in her throat at the memory, at the chaotic way they always gravitated to one another no matter the consequences. They weren’t recognizable that way anymore, especially as they sat now in a fancy restaurant discussing their baggage. Some of it, anyway. It would have taken more than a single meal to get into the half of it.
“I was, though,” she rasped, tracing nonsense patterns on the tablecloth with her free hand. “Yours, I mean. Even if I ran. Even when I couldn’t accept it.”
Silence met her, and she couldn’t look at him. His emotions always belonged to himself and everyone else in a mile radius, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach the possibilities.
A gentle, callused finger tipped her chin up and tugged her gently forward. Before she realized his closeness, Cassian’s lips brushed hers. Soft, the exact opposite of all the thorns that built them. Everything she wished she could have shown him sooner. He pressed his lips to hers a second and third time before standing, his hand never leaving hers. The look of adoration on his face was so plain that Nesta struggled not to balk under it, and she wondered what it meant that it was harder to stand than his ire.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, turning to tug her gently through the sea of people in the restaurant.
Her cheeks heated under others’ fleeting attention, as if they were privy to her erratic heartbeat and the intimacy of their conversation. Cassian, unbothered as always, strode confidently toward the door. And although she knew it deep down, it was then— staring at his shoulders under the fabric of his shirt as he led them to the restaurant exit— that it hit her in the chest and fizzed through her. Hope.
—
Everything felt significant.
The beep of the lock, the click of the door handle, the odd vacuum of silence that fell over any hotel room.
Sounds that were all too familiar to Nesta, especially where Cassian was concerned, but somehow, it all seemed different.
With an unceremonious flop, the key card landed next to the TV. Cassian’s voice was a velvet rasp in the loaded quiet.
“This is new,” he said through a huff of laughter, “meeting up in a hotel room where we both have a key.”
His hands slipped over her hipbones, each broad finger squeezing adoration and affection in a simple move that usually felt possessive and unwelcome by anyone else’s hands.
A chuckle rolled through her. “Not exactly,” she replied, turning within the circle of his arms. Her finger traced the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, already half undone. “We’ve shared a room here before.”
Cassian hummed. “Not really what I meant, Sweetheart.”
“I know.” She stood on her tiptoes, bracing a hand on his shoulder. “I was being funny.”
With a delicate tilt of her chin, Cassian dipped his head to capture her mouth. The smile she felt against her lips was her only warning before—
“Ah,” he said, pressing another chaste kiss to her mouth. “But you’re not funny.”
Nesta pulled back— all mock, steely rage— and eased out of her heels.
“My humor requires a certain wit.”
The farthest Cassian was willing to step away from her was a step or two, enough to allow Nesta room to move around her shoes. Once free of them, he stooped slightly to wrap his arms around her waist, tucking his face against the side of her neck and pulling her tightly to his body.
The ghost of his laugh warmed her from the inside out. “That’s true,” he admitted, running his nose along the side of her throat.
Nesta’s breath hitched. Her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close, and she didn’t resist the urge to press her lips against his hair. His scent wrapped around her as it always did, leaving her almost boneless.
Cassian took her weight effortlessly and swayed them back and forth. A contented, raspy hum left him, and the sound tickled the length of Nesta’s spine.
Her body flushed, skin revolting against the barrier of clothing between them. She leaned back to tell him as much, but his hands twisted her hips to turn her around in his arms again.
Nesta’s head lolled to the side, her neck exposed completely to his affections with only her fingertips to keep her balance atop the small hotel desk. A pose too reminiscent of the night they’d discussed at dinner and one that had her arching her back to press against Cassian.
“Cass,” she whispered, her hand reaching for his hair. “Please, baby.”
His groan thrummed against her back, the perfect balance to his bruising grip. One of his hands left her waist, and she almost cursed him for it had she not heard the release of his belt buckle.
His teeth sank into her neck, only hard enough to send electricity through her body, and suddenly her weight was shifting forward against her hands. He made quick work of the long zipper of her dress, and the fabric pooled around her feet.
One hand pressed against her stomach, his hardness at her lower back. His other hand slipped beneath the elastic of her underwear to tease her. Her lips parted on a quiet moan, and she was spinning again, her hips lifted roughly onto the desk.
“Need to taste you,” Cassian rasped, his hands already tugging the fabric down her legs.
Nesta discarded her bra like it was on fire and leaned back on her hands. She loved the way he looked on his knees.
“Fuck,” she whimpered at the first press of his tongue. With an iron grip, he held one of her legs over his shoulder and used his other hand to free himself from the confines of his pants.
His moan vibrated against her, and Nesta’s head rolled back. Cassian’s tongue worked her with such precision it almost made her dizzy.
