summary: When a quiet morning in Nyx's room takes a turn with an unexpected knock on the door, you find yourself crouched behind a glamour as his father walks in.
word count: 1,805
content: [ mild sexual references, embarrassment, secret relationship, sneaking around, nyx is kinda a man whore but we love him, explicit language ]
author's note: i've never written nyx before (he's basically an oc if you think about it, i have my own ideas about the kind of guy he'll grow up to be) so i hope this is up to standard :) thank you anon for the request !!! <3
✦ . Masterlist . ✦
You lounged on Nyx’s bed, your shoulder brushing his as he leaned against the headboard. His hand hovered near yours, the occasional brush of his fingers drawing a small, involuntary smile from you. There was nothing shy in the way he looked at you—just that easy, contained warmth he reserved for very few.
“You’re ridiculously smug, you know that?” you murmured, tracing a finger along the back of his hand after one of his Windhaven stories.
He tilted his head, letting a dark lock of hair fall over his eyes. “I’m aware. But it’s one of my many redeeming qualities.” His voice was soft, teasing, smooth, yet threaded with something genuine.
You rolled your eyes, laughing as you leaned closer, your hand braced against his chest while your mouth hovered just shy of his neck. “One of these days, I’m going to stop letting you get away with that tone.”
A low, effortless chuckle escaped him, but his gaze flicked toward the door. “Careful. We’re on borrowed time. Parents are home, remember?”
“Ah, yes,” you sighed in mock tragedy. “The perilous boundaries of your bedroom politics.”
He smirked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Then again… It’s only dangerous if someone hears us,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly.
Then—a sharp knock at the door. Impossible to ignore.
“Nyx! You in there?”
Your stomach dropped, a cold weight settling in your chest. His father. The High Lord. The very presence of him could shift a room. And there you were, sprawled comfortably in his son’s bedroom, your hand brushing Nyx’s as though it were nothing.
Nyx’s eyes widened, panic flickering just beneath the surface before he hissed, “Corner. Now.” His grip found your arm—gentle but insistent—and tugged you across the room.
“What—Nyx—”
“Shhh! Just move!” His muttering spilled into curses and half-formed prayers, frantic and low. In the span of a heartbeat, a glamour snapped over you. The world blurred; your form softened into a hazy, indistinct silhouette. It would hold, you knew—but gods, how absurd it felt to crouch there, invisible and absurdly vulnerable, while Nyx scrambled like a guilty child.
The door swung open.
“Hey,” Rhysand’s voice carried easily into the room, casual, unbothered. He stepped inside as if he belonged entirely, which, of course, he did.
Nyx nearly tripped over himself, shoulders taut, hand raking through his hair as he edged toward the far side of the bed.
“You’ve been holed up in here all morning,” Rhysand said, warm, but with a thread of amusement woven through each word. “Don’t tell me you’ve been avoiding me.”
Nyx stiffened, words tumbling out before he could filter them. “No—I’m not avoiding you. Just… tired.” His gaze flicked toward the corner where you crouched, shrouded in glamour, barely discernible in the soft haze.
Rhysand’s eyes drifted to that side of the room, and you froze. Nothing. No recognition sparked. Instead, he leaned casually against the bedpost, lowering his voice ever so slightly, conspiratorial in tone. “You’ve got that look. The one that says, I’ll be caught if I even breathe wrong.”
Nyx ran a hand down his face. “I… I’m fine.”
“You’re never fine,” Rhysand said, shaking his head with the faintest trace of fondness. “Anyway—your mother’s art showcase is tonight. You’ll want to look respectable. Don’t think of showing up the way you did last time.”
“I was at Rita’s, and you winnowed me out without telling me she was—”
“You shouldn’t have been dressed like that, regardless,” Rhysand cut in, voice slipping into the familiar cadence of a lecture Nyx had surely endured fifty times before. “Never mind. Just… look decent.”
Nyx groaned. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”
Rhysand tilted his head, eyes glinting. “And if you want, you can bring a friend tonight.”
Nyx, only beginning to unclench, tensed again. “Uh… Evren? I don’t think he’d be interested.”
The High Lord chuckled, sliding onto the edge of the bed beside him. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Someone you’d want us to meet.” His grin sharpened, mischievous. “A lady friend, perhaps?”
Nyx’s hand curled into the sheets. “I… don’t have a lady friend. And don’t say that—it’s weird.”
Rhysand’s smile curved, predatory, amused. “Ah. So not a lady friend,” he murmured, tapping a finger against the bedpost. “Just… females you’re fucking, then?”
Nyx lurched upright, horror flashing across his face. “Dad. No.”
“Oh, come now, I wasn’t born yesterday and I was doing worse at your age.” Rhysand’s eyes gleamed. “What was that pretty one’s name? The blonde from across the city—Lyraelle, wasn’t it? Why not invite her tonight?”
Nyx’s face burned. “No! I don’t even talk to her anymore.”
“Mm. Pity. She had good taste. How did that end? Didn’t she catch you down at the river?” Rhysand leaned back, tone maddeningly casual. “If I recall, you were there with another female and halfway out of your shirt at the time. Quite the performance.”
Nyx buried his face in his hands, groaning through his fingers.
That was interesting.
Rhysand only chuckled, relentless. “Or perhaps I should remind you of that charming little display at the Moonstone Palace ball? The one where you spent an hour monopolizing the young Lady of Spring, only to end with—what was it you said?” He tilted his head in mock thought. “‘If you were a painting, I’d steal you away for my mother’s gallery’? Bold, even for you.”
Now that was interesting in a wholly different way..
Nyx emitted a strangled sound, caught somewhere between outrage and despair. “That was years ago! And I wasn’t serious!”