One of her hands snapped toward his head, her fingers threading through his hair. His eyes snapped up and darkened, and he was on his feet.
Nesta was almost bereft with the loss, but Cassian quickly rid himself of his button down shirt and his pants.
“Come here,” he ordered, tossing the comforter down and lying across the bed, his knees bent over the side. “On my face.”
Blinking, Nesta realized she was still leaning against the desk. She padded over to the side of the bed and ran her fingers over his knees, teasing all the way up his thighs.
“I want these,” she murmured, touching the elastic of his boxer briefs.
“Later,” he said, voice gruff, and tugged her gently by the wrist to coax her over him.
Nesta managed to kiss his collarbones, his neck, until he urged her quickly along to bring her over his face like he wanted. She straddled his head, his hands anchoring her thighs. Before she could assess her positioning, Cassian tugged her roughly down to his mouth.
Nesta keened, hands buried in Cassian’s hair. She moved over him, earning a hum of approval from Cassian, and soon her thighs were screaming to keep their rhythm.
“Cassian,” she begged, desperate to come. “Yes.”
His tongue moved expertly over her, making her thighs shake in earnest. She squirmed, and Cassian gripped her wrist again and tugged her upper body forward.
Nesta could have cried in relief. She was on an elbow, her other hand still buried in Cassian’s nest of hair. He never faltered in his attention, and Nesta couldn’t help but drop her forehead against the sheets as she rocked over his mouth.
She cried out, the sound blessedly muffled by the linens, but Cassian didn’t seem entirely impressed by that. He eased two fingers into her, her walls stretching to accommodate them, and she had to release his hair in favor of bracing on both elbows, her hands fisting the sheets.
Cassian groaned against her wetness. Nesta was strung out, her back arching in pursuit of release. The sensitive peaks of her breasts grazed the sheets with each rock of her body, and without warning, she splintered into a million pieces.
Tears stung her eyes at the intensity of her pleasure. Cassian eased his fingers from her and eased her through it, murmuring a quiet instruction to stay put.
Nesta wanted to melt into a puddle as Cassian slid from under her and turned to kneel on the bed behind her. His calloused hands ran over her back, squeezed her shoulders, gripped the back of her neck. She rocked her hips backwards against his length, and to her satisfaction, Cassian hissed at the contact.
“You look perfect like this,” he said, almost reverent. “Are you ready for me, baby?”
Nesta lifted her forehead in an attempt to shoot a glare his way for entertaining any doubt, but she didn’t have it in her. Instead, she made some embarrassing little noise in the back of her throat and pressed harder against him.
Cassian freed himself and entered her in one long, slow thrust. His lips touched the back of her neck until he leaned back and cupped a hand over one of her shoulders, his other hand splaying over the side of her waist.
The way they moved so naturally together always gave Nesta pause. Everything seemed to work without fail when they were pressed together. If only life had been so kind.
Nesta rolled her hips in time with his, cataloguing all the sounds he made and the things he whispered roughly for only her to hear.
So good, Nesta.
God, I could live inside you.
Perfect. Just like that, baby.
Nesta’s muscles tightened again in anticipation, her cries growing louder in the small room. Cassian’s hand shot out to the side to brace himself on the headboard, and his hips worked her hard and slow.
“Come for me, Nes,” he said, his voice strained. Nesta tightened around him, a sob leaving her at how perfect he felt. “There you go,” he encouraged. “That’s it. Let go, baby.”
Nesta shattered, her knuckles white in the tangle of the sheets. Cassian’s hips kept their steady rhythm until he was moaning her name and throbbing inside her.
His forehead fell between her shoulder blades as they recovered. He managed to keep his hulking weight from crushing her, barely, until he separated them and lay on his back next to her.
Snaking an arm beneath her, he pulled her over to rest her head on his chest, pressing her hair away from her sweat-slick brow. She sighed against him and nearly purred when he brought his hand up to massage her scalp.
When they could manage to move, they showered together, fumbling as they washed each other and pressing their smiles together in some approximation kisses. Nesta resumed her usual barbs, and Cassian took them gracefully as always before lobbing one of his own that shocked a loud laugh out of Nesta as they brushed their teeth. It was an odd time— but as good as any— to realize that this was everything.
To Nesta’s delight, Cassian wordlessly tossed an extra tee he’d packed for her to sleep in. She caught it against her chest, dropping it over her head and dragging her heavy limbs into the bed.
It was all so familiar. Familiar in the way that hurt a little, because although other moments like it had passed between them, they always ended. And even though everything about the night promised more, they would never have this one again, and the sheer existence of it carried a veil of melancholy because they couldn’t cocoon themselves in it to their content.