“Mm, sounded convincing enough from where Lord Tamlin and I were standing,” Rhysand said, smooth, his grin widening at his son’s mortification. “Gods, the look on his—priceless.”
Nyx flopped back against the bed, dragging a pillow over his face as though he could vanish beneath it.
From your corner, cloaked in glamour, you bit back a smile, pressing your lips together so hard it hurt. Every subtle movement of Nyx—the tense line of his shoulders, the way his hands fisted the sheets—made it almost impossible not to laugh.
Rhysand didn’t glance your way, not once. And yet, the faint gleam in his eyes was far too deliberate, far too knowing.
He knew.
Of course he knew. Did Nyx really think he could hide something like this from his father?
You held yourself still, quiet as shadow, content to let the High Lord’s game play on and reveal more than Nyx would ever volunteer.
Rhysand tapped a thoughtful finger against his knee, as though sifting through memories. “Of course, none of that compares to Rita’s,” he said at last, voice deceptively mild.
Nyx sat bolt upright, the pillow sliding down as suspicion sparked in his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Oh, but it’s a story worth repeating,” Rhysand countered, a subtle, self-satisfied lilt in his voice. “Let’s see, what was it… three years ago? Four?” He looked skyward, feigning calculation. “The night I had to send your uncle Azriel to get you.”
Mortification bled across his features. “Dad—”
Rhysand went on smoothly, ignoring him. “He found you in the corner, sprawled on the velvet lounge, quite literally buried beneath a pile of—how many? Five? Six females?” He arched a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Nyx groaned so loudly it might have rattled the windows. “Cauldron boil me, please stop.”
“Azriel mentioned you looked… content, by the way,” Rhysand added, utterly unbothered. “Though he wasn’t particularly thrilled to wade through perfume and discarded stockings just to drag you out by the collar. I believe his exact words were, ‘Next time, send Cassian. I’m too old for this.’”
Nyx pressed his face into his hand, shoulders shaking with barely-contained despair. “You’re making this up.”
“Am I?” Rhysand’s tone was far too innocent. “We could call him in. I’m sure he’d be delighted to go over the details.”
Nyx froze for a heartbeat, jaw tightened, eyes snapping toward the corner where you crouched, hidden. “You… you wouldn’t,” he muttered, voice low but sharp.
“I would,” Rhysand said smoothly, leaning back, arms crossed. “And you know it. Which is why I’m giving you the chance to save yourself the lecture.”
A long, defeated breath escaped Nyx. “Alright. Fine.”
He pushed himself up, pale with exasperation, and crossed the room toward your corner. With a resigned flick of his hand, the glamour dissipated, revealing you fully. You blinked against the sudden clarity of the room, and met his expression—equal parts apology and embarrassment.
He extended a hand, the faintest crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Come on,” he said, voice low. “Stand up. I suppose it’s only fair you meet properly.”
You took his hand, letting him lead you toward his father. Nyx gave a quiet shake of his head, muttering under his breath, “Now you’ve seen what I have to put up with.”
Rhysand’s grin widened, unabashed. “Ah! Finally. The mysterious lady in the corner. I’ve been dying to meet you—”
“Please don’t make this worse.”
“And yet,” Rhysand said to his son, voice rich with amusement, “here we are.”
Nyx cleared his throat, shoulders stiff despite the faint twitch of a smile he couldn’t quite suppress. “This is… my girlfriend,” he said, voice catching slightly. “(Y/n).”
You stepped forward, hand lightly brushing the back of your dress as you tried to stand tall. Your voice wavered just a little, betraying the tiny flutter of nerves in your chest, but you kept your gaze steady on him. “Hi—um. It’s such an honor to finally meet you. I’ve… heard so much about you.”
Rhysand’s grin softened into something genuinely welcoming. “It’s wonderful to meet you, (y/n). I, regrettably, have heard nothing about you.”
Nyx’s cheeks flamed hotter, and he muttered a string of words that sounded suspiciously like a curse under his breath.
“I do apologize,” Rhysand continued, voice smooth, almost disarmingly innocent. “All those… comments.” The faint tug of a smirk betrayed the practiced façade.
You blinked at him, a grin spreading as you leaned lightly against Nyx’s arm. “I’m actually quite appreciative for the insight,” you teased, “because that exact same line was used on me, you know.”
Rhysand shook his head, amusement threading every movement. “Nyx, let me offer a piece of advice: lines like that rarely win a lady’s favor. Subtlety goes a lot farther than theatrics.” His eyes flicked to you, gleaming with something unspoken. “Though, clearly, you’ve caught someone’s attention regardless.”
He rose with the easy grace of command, gesturing toward the door. “Should we get you some lunch, (y/n)? You must be starving.”
Nyx followed behind, watching his father guide you down the hall. And then, threading through his mind like silk, came his father’s voice, meant only for him:
That line. Ridiculous. Outrageous. And brilliant—insanely clever. You truly are your father’s son.
Nyx x reader where reader is a childhood friend and they’re mates but just haven’t told anyone yet, keeping it to themselves. One of the IC (doesn’t matter who, honestly) overhears them talking and being like “should we tell them?” and of course that member tells everyone else and they’re all freaking out thinking it’s some dark, dangerous secret until they tell them? Then everyone is relieved and Nyx and reader are like “what did you think we were going to say?”
Broken Telephone
Warnings: Implied potential pregnancy, no actual pregnancy, Inner circle has no concept of boundaries
A big thank you to @embersofonyx for beta reading <3
Dividers by: @tsunami-of-tears
Word Count: 2.8k
"I think that's the last one," Nyx says, dusting off his hands. Stacks upon stacks of boxes surround them holding everything they want to take to their new house.
"I can't believe you're moving out." Feyre hugs her son tightly, holding back tears. "If you forget anything, you can stop by anytime. You're always welcome here"
"We know, Mom. You've made it very clear," Nyx replies hugging her back just as tightly. "We promise to visit all the time. We'll be around so often you'll get sick of us"
"Never"
Feyre releases Nyx, moving to give Y/n the same treatment, "Is it crazy that I feel like I already miss you?"
"Not at all"
Rhysand enters the room, taking his place at Feyre's side. "Don't worry darling, I'll be keeping you plenty busy"
"Rhys!" she admonishes.
"Gross, dad. You couldn't wait until we left?"
"I will flirt with my mate whenever I please, thank you very much. Especially in my own home"
Azriel's voice comes from the shadows, as usual. "I'm pretty sure this is their way of informing you that you should be expecting a sibling soon"
Mor, Cassian, and Nesta are the next to join the farewell.
"I don't mind getting a sibling, I just don't want to hear about their conception."
"And if you don't want to see it either," Cassain starts, "I think you should give plenty of notice before dropping by."
"Classy," Nesta states dryly.
"Do you know if Amren has deigned to join us, or is this everyone?" Nyx asks.
"Amren sends her best wishes, but feels that the dramatics of the event are unnecessary given that you aren't even leaving the city," she informs.
"That sounds like our Amren. Well, seeing as everyone coming has arrived, I believe drinks are in order?"
The house instantly provides glasses full of wine on the centre table, and another sealed bottle for the inevitable refills. They all get passed around.
Nyx offers one to Y/n. "My love?"
"No thank you"
"Just water?"
She nods. Like clockwork, another glass appears with ice-cold water. "Thank you, house"
Nyx turns to face his family, drink raised. "First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for coming. Y/n and I may not be moving far, but it's a huge step in our relationship, so I'm thankful you're here with us to commemorate it. We appreciate all the love, and support you've given us, and look forward to this new chapter of our lives. Cheers."
"Cheers!" they chorused.
The party moved to the living room where they actually had space to walk, and lasted several hours. Toasts were given, stories were shared, and many good wishes were extended. Amren had even stopped by with Varian on her arm, surprising everyone. The party eventually died down, rather early in the evening — for them, at least — so Nyx, and Y/n could move their things into the house, and spend their first night in their new home.
"You sure you don't want help moving those boxes?" Cassian asks for the third time today.
"I'm sure," Nyx says, and in an instant, the boxes all disappear, "Because they're already there."
Cassian laughs entirely too loud as he is admittedly quite drunk. "I forget just how much like your dad you are."
Rhysand comes along, wrapping his arm around Nyx's shoulder so he has to bend down, "Of course he is, I'm an excellent role model."
All around them, Rhys gets varying looks of 'is he serious?'.
"Traitors," he scoffs, "all of you, I should have you banished from my court"
Nyx can tell that the argument is going to pick up, and is about to weigh in when he notices Y/n's exhaustion.
"While I would love to stay for the ensuing debate, Y/n and I have a lot of unpacking to do, so I'm afraid we'll have to love and leave you"
They say their goodbyes, then make their way to the patio, Nyx's arms wrapped around Y/n.
"Would you like me to fly us there, or winnow?"
"Winnow. I'm so tired."
He happily obliges. The world bends to his will, and within seconds, they're standing in their living room. Y/n's gaze dart about the space, most of it obscured by all their things.
"I am not looking forward to unpacking all this"
"No, neither am I, but that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, we get to sleep in our very own house, and wake up to the absence of Azriel and Cassian's bickering over breakfast"
"Sleep? Is that what we'll be doing?"
Nyx smiles at her, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Not if you don't want to, mate," he quips, putting emphasis on the last word.
"Soon-to-be mate," Y/n corrects.
Nyx playfully rushes at her, scooping Y/n up into his arms and spinning while she laughs. "You are my mate, there's no 'soon-to-be' about it,you little tease." He walks them to the bedroom, placing her on the duvet. "We're just not mated yet, but that is soon-to-be remedied."
"Yeah? How soon?"
Nyx climbs on the bed, hovering over her. "I spoke to Vivienne and Kallias, they said they would be happy to host us. We are to arrive in three days and can stay up to two weeks. Two whole weeks with no one to disturb us"
"Can't wait"
-The Next Day-
Mor rests her face on her hand, mindlessly poking at her breakfast. "Do you think they need any help?"
Azriel barely raises his head from where he was sitting in silence, eating his own protein packed… whatever it is. "Who?"
"Y/n, and Nyx," she responds as if it's the most obvious answer ever. Of course she meant them. How could he not discern that from the previous topic of conversation that's been happening in her head all morning?
"No"
Mor continues as if Azriel hadn't said anything, "I mean, moving out is a big step, you know. He's never even lived alone, and now he's living with a female"
He raises a single brow. "Nyx has lived with females his whole life, and he lived alone for months at a time during his illyrian training"
"Family doesn't count, Azriel. And neither does his training, not in this instance. The living situation of Illyrians and the average home is completely different. Specifically division of labour, and cleanliness"
"Agreed, though I'd hardly call their house 'the average home' but I know what you mean," he says quickly before Mor can interrupt. "It will be different from any of his past experiences, but that just means he'll have to adapt. There's no reason for you to step in unless he, or Y/n ask you to"
"Okay, but what about interior design?"
"Are we redecorating?" Cassain asks as he enters the room, "Cause I think some boudoir photos of me would look fantastic in here"
Azriel ignores him completely, "What about it?"