But maybe they didn’t need the stolen minutes together and the safety of their own little world anymore. As much as Nesta thought she’d loved the false intimacy their shared secrets offered, they didn’t need them anymore. Not when they had this— Cassian’s fingers tracing small paths through her hair, his heartbeat beneath her ear, his steady breaths regulating her own.
A whisper, yet one that seemed to echo somehow in the quiet room. “I love you.”
——————————————————————————
f you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, please send me an ask, a message, leave a comment, or mention being tagged in your reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!
If you’d like a festive binge read for the holidays, The Pointe of Love is waiting for you! A ballet AU for Elriel and Nessian set in a dance company where prima ballerinas Nesta and Elain encounter the new sexy choreographers. All will come to a climax at the annual solstice show! 🩷🌟☕️🌙🎄🧁🩰📯🎼 Enjoy!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Nesta comes home drunk and horny, but Cassian just puts her to bed. 🖤
Warnings: language, drunkeness
A/N: Thank you for the prompt! Enjoy. :)
Cassian was lying on the couch with five minutes left in the season finale of Vikings Valhalla when the front door burst open and Nesta ungracefully stepped across the threshold.
He'd had a peaceful night at home alone, which he rarely had, and he knew Nesta would be pissed that he started...and finished...the new season without her, but he was hoping her sisters got her too drunk to notice.
Which it seemed they did.
She tried to close the door twice before succeeding as Cassian paused the show and looked at his wife, suppressing his grin. "Hey, sweetheart."
Nesta yelped, nearly jumping a foot in the air as if she hadn't even noticed he was laying there in plain sight. She started laughing as she dropped her purse and keys on the floor. "H-hi. I thought you'd be sleeping."
Supposing it was after one, Cassian shook his head. "Can't sleep when you're not here. I thought I'd wait up."
She looked up at him and frowned. "You can't sleep without me? That's...that's so sweet. You're so sweet."
Cassian pushed himself off the couch as he shook his head. "You've passed sassy drunk and have made it to sappy drunk, which means your morning is going to be hell. Come on. Bed time."
"I don't wanna," she whined, kicking off her shoes and dropping her coat on top of her bag. "I wanna...let's have a glass of wine."
"Let's go to bed."
"Can we drink wine in bed?" she asked, just as he stopped in front of her and kissed her forehead. "Shit, you're tall."
Cassian, unable to help himself, laughed. "And you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk." Her brows furrowed as she crossed her arms. "You're an ass."
"Yeah, yeah." He held out his hand. "Come on."
With a dramatic sigh, Nesta took her husband's hand and let him drag her down the hall, through the master bedroom and into their bathroom.
After starting the hot water, he dropped a towel outside the shower door and said, "Get in. Be quick. I'm gonna get you a glass of water."
He thought she mumbled something along the lines of okay, dad as he shut the door behind him and made his way to the kitchen. After filling up a glass of water, he made sure that the house was locked up before returning to their bedroom. The water was still running and he could hear Nesta fumbling around, so he settled himself on the bed and put her water on her nightstand.
He was starting to doze off when the water finally turned off, and a moment later, Nesta entered the bedroom, hair dripping wet and gloriously nude.
Cassian raised a brow, even as his eyes scanned her body. "Didn't feel like drying off?"
She hiccuped as she fell onto the bed and started crawling towards him. "I did dry off, you ass."
"Doesn't look like it," he mumbled, and she straddled his waist. He kept his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles.
Nesta wasn't as modest. She ran her hands down his chest before trying to slip them up his shirt. "Let's make...fuck. Let's fuck."
"We only drunk fuck when we're both drunk and I, unfortunately, am one hundred percent sober." He took her hands and kissed each of her palms. "Get a brush. I'll brush your hair."
Nesta frowned. "You don't find me attractive anymore?"
Cassian sighed, unsure of how she got that from what he'd just said. "You're gorgeous. And I love the fact that your boobs are in my face right now, but it's late and your breath smells like you inhaled half the bar."
Nesta's frown deepened as her hips began to rock, grinding into him beneath his sweatpants. "Pleeeaaaaase. Real quick, then I promise...bed."
Each of her words were slurred and Cassian couldn't wait to remind her in the morning of this very moment. With a sigh, Cassian took Nesta by the hips and rolled her over. She clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, but Cassian only gave her a quick kiss then pushed himself off the bed and made his way to her dresser. He took out a pair of panties and one of her nightshirts, and tossed them onto the bed, where Nesta was yawning.
After going to fetch a brush, he came back and helped her dress before starting to brush her hair. As he worked the brush, her eyes closed and she sighed, contentedly.