"Like, I could just give them some advice, help them bring their vision to life—"
"Is this house for you, or is it for them?" Azriel doesn't wait for a response. "Mor, stop trying to find reasons to invade their relationship"
"I'm not invading!" Mor yells indignantly. "Nyx is just so secretive about his relationships, and this is the first time he's ever been serious about someone"
"'Not describing it in explicit detail', and 'Secretive' are two very different things, Mor."
Cassian decides to jump in with, "They probably haven't set up the kitchen yet, so bringing them lunch might be helpful."
Mor stands up with conviction. "Yes, thank you, Cassian. That is a brilliant idea." She leaves the breakfast nook without finishing her food to go Mother knows where.
It's silent between Azriel, and Cassian for some time while they eat.
"Why would you enable her like that?"
"Because, Azzie, I wanna know too! What if there's drama?"
"It's been a day! Not even. They have spent one night, and half of a morning in their own home"
"Have you met this family?"
Azriel stops, thinks for a moment, and then sighs the deepest sigh known to Fae kind. "That is unfortunately a fair point"
"I rest my case"
Mor busies herself with meaningless errands until it's finally lunch. She stops by Rita's to get their favourite orders in a takeaway, and instead of walking up to the front door, like a normal person, she winnows right inside their house. Looking around, Mor notes that despite it only being the first day, most of the boxes are already unpacked.
"It could use an accent wall," she mutters under her breath.
She was about to announce her presence, but she hears conversation in the other room, and just can't help it.
'Azriel is wrong,' she tells herself, 'I'm not invading, I'm invested in their future'
Mor creeps up to the wall that separates them from her to hear better.
Y/n's voice is the first one she can make out clearly, "…Do you think we should tell them?"
'Tell who? what are you telling them?'
"Definitely not"
"Nyx, they're your family"
Mor's heart stops, while her mind runs a mile a minute thinking of what they could be hiding, and why.
"I know, I just… We will tell them, but not right now"
"Alright, we'll wait. Has there been word from Kallias?"
'Kallias? Like, High Lord of Winter Kallias?'
"Not other than the confirmation, no"
'Confirmation? Confirmation of what?'
There were too many questions swimming around in her head. She needed answers.
'If it's something political, than Rhys will know something, right?'
With that, she winnows to the river house finding Rhysand, and Feyre very close to each other on the couch, but luckily still fully clothed.
"Gather everyone"
Azriel is the last to arrive.
"You're late," Mor says, impatiently tapping her foot.
"Yes, because if this is about what I think it's about, then the need to rush is non-existent."
She scowls at him, but does not comment on the jab, instead, Morrigan turns to address the room at large. "As you all know—"
Cassian interrupts, "Why are you holding a Rita's take out bag?"
Mor looks down, and sure enough, she was still holding their lunch. "It's not important. Focus." She places the food down on the table beside her. "I have just returned from Nyx, and Y/n's new house—"
"Really, how is it?" Feyre asks.
"I— it's fine, actually they've done a really good job of— Not the point! Stop distracting me! I overheard them saying—"
"And this isn't invading their relationship?"
"Shut up, Azriel! Listen! I heard them talking about something they apparently don't want to tell us about"
Feyre's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I just heard Y/n asking if they should tell us, and Nyx said no."
"I don't understand, what would they not want us to know?"
Cassain's face lights up as if he's solved the whole thing. "Y/n didn't have wine at the party, what if she's pregnant?"
"Y/n rarely drinks in general," Azriel objects, "that means nothing"
"And why would Nyx hide that from us?" Rhys adds.
"It could be really early on in the pregnancy," Cassain says, shrugging.
"Wait! There was something else they said. Y/n mentioned Kallias needing to confirm something. Rhys, do you know anything about that?"
"No, Nyx wanted a more hands-on experience with the duties of a High Lord, and given Y/n's past position in Winter, I've let them handle all communications, and issues with Kallias and his Court."
"Damn. Azriel? Please tell me you know something"
"No, I don't, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
"What! Why not?"
"Because you're all missing the point. Nyx and Y/n talked amongst each other in what should've been the privacy of their own home," he pauses to glare at Mor pointedly, "and came to the conclusion that they aren't ready tell us about it. Whatever 'it' is, we should respect that."
"But what if it is something to do with the Winter Court? Some threat or resource shortage—"
"Then they'll deal with it. If there's a problem that they can't handle, they'll tell us. Until then, it's none of our business. Agreed?" He looks around the room to see everyone nodding albeit a bit hesitantly.
"Azriel is right," Rhysand states. "They aren't kids. They don't have to tell us everything, and if there's trouble, they can take care of it. I know we're all worried about them, but it's out of our hands. Nobody is to pry into this."
Nesta, always adding dry commentary, "Azriel already gave us the lecture, you just repeated it a different way. There was no need to try steal his thunder, he's more scary than you'll ever be"
"…Just get out"
They all disperse, going off to do whatever they're supposed to be doing in their roles.
-16 Days Later-
"Nyx. Nyx, stop it," Y/n says, lightly pushing on his bare chest with no real urgency. Neither have fully opened their eyes yet, still tangled in the sheets.
"Mh mh," he replies, continuing to kiss and nuzzle her neck.
"We have to get up"
Nyx furrows his brow, seemingly disgusted by the notion. "No we don't"
Y/n chuckles at his childish tone. "We do, actually. Our stay ends today, and it would be rude to check out late"
"We weren't given a check out time."
"No, but it's already 12:00, we're no where near ready to leave, and the attendants will need time to clean for the next clients. Plus, I think you're family will be expecting us back sooner rather than later. Knowing them, if we're not, they might send out a search party"
Nyx groans loudly in protest. "They'll survive."
"We just spent two whole weeks without them with zero contact"
"And it was so peaceful"
" 'Peaceful' is not the word I'd use."
A shit eating grin blooms on Nyx's face thinking about how 'active' they'd been. "No, neither would I."
Y/n rolls her eyes just hearing the smugness. "You don't miss them?"
He goes quiet at that. "I do."
"…but?"
"I love my family. I really do, but they're kind of the final boss of overbearing. I don't think there was a single part of my life that they didn't know about before you, and I know it's because they care, but it made exploring things difficult"
"How so?"
"As a kid, it was mostly great. Anything I had interest in, I was free to try, and they'd support the learning process. I could dabble in a number of hobbies, and figure things out. As an adult, however, the things you're exploring is often what you like in bed, and more importantly, with who. Sometimes the answer to those questions is 'I don't know', and it can stay that way for a while. My family would never turn against me or anything for whatever the answer would be, I just— this isn't making sense. What I'm trying to say is that I always felt like I had to progress. I couldn't stay still, and just be confused. There had to be some kind of update, good or bad. It felt like if I started I had to see it through to the end as quickly as possible. Am I making sense right now?"
"Yeah, you are"
Nyx smiles, taking a moment to admire his mate. "By not telling them right away about you, or about our bond, I got to slow down. I got to just be in the moment with you, and not worry about how I was going to tell my family what happened. I could sit with my emotions long enough to figure out how I felt about it without looking through the lens of someone else's experience, because nobody was expecting an update every day."
"So you want to keep it to ourselves a bit longer?" Y/n asks in a thoughtful tone.
"No." He brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. "I know how I feel about you."
Nyx, and Y/n eventually haul themselves out of bed, gather their things, and check out. They have lunch with Vivienne and Kallias to thank them personally for their hospitality, and finally winnow into the river house living room…
Finding the entire family sitting there in tense silence. Their heads shoot toward the couple, and wait for the news with baited breaths.
"…Hello," Nyx starts awkwardly. "What did we miss?"
"Nothing!" Feyre interjects with a tad too much faux enthusiasm. "How was your trip? Any news?"
It was if everybody leaned in simultaneously.
"Uhh, yeah, Nyx, and I have some news"
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.
"Y/n and I are mates!"
Mor puts a hand to her chest, letting out a breath of relief, "Oh thank the Cauldron. I mean, congrats! You guys found your mates! And they're each other!"
They all swarm the newly mated couple, expressing their excitement to varying degrees. Cassian on the high end with skeletal altering hugs, and Amren on the low end with a simple nod.
"Wait, what did you guys think we were going to say?" Y/n inquires.
They all look every which way at each other, floundering. With terrifying unity, they answer, "Nothing"
Finding Them When They're Trapped: Chthonic Edition (NSFW-ish)
💢Alecto💢
Needless to say, Alecto is FURIOUS. Well. What she is usually is furious. Whatever this is defies any language whatsoever. She's hissing and spitting and snarling, looking more beast than person. Honestly, if she calmed down, she probably could've gotten herself loose by now.
"Hey, Alecto, you alright?"
"Do I look alright?!? Get these wretched things off me NOW!"
She's tangled up in chains, too haphazard to be intentional. You glance up at the ceiling, where the usual shackles that dangle from the roof of Tartarus are conspicuously absent. They must have gotten knocked loose somehow. You know better than to tease her right then. Alecto will not find it appealing. Instead, you crouch down beside her. "Hold still, I'll get you free."
She growls and mutters as you work the chains loose all "Damnable place." and "Curse Daedalus, and all his wretched contracters." and "If I wasn't trapped right now, I'd tear you to shreds." That last one comes when you accidentally pull the chains tighter. Oops. Eventually, you succeed in getting her free enough that she can shake the rest of them off.
"Better?"
"Bah, I didn't need your help. I could've gotten out just fine on my own."
"Of course," you say affably. Tbh, most of the time it's just easier to let Alecto have it. She's kinda like a really grumpy alley cat and it's far more adorable than you'll ever say out loud. Hey, you're brave but you're not stupid.
Alecto starts to storm off, but stops just at the threshold to the next chamber. "...Thanks." she says, in the same tone one would say "go fuck yourself."
Aww, she likes you <3
🛶Charon🛶
You're walking through the depths of Tarturus when you hear... splashing? That's odd. Sure, there's fish occasionally and definitely the sounds of the water rushing by, but splashing? That's just weird.
You peer over the side of the platform and see. Oh, fuck. Hello.
"Mghhhh?"
"Oh, shit!" You scramble to help pull Charon back onto dry(ish) land, the boatman shockingly light given his size. "What happened?"
Charon turns his head away, pulling his hat down to cover his face. "Mhhhh. Hhhhhhhhh..... mhhh," he says, almost sheepishly.
"You... fell out of your boat?"
"Mnn. >:("
"I'm trying very hard not to laugh, okay? You're just gonna have to deal with the smile."
"...mhhhh...?"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise not to tell anyone. I'm not that mean."
🌌Chaos🌌
Chaos had been watching your various interactions with the Olympians and finds them deeply amusing. It looks fun. They want to play too! Which is why you're surprised, upon your next visit, to find them sprawled out upon the stone, pinned at strategic locations by the weight of fallen columns.
"Chaos! You alright? What happened?"
"My realm has fallen upon me and I am now trapped. Helpless. Unable to escape from anything you may choose to do to me."
You stare at Chaos. They're...? No. They can't be. But what else...?
At your blank expression, Chaos tips their head. "You are confused. I witnessed the goddess Aphrodite play this with you. Have I misunderstood the rules of the game?"