"Cass," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I don't feel so good." The words were barely audible and she swayed, falling back against Cassian. He set the brush aside before wrapping his arms around her and leaning back against the pillows with her nestled between his legs.
"Get some rest," he whispered, and kissed the top of her head as he ran his fingers through her hair, again and again. It was only a minute before her breathing evened out and she was sound asleep against his chest.
After turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Cassian pulled them both beneath the blankets and wrapped his body around hers. She snuggled into him without a thought, snoring softly.
Cassian was almost asleep when he remembered that he never finished the damn season finale.
Maybe he'd rewatch the whole thing tomorrow while Nesta nursed a killer hangover.
Ok hear me out... Has anyone read twisted series by Ana Huang? because I was thinking an ACoTaR x Twisted crossover... but not like a full fanfiction just a description (?) of what it can be cuz I can't write for the life of me (I can't write in my mother language let alone in another one!)
Twisted Love x Elucien
Twisted Game x Gwynriel
Twisted Hate x Nessian
Twisted Lies x Feysand
What do we think?
I mean Twisted Love is my least favorite of all the books (like very least) so I have to change many things of it to fit Elain and Lucien. Lucien is going to be so sassy and cocky (not like Alex who has a personality of a rock) and Elain is still a florist but ALSO a photographer. I'm pretty sure a modern AU Elain would be a great photographer as well!!
Twisted Games is my favorite out of all of them if I'm being honest. So Gwyn is a princess who likes to sing sometimes. She has a sister who's is about to be the future queen but is she? (yeah we're not killing Catrin in fact we give her a wife!!) and Azriel is her bodyguard.
Twisted Hate is my second Favorite and also the first book I read from this series (don't ask why I did that lmao). I always see Nesta in a modern au as lawyer!! She's studying and getting ready to become a lawyer. And Cassian is a sports massage therapist and a gym owner and happens to be her colleague and her trainer... he's a menace of course!!
Twisted Lies... well let me tell you the only reason I didn't liked this book as much as I wanted to, is Christian being so much like Alex but I liked the story in general and you can't tell me Stella and Christian doesn't give of Feysand vibes... Feyre has a art therapy degree and her dream is to open an studio but she's also a blogger on social media and tries to save money from their earnings but she has difficulty to reach a decent engagement. She also has a crazy stalker of an ex boyfriend that she still hasn't manged to get rid of (which is Tam/in). Rhysand is her landlord of the most secure apartment (she used to share it with Ressina, but now she's alone), and he's accepting the payment of her rent, which is way lower than the original price because she happens to be Nesta's sister who is his SIL and also Cassian's and Mor's BFF and you have to believe him that these are his only reasons... He has a security company and does other things as well... (and it's not illegal at all)
I mean as I go I'll defiantly add to the plot of each couple. But I'll start with Gwynriel because Twisted game was almost without any connection to the other books (and I love that book the most... and Gwynriel week is near) and from what I have in mind each one is going to be long lol
Lucien is a billionaire... cuz why not? Bat boys are adoptive brothers (Rhys' mother adopted Cass and Az) Azriel works for Rhysand but Cassian took a different road as you can see. Archeron sisters have a shaky relationship specially after their mother's death. Valkyries are bffs and went to collage together. Feyre, my baby, will go through it here as well. I'm not sure if I should keep Rhys' sister and mother alive and kill his father or kill them all... we'll see hehe
Presenting, for @nestaarcheronweek free day, the single most self indulgent fic I have literally ever written: an Elizabethan Nessian AU! This began as a one-shot but I got carried away and now there's going to be four chapters. My historian's heart is really, really, really excited about this one and I really hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I do.
It’s 1575, and Nesta Archeron, lady-in-waiting and favourite of Queen Elizabeth I is trying incredibly hard to forget about the bastard nobleman who, eight months ago, stole her heart before leaving to be a pirate privateer. Now, at the Kenilworth pageant thrown in the queen’s honour, Cassian is back and trying to win Nesta round all over again— but there’s no way she’s going to let him off easy.
Kenilworth Castle, 1575
Nesta watched him, her wayward explorer.
It had been eight months since she last glimpsed his face, but she had not yet forgotten the sweep of his jaw. Every one of her letters had gone unanswered whilst he sailed the seven seas on Master Raleigh’s ship, and still it hadn’t been enough to drive from her mind the memory of his face, the curve of his lips or the scar by his eyebrow— a remnant from an old joust, an accident, three autumns past.
Perhaps eight more, she thought as he stood at the bottom of the small wooden dais. Perhaps eight more months would do it.
Gilden beneath a hundred candles, Cassian was clothed in an expensive velvet doublet the colour of deep red wine, sleeves slashed to reveal the finery of the shirt beneath. His hair had grown longer, a tangled mess of curls barely contained by a leather hair tie, and a touch of stubble graced his jaw. From his left ear, a single pearl dangled.