Son of a bitch, they actually are. Congratulations, you're now going to have to spur of the moment dom a primordial entity while also digesting the fact that said primordial entity is apparently peeking in on your sex life. You just hope they're not gossiping about it with Zagreus...
"No, no, you've got it right."
"Ah, good." Chaos seems contented. "I struggle so to interpret the nuances of the realms above. Every time I blink there seems to be yet more."
"So, um, how do you want to...?"
"Hmm, yes. Pray, oh noble hero, take pity on me. Certainly do not ravish me and take advantage of my defenseless form. Oh, I shall give you anything to prevent this. I am, of course, lying. Happily take whatever liberties you please."
Well, with an invitation like that, are you just gonna say no?
🔥Hades🔥
"Damn these blasted wretches! Not me, you fools, Zagreus! Zagreus!"
An all too familiar voice echoes through the chambers as you walk through Tartarus. Hades sounds more incensed than you've ever heard him before, which is a truly impressive feat considering just how long the list of things that annoys the god of the Underworld is.
You come around the corner just in time to spy a few of those weird hand things vanish around the corner. Hades writhes on the floor, wrapped from head to toe in chains and swearing vehemently. You lean over him, smiling cheekily. "And whatever happened here, Lord Hades?"
"Stop gawking and assist me this instant!" he barks.
You touch his shoulder, reliahing the way his muscles strain beneath the skin. "But you look so nice like this."
"Get off me."
The walls themselves shake as Hades roars, snapping the chains as if they are made of little more than paper. He gets to his feet, his eyes dark. "Never do that again. Not here."
He avoids you the next few days. You think he's still mad at you, but in reality he's just ashamed of his outburst. He feels bad for frightening you like that. In truth, he probably wouldn't have minded the situation if it hadn't been out in the open where any passing shade could've seen him. Hades is very much NOT into voyeurism. He has a reputation to maintain after all. But perhaps he might look into procuring some of those chains and presenting them to you as an apology of sorts...
💤Hypnos💤
Cerberus lounges in his usual spot, Hades himself missing, perhaps still fighting Zagreus up above. Oddly, the rest of the hall seems deserted too. Not unheard of, but definitely noteable.
"Hey, Cerberus."
The three-headed dog thumps his tail, happy to see you, almost muffling the faint voice coming from below him.
"Uh, hey? Is somebody there?"
You look a little closer, noting that you can see specks of grey and gold through the gap between Cerberus's head and paws. "Is that you, Hypnos?"
"Yep, it's me! Can you uh, maybe help me?"
"Cerberus, let poor Hypnos go. He's not your chew toy."
The dog looks thoughtful for a moment before deciding that no, in fact, you're wrong and also he wants you in the snuggle pile too. You produce a rather undignified noise as Cerberus's middle head scoops you up and tucks you under his chest.
"So, I guess you won't be getting me out, huh?" Hypnos chirps.
"Probably not." You have to admit tho, it is comfier under here than you thought it would be. And Hypnos is happy to cuddle up to you, sharing his fluffy quilted cloak.
"You know, I'm glad Cerberus got you too. Now we can take a nap together!"
You've got a dog and a snuggly sweet little god, what more could you want? I mean, besides air that isn't horribly warm and smells like dog breath. But other than that.
🖤Megaera🖤
"Ugh. Blast that Zagreus..."
"Hi, Meg."
"Oh no." Meg grits her teeth, clearly unhappy that you've found her in such a state. And, to be fair, being pinned to the wall by arrows is probably quite embarrassing for her. "Alright, get your jokes out and let's get this over with."
"That... that doesn't hurt, does it? It kinda looks like it hurts." You might have considered teasing her, but uh actually that does look really painful. You eye the spray of arrows spearing her wing to the stone, wincing at the black globs of blood that trickle down them.
"I've had worse. Just send me back to the House. I don't want to stand around here all day."
"Right." You're kinda used to the whole "death is faster and more convenient than dealing with whatever mess I've ended up" thing that all the Underworld denizens seem to have going on.
As you're leaning in to stab her, Meg whispers, "Next time you'll be the one trapped." and even days later you're still not entirely sure if she was threatening you or flirting with you.
🌙Nyx🌙
Of all the things you expected to find Nyx doing, attempting to free her hair from a rosebush was not one of them.
"Um... what's up?"
Honestly, you didn't even know Nyx could blush. "I... These flowers have proven a bit trickier than I first thought."
"Can't you just command them to let you go?" You're trying incredibly hard not to find this situation funny but you're pretty sure you're smiling anyway.
"They are not of this realm and therefore do not obey me. Perhaps, if you could...?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Pray, be gentle. Zagreus worked so hard to prpcure the gemstones required to commission them. I would hate for his efforts to go to waste."
Nyx has gotten her hair so impressively tangled that you're genuinely not even sure how she accomplished this. As you work, your mind wanders and you think about what it would be like if Nyx really was trapped. The words come out before you can reflect on whether or not they should.
"You ever play any games in the Underworld? Say, damsel in distress perhaps?"
"Hmm. No. You'll have to teach me. And I fear I am a hands-on learner."
Wait.
Forget the fact that you just flirted with a goddess.
Did she just flirt back??
💀Thanatos💀
"This cannot be happening. Not again."
You know that voice. You poke your head into the next chamber, unsurprised to see Thanatos but definitely surprised to see that he's somehow gotten himself tangled up in chains like a kitten in a ball of yarn.
"So... how'd this happen?"
"Oh, darkness." Than turns his head away, hiding his face under his hood. "Of all the people," he mumbles. "I tripped on the stupid things and now they won't let me go. The Chains of Death have never liked me."
"Or maybe they like you a little too much," you tease.
"Please... no jokes. This is already embarrassing enough."
You pinch Than's cheek playfully. "Oh, I would never make fun of such a scary god."
Thanatos swallows thickly, looking somehow even more embarrassed than he had just a second ago.
"Unless," you suggest, raising an eyebrow playfully. "he wants me to?"
"You and I are no longer on speaking terms," Thanatos mutters.
🔪Tisiphone🔪
You haven't had much contact with the last of the Fury sisters. She spends her time in the most out of the way sections of Tarturus, the hardest of them all to stumble across by accident. Therefore, you're entirely surprised to find her in this chamber, so close to the House.
"Murder," she hisses, sounding all manner of annoyed. And fair tbh. If your wing was trapped in a door, you'd probably be annoyed too.
"Um, hey there. You need a hand?"
Tisiphone shoots her head toward you, but doesn't say anything, instead simply staring as you very cautiously approach. Carefully, so as not to hurt her further, you pry the door open to give her space to pull her wing free.
"Mrr," she huffs, flapping the wing experimentally.
"Everything okay?"
She snaps her gaze to you, just as sharp as the first time. "Murderer."
"Uh, no? I don't think so?"
She's looking at you so intently, so unblinkingly (can she blink?) that you feel like something about to be hunted. You take a step back and she reaches for you, her bony hand curling in the empty space.
"Mrr... mrr...." And then she makes a different noise. It's... the first sound of your name? Not all of it, just enough to be recognizable. Oh. Okay.
hello bb! Just an FYI ive just binged through most of your works the past few days and ur an ANGEL and so so talented
if you're feeling inspired here's a request for u (I read through ur rules and don't think u have anything like this but ofc pls don't feel any pressure): nyx x hewncity!reader where there's some unrest in the court of nightmares and shes a nobles daughter so they get set up in an arranged marriage (i think marriage was one of the things maybe u didnt want to write so if not that maybe theyre just forced to pretend to be together). shes shy and sweet and open to atleast trying to get along but nyx is furious at the situation and takes it out on her a lot. then ofc slow burn and hes still resisting his feelings but then maybe she gets hurt and the mating bond snaps and he loses his mind and saves her and fluff and smut follow? Just a silly lil idea for u if it speaks to u, if not pls ignore me
⁀➷ Reluctant Love // Adult!Nyx x F!Reader
Summary: You never expected to be married off to the son of the High Lord & Lady, especially not when you're a noble's daughter from Hewn City. But the union was demanded, the politics unrelenting. He doesn’t want it. And you're just trying to survive it.
Requested by: Thank you, lovely anon! Firstly, for reading lots of my work, which makes me so happy, I'm glad you liked it! And for seconding this request, I love the headcanon of this!
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, past-emotional trauma, enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, injury/blood, protective!Nyx, hurt/comfort, loss of virginity, body worship, passionate sex, praise kink
Words: 6.3k
my masterlist 📚
AO3 Link
The Court of Nightmares had never known silence like this. Not when whips cracked against skin in the dungeons below. Not when silver goblets spilt with too-dark wine. Not even when the High Lord himself had once descended from the mountain and made the entire court grovel on its marble floor.
Now they watched you.
You stood at the altar carved from marble so dark it seemed like you were standing in an endless shadow. The air was chilled and dry, scented with smoke from the flames lining the wall, lighting the humble affair.
Your dress, silver and midnight, colours chosen to match the stars your arranged partner was born from. You hadn’t chosen it, or the heaviness of the material that had your knees buckling with every step.
This event was not what you had dreamed of. But you didn’t tremble, not where anyone could see.
You held your spine straight, your hands clapped gently at your front, as if in prayer, which was expected of the daughter of House Vaelor.
One of the oldest noble lines beneath the mountain. Your father had ruled his sector of Hewn with cruelty disguised as elegance and had ensured you were raised as a perfect shadow of submission until it suited him to reveal your true nature.
You’d always known your life would be traded, but not for this. Not for the son of the High Lord and Lady. The child of the very man and woman your father had called a traitor to tradition. A union that spat in the face of every ancient power game the Court of Nightmares held sacred.
Which was why it was happening.
An arranged marriage between the son of Feyre, the Cursebreaker and you, a noblewoman of pure Hewn Blood. A symbolic union to quell the quiet unrest now building beneath the mountain. Your family had been too visible in recent months, too threatening.
So then, the bargain was made. You, in exchange for peace and more power over the Night Court.
Lifting your chin as the sound of boots on stone echoed through the chamber. Nyx entered the room like a living storm; you could feel it in the tingle of magic and the way the flames seemed to shiver.
The court bowed as was expected of them, all except you, standing motionless, unable to look away as he approached. He was dressed in a formal suit, the colours matching yours, but with a heavy sword hanging between his outstretched wings down his spine.
His face was expressionless. Cold and controlled in the perfect mask of his father, Rhysand. But his eyes matched the earthy blue of his mother, Feyre. The only difference was that which he could control, from the tattoos peeking out on his hands and neck, to the slightly longer length of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck, and finally the silver earrings dangling from his pointed ears.
You’d seen him and his parents before in court meetings when your presence was expected, but that was it. No further interaction until you’re expected to be his betrothed.
You’d heard stories from servants who snuck gossip between the shadows and walls. Whispers that Rhysand and Feyre were not as they seemed when they stood on the dais of this very court. That they wore cruelty like armour here, not because they were cruel, but because cruelty was the only language Hewn would obey.
You wondered if Nyx had learned the same.