Write to me when I’m gone, he had asked when he last came to court.
And Nesta had— every week for the first three months, until she realised no reply was coming and she was wasting her time, her ink, and her paper.
And now, as though her unanswered letters were not insult enough… He was late.
So late that she had thought he wasn’t coming at all, had all but given up hope and deemed him lost at sea forevermore, requiescat in pace. But here he was— bowing low and throwing his arms wide in an exaggerated display of deference, very much alive.
Nesta scowled.
Outside, the summer night was deep and dark, the sky littered with stars that she could see through the tall windows lining the great hall of Kenilworth castle. The Earl of Leicester’s elaborate pageant had begun hours ago, and as the sound of the lute grew louder, Nesta straightened her shoulders and waited for the queen to scold the man that stood at the foot of her dais.
But Elizabeth Tudor only smiled, her painted lips parting as this nobleman-turned-rogue straightened, folding his arms behind his back with a flourish.
“Ah,” the queen said grandly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “I had begun to wonder when my Bat would come flying back.”
The nickname rolled easily off her tongue and, with its utterance, Cassian grinned. A wolfish flash of teeth, an irreverent curving of his lips, and emboldened, the queen’s Bat took another step forward. Elizabeth only ever gave nicknames to her most favoured of courtiers, and somehow, even though Cassian was a bastard-born northerner, he’d charmed his way into the queen’s good graces.
Into Nesta’s too.
Bastard.
His nickname had been inspired by the creatures that seemed to flock to the lands owned by Cassian’s father in the north, and Nesta thought it was fitting, now. After all, she’d never seen a bat in the daylight, and come morning she was certain that Cassian would be gone again, boarding a ship with the wind in his hair and salt on his tongue.
Write to me, he had said, all those months ago. The night before he had abandoned court in favour of privateering, he had passed her in a darkened hallway, brushed a hand against her wrist and said, send your letters to the shipyard in Plymouth— we make port there every few weeks. Write to me and tell me of everything I miss whilst I am gone, from the most salacious to the most trivial. Tell me of the new dresses you buy, the new jewels the queen gifts you. Tell me of my brothers— tell me how Rhysand annoys the queen so that I may tease him when I return. Most importantly, tell me of you. Tell me how much you miss me, so that I may think of you as the waves rock me to sleep.
Tell me, and every time I make land I’ll think of you. Every time the sea storms and the weather rages, I’ll keep that ship steady because I’ll be thinking of you, of your letters waiting for me.
From her place beside Elizabeth, so close to the sovereign that she could smell the rose oil pressed into her skin, Nesta looked down, fighting a frown as she remembered all those honeyed words, as sweet as the sugar the queen adored so much. Sweet— and yet rotten to the core too, melting beneath the candle-heat as he stood there boldly, his grin yet to fade.
Nesta was the eldest daughter of a duke, the jewel of the Elizabethan court, and the favourite of Queen Elizabeth I, by the grace of God sovereign of England, Ireland, and France.
Who was he but a man a single step removed from piracy, a rogue dressed in velvet? If he had decided not to answer her letters then— so be it.
She wasn't going to lose sleep over it.
Not anymore, anyway.
“It is a travesty that I was away so long, your majesty,” Cassian drawled. “My heart ached with every wave that carried me further from these beautiful shores.”
“Pretty poetry sir,” Elizabeth crooned, crooking a finger to bring him closer. His fine leather boots climbed the three small steps of the dais, but Nesta found herself looking away— looking across to the hall behind him, to the courtiers and politicians draining goblets of malmsey wine. The entire glittering court— assembled for the pageant Leicester was throwing in the queen’s honour.
A pageant she had written to Cassian of in several of her unanswered and ignored letters. A bitter taste coated her tongue as she surveyed the hall, remembering the night she’d dragged her quill across the parchment, the candle burning low.
I trust I will be seeing you at Kenilworth, if the sea can spare you.
Another frown settled deep between her brows, and Nesta half wanted to find a barrel of malmsey and drown him in it.
“Ah, but there are so many things of exquisite beauty in this court,” Cassian countered the queen grandly, gesturing at the hall around them with an outstretched arm. His eyes alighted - for half a moment - on Nesta, taking in the cut of her gown and the jewels at her neck. His voice dropped an octave as he tilted his head, the pearl in his ear gold-limned by the candlelight. “They warrant such verses do they not, my queen?”
Elizabeth hummed, reclining in her seat - her travelling throne - and bracing her forearms on the wooden arm rests. The movement set her extravagant ruff trembling, the layers of intricate, starched lace shaking.
“I confess, sir, that I like your company much better than that of your compatriot,” she said dryly, inclining her head to her other side, where members of her privy council sat in seats of honour. Elizabeth nodded pointedly to Rhysand, one of her youngest councillors, who blinked mildly as he turned his head. Not without reason, either. Only last week, he had earned himself a shoe thrown towards his head after suggesting the queen marry a Dutch nobleman.
How fortunate for his pretty face, Nesta thought wryly, that the queen’s slippers were made of silk. The mark on his cheek had faded after only an hour.
Dressed in fine black satin, Rhysand brushed his thumb over his lip now, looking at Cassian with eyes so blue they were almost violet.
With a soft tsk, Cassian took a step closer to the queen. “Has he been plaguing you, your majesty, whilst I have been away?” He tilted his head, and let his voice affect the air of a whisper. “Would you like me to take him with me ere I leave? We are always in need of good hands to scrub the decks.”
Rhysand rolled those deep blue eyes. “Welcome home, brother,” he said dryly. “It is, as ever, an unparalleled delight to have you with us at court.”
Cassian merely grinned.
They had been raised together, the queen’s councillor and her privateer.
Right here, in these very halls, they had spent their youth. It was custom to entrust the education and upbringing of high-born boys to another noble household, sending them off as soon as they were old enough to receive instruction in the arts of both war and diplomacy. They were taught to hunt, to dance, to joust and to fight. To speak Latin, to read and to write, and in the case of Rhysand and Cassian - and a handful of other boys - the Earl of Leicester had the honour. Kenilworth had shaped them both.
Nesta still wasn’t entirely sure how Cassian’s father had managed it.
Rhysand’s father was a duke, and a distant relative of the queen through her father’s line. It made sense that his son would win a place in the household of the queen’s most treasured favourite, Leicester. After all, in the distant, far-reaching branches of Rhysand’s family tree, he shared a grandparent with the queen.
But Cassian— well, Nesta thought as she watched him look across to his childhood friend now, his grin turning wicked as he dared to wink at his sovereign. He was a bastard. The only son of a rich northern baron, yes, but a bastard nonetheless. A bastard that, apparently, felt comfortable enough to wink at the queen of England.
Thirty years ago, he’d have lost his head for the presumption.
Nesta felt her breath catch at the audacity, at the daring, and wondered whether the queen would throw a slipper at him, too. But Elizabeth only seemed to revel in Cassian’s attentions, her elaborate ruff trembling anew as a deep laugh reverberated in her throat.
“Oh,” she said as her laughter made her voice lilt and swell. “My privy councillor may have such lovely eyes, but I much prefer your handsome smile. I have half a mind to forbid you to ever leave my side again.”
Cassian bowed again, his chin almost touching his broad chest as he dipped his head. Broader than before, Nesta noted with a twist to her gut. His arms were corded with even more muscle than when she’d seen him last, far more than the velvet could disguise. Being at sea suited him, and yet as he raised his eyes again, he smiled effortlessly at the queen.
A courtier’s smile.
A fox’s smile. Exactly the kind that had snared Nesta in the first place, that had her writing letters to him as he sailed across the horizon, like little more than a lovesick girl— like some kind of Penelope waiting for her Odysseus.
“Your majesty, I have travelled across land and sea and have yet to find a court that shines as brightly as yours,” Cassian declared. “Give me the order and I shall stay forever.”
Liar, Nesta thought.
He liked the wind in his hair too much, enjoyed the freedom of being away from court. She knew that all too well. Knew, too, how skilled he was at this game of politicking, how much he knew the queen valued flattery. There wasn’t a single word falling from his silver tongue that Nesta would believe, and yet— Elizabeth hummed again, the jewels in her ears shifting and catching the light as she looked at Rhysand with a tilted head. With the sharp eyes she had inherited from her father, Elizabeth Tudor tapped her fingers on the arm of her throne, entertained and appeased in equal measure.
“I would not be so cruel to keep you forever,” she said airily. “But perhaps for a while longer.”
Cassian nodded. And then— a glint in hazel eyes, a fire burning beneath the candlelight. His eyes slid to Nesta once more as he lifted his chin with purpose. Grown long, his dark hair brushed the velvet covering his powerful shoulders.
“I know I cannot take a turn around the floor with your gentle hand in mine, your majesty, so I would ask for the nearest thing.” He paused, and Nesta could have sworn she heard Rhysand curse below his breath. “Perhaps I could ask one of your ladies for a dance?”
Elizabeth waved a heavy-ringed hand to grant his request, and Nesta felt her scowl deepen. There was only one the queen would choose in her stead, only one she would appoint, and by the expectant gleam in Cassian’s eyes… he knew it.
Bastard.
“Misstress Archeron,” the queen said proudly, her dark eyes turning and finding Nesta at her side. Approval glittered there, and a feline grin split the queen’s painted lips as she gestured for Nesta to step forward. As an aside she added, “I do hope you remember, sir, how she has made lesser men tremble in the past.”
Cassian’s smile grew. “Ah. The Venetian ambassador.”
“Indeed,” the queen hummed in bemusement, even as Rhysand muttered darkly under his breath about how it had been a diplomatic disaster. He drank deeply from his cup, fixing his friend with a wry stare as a cupbearer replenished his wine.
“A dance with Mistress Archeron is a risky thing,” Rhysand trilled. “Do try not to plunge us into civil war, Cass.”
Nesta bristled, but kept her chin high and her spine as straight as an arrow as those violet eyes rolled across her, slid across her form like water. The queen clucked her tongue, and her councillor had the good sense to look chastened, colour rising in his cheeks as Cassian took a step forward and offered her his forearm.
It had been years ago now— when the Venetian ambassador had asked her to dance.
He had been an aged man, yet self-important and narcissistic, and though he had been eager enough at first, he had stumbled in an effort to keep up once the music had begun. His face had turned puce, sweat shining on his brow, and when the music died he had asked, in a voice loud and bitter, if the English had turned wild in the years they had been separated from the Catholic Church. The queen’s face had turned stony, and when he made to lead Nesta back to her station at Elizabeth’s side, she had pulled from his hold.
Perhaps, she had said, in a voice that was polite and yet not at all meek, if the most gracious ambassador cannot keep up, the Doge of Venice should send us another, one more suited to English ways.
Elizabeth’s laugh had rang out through her hall at Westminster, clapping her hands with delight as the ambassador bowed curtly and took his leave. As Nesta reclaimed her place at her side, Elizabeth’s slender fingers had darted out to tap Nesta’s wrist. Well done little dove, she had said, dark eyes gleaming.
And ever since, Nesta had been one of the queen’s favourite ladies, always at her side— diplomatic disasters only a small matter in comparison to making Elizabeth laugh.
Nesta placed her hand lightly on Cassian’s extended arm now, feeling the firmness of the muscle beneath her hand. Try as she might, it was impossible to ignore, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many hours he had spent labouring on a ship these past eight months. How many he had spent training with sword and shield. He had always been formidable on horseback, winning almost every tournament he entered, but now… months at sea had honed him, sharpened him into different kind of blade.
As the minstrels struck up a new song, Cassian covered her hand with his own and together they descended the three steps of the dais slowly. They moved backwards, never turning their backs to their queen, and as Elizabeth nodded in approval, Nesta tried hard not to relish the feel of his arm beneath her fingers, the warmth of him she’d almost forgotten in the long months they had been parted.
It was a feeling that only intensified with every step they took, every one that brought them closer to the wide floor of the hall where the long tables had been pushed aside for dancing. And then Cassian was bowing to her, his lips alighting on the back of her hand as her fingers curled around his, drawn to the warmth of him, and her heart was fluttering in her chest, flickering like a candle flame. Like the past eight months had been nothing but a fevered dream, like she hadn’t spent days on end anticipating the arrival of a messenger only to end up disappointed, crestfallen—
“I missed you,” Cassian whispered.
Dropping her hand, he rose to his full height. He stood a full head and shoulders above her, but though his bulk made him far from the most elegant of dance partners… He drew her into the music easily as it began, the steps practiced and well-rehearsed, familiar to them both.
“And yet,” Nesta said as the dance brought them closer together, “You didn’t answer my letters.”
“It’s difficult to post correspondence whilst on a ship,” he said easily. “A storm blew us off course. We couldn’t make port in Plymouth as often as planned— or at all, actually. I didn’t get any of those letters until we alighted a week ago.” He gave her a daring grin, a flash of a smile. “But trust that I penned a reply to each and every one as soon as I was able, and I brought them here with me— along with every letter that I wrote whilst at sea, every one I couldn’t send, because yes, sweetheart, I spent every day of that voyage thinking of you.”
Damnable bastard, Nesta thought as she kept her face blank, watching the candlelight dance across his skin, limning the stubble on his jaw that belied his hasty journey from port to castle. A rouge— he looked like a bloody rogue, despite the velvet and the gold and the pearls. And God save her, Nesta couldn’t help but adore it.
Damnable charming bastard.
“They’re in the chest in my chambers,” he continued lightly, lifting his arm to let her spin beneath, twining his fingers with her own to make a bridge of their arms. “I will have them delivered to you as soon as I find a squire.”
He made a show of glancing around the hall, as if searching out a boy to fetch the letters right here, right now. She wouldn’t put it past him, and she didn’t know if that made him more charming or more bloody infuriating.
“Maybe if I grow bored enough I shall read them,” she shrugged, her heart skipping even as she damned it— even as she cursed herself for falling prey to that dazzling smile. Cassian spun her away and brought her back again, a hand snaking around her waist as she raised her eyebrows.
He let out a breath. “Oh, so cruel.” A smirk curved his lips, and the pearl in his ear shone bright in the candlelight. “Were you always so, my lady? Or was it the bitterness you found in my absence that sharpened your tongue?”
“The only thing I found in your absence, sir, was peace.”
The music swelled, and as the steps demanded, Cassian pulled away, the distance between them stretching. He smirked, and Nesta felt an answering smile of her own pulling, unbidden, at her own lips. Heaven help her, she thought as he flattened his palm and held it up and out, facing her. Nesta placed hers flat against his, feeling the chill of his golden rings against her skin, mingling with the heat of his hand. Her heart kicked, traitorous in her chest. She was supposed to be angry, supposed to be indignant and yet—
The dance ended, and with her palm still pressed against his, sure and steadying, she dipped into a deep bow. He bent low too, and from beneath his eyelashes, he dared to look at her and take his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I will tell you one thing, Mistress Archeron,” he murmured as she rose in a rustle of embroidered silk and heavy brocade. “Your beauty has grown boundless whilst I was away. There were times when I would think of you at night, watching the moonlight gild the waves, and I sometimes worried that, in my desperation for you, I may have exaggerated your fairness.” His eyes darkened, dipped appreciatively to her collarbone, to the low cut of her dress. “If anything, the memory pales in comparison.”
Nesta straightened, her hand fluttering to her neck as her fingers traced the jewels at her throat.
“And still,” she said dryly. “You ignored my letters.”
He barked a laugh, as deep and rich as the finest wine. “I told you. We didn’t make port.”
“Too busy attacking Spanish ships in the Atlantic?” Nesta asked with a raised eyebrow. Oh, word had reached court of Master Raleigh’s ships, of the enemy vessels they raided and seized. The court had taken to calling them the queen’s Sea Dogs, and the only thing saving Cassian and his captain from piracy was the queen’s approval— but he seemed to care little, an irreverent grin on his face as he shrugged with an air of ease and arrogance.
“For queen and country, sweetheart.”
And even though she knew she should leave, knew she should return to the queen, Nesta let him lead her from the dance floor, strung along by that godforsaken smirk. Cassian took up a spot by the wall, leaning against it and bracing a booted foot against the stone. He tipped his head back, his smile turning effortless as Nesta lingered by his side, knowing she should leave, longing to stay.
The lute began again, and she watched the queen’s court move around her. Watched the courtiers dance, listened to the laughter and the revelry. Cassian hardly seemed to notice, too intent on watching her, studying her like a map that would yield some hidden treasure.
“I meant it, you know,” he said idly, folding his arms across the broad span of his chest. “When I said I missed you.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
She kept her eyes forward, on the circles of ladies dancing with earls and dukes and lords. And as she watched the Earl of Oxford stepping forward, eyeing her across the room like a fox might a deer, Cassian followed her gaze and scoffed. He rounded her, blocking the Earl of Oxford from view as he held out his hand again.
“Then let me prove it,” he said. “The queen returns to London in nineteen days. Let me spend each day from now until then winning back your favour.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, to where the Earl of Oxford still approached. “I’ll start by rescuing you, my lady.”
“So gallant,” Nesta said dryly. “Saving me from a dance with an earl.”
“The Earl of Oxford,” Cassian said with a wicked smirk. He huffed a laugh as his eyes danced across the earl’s elaborate ruff, the gaudy cut of his doublet. “He would bore you with talk of poetry and Shakespeare’s latest.”
“Perhaps I’d like to hear about Shakespeare’s latest,” Nesta shrugged.
Cassian smirked again. “Or I could show you the gardens, and save your feet from being stamped on by an ingrate like the Earl of fucking Oxford.”
“An ingrate? Rich coming from a pirate.”
“Privateer, sweetheart.” His eyes went to the dais, to the queen that was now deep in conversation with the Earl of Leicester. “Our most gracious majesty knows all about our exploits in the channel.”
“Semantics.”
“If you’d like to talk semantics, maybe I should leave you to the Earl of Oxford.”
Nesta bit back a laugh as she wrapped her fingers around his forearms. “Show me the gardens, sir. You can tell me about your travels whilst you do.”
“And then?” he asked with a raised brow.
“And then you have nineteen days to win me round.”