He did not look at you as he stopped at the base of the altar. Kier, the Steward of Hewn City, officiated the wedding as he stepped forward, serving as a symbol of the union between the Night Court and the Court of Nightmares.
Neither you nor Nyx moved throughout the ceremony, only when it was time to slide the silver ring onto each other's fingers, and that glittered like moonlight and chains.
Not even when you looked up at him and whispered, because it was the only thing you could offer, “Thank you.”
His blue gaze finally cut toward you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t thank me,” he said, voice as emotionless as his face. “You have no idea what you’re thanking me for.”
Your throat closed. You nodded once, gracefully. You had learned early how to survive the impossible, how to let the ice settle beneath your heart and smile with it there.
But even as he stepped beside you and faced the court, wings flaring just slightly in silent claim, a part of you, foolish and aching, hoped he would be different. The way he held himself apart from the smirking nobility meant he hated this world, too. That if you could endure this, if you could find a crack in his armour, he might be the only thing that ever truly freed you.
Even if he never loved you, if this was all a farce to settle differences between the courts.
You kept your hands folded, the ring heavy on your finger, as the nobles of Hen bowed low and the mountain swallowed your vows.
~~~~~
The doors shut with a finality that echoed through your bones. You stood just inside the grand martial chambers, a room carved into the belly of the mountain, lit with flamed torches.
The bed was massive, covered in dark silks and fur throws. A fireplace crackled across the room, throwing shadows across the walls. Not a single window.
There never were, under the mountain.
Your hands smoothed down your heavy skirts, though they no longer fell perfectly, not after the long ceremony, the forced feasting, the endless parade of masked smiles. You hadn’t eaten much. Your throat had been too tight, your chest too full with emotions.
But now you were alone with him. Nyx stood by the hearth, her back turned to you as you admired his wings from afar.
It dawned on you then how you’d truly married a stranger. A stranger you now belonged to, legally.
Stepping forward, quiet on bare feet across the marble stone.
“I thought perhaps you’d want some tea. I asked the servants to leave some in case,” your voice was gentle, softer than you intended.
He didn’t look at you. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Oh.” You nervously folded your hands in front of you. “That’s alright.”
Silence followed, so you ou tried again, slower this time. “I wanted to say, I know this wasn’t your choice. Not really, and it wasn’t mine either. But I'm willing to try, if it will make it easier for both of us.”
Finally, he turned. Nyx’s face was carved with night and shadow, but his eyes were sharp. “You don’t need ot make anything easier,” he said flatly. “We both know what this is.”
You blinched, just briefly. But enough that his gaze lingered a second longer.
You gave him a soft smile anyway. “I know we don’t know each other. But I’m not like them, the others from my court. I don’t want power or leverage. I’m just here because I have been told that it is my duty. I thought maybe we could talk and get to know each other.”
“You think we’ll be friends?” Nyx said, not cruelly but coldly. You didn’t answer. He looked at you fully then. “This isn’t a marriage. It’s politics. You were offered as a solution. And I accepted you to keep my family safe.”
You breathed through the wave of emotions as you frowned at his words. “Your family?”
“My aunt.” his jaw clenched. “Someone from your court threatened her.”
You swallowed hard, stepping forward. “I’m not them.”
He laughed, but there was no joy in it. “No. You’re just their daughter. Their shield in a pretty gown.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I didn’t ask for this, either. But I thought, maybe–”
“What?” he snapped, voice still calm but bitter as he did a much better job at keeping his emotions in check compared to you. “That I’d fall in love with the shy noble girl who looks at me like I’m the only hope she has?”
You went still. Nyx looked away first. The words had landed wrong, even for him. His shoulders tensed, and you thought, hoped, maybe he’d apologise. He didn’t.
“I told my parents there was no way out of this truce,” he muttered, quieter now as he ran his hand through his slightly curled hair, leaving it effortlessly messy. “They argued, they begged me to give them time to figure out another solution to the warfare. But I’m tired. Tired of watching even one I love suffer when threats come from your court to my family. Just to have more power. So I stepped down, I made the deal, I married you to keep them quiet.”
You could barely breathe. “You did it to protect her.”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
“You’re here because you were offered. You're here because it calmed your father, and it made others think twice about what they planned.” his eyes flicked to you again, and this time, something soft passed through them, almost like regret. “But don’t mistake this for kindness. We both play our parts. That’s all.”
You stood in the middle of the room, wrapped in your silence. Then quietly, you nodded. “Alright. If pretending is what you need. I’ll pretend.”
Nyx’s throat bobbed as he said nothing. You crossed to the other side of the room, toward the door that led to the separate dressing chambers. You didn’t know it would be your room ot not, but you needed to escape the weight in your chest before it collapsed you entirely.
~~~~~
You didn’t ask why he moved you to Velaris. You only nodded when Nyx told you, two weeks after the wedding, that your presence in Hewn City was becoming “too symbolic,” that it was safer this way and that he preferred the open air.
He didn’t mention that he never stayed more than a night beneath the mountain himself. Or that he had been raised on starlight and freedom, not blood-slicked marble and whispers. But you’d seen the tension in his shoulders every time the halls swallowed him.
And so you didn’t protest. You packed what little had been brought for you and stepped quietly into the light of the city above.
Velaris took your breath away.
You hadn’t expected it to. You'd heard of its beauty, the City of Starlight, the court of dreams, of power cloaked in peace. But no stories had prepared you for the sigh of the Sidra cutting through glowing cobblestone streets, or the way lanterns flickered like fireflies above balconies draped in ivy.
You had never seen a child laughing in public before. Not without some form of discipline or punishment.
The townhouse Nyx brought you to was modest by court standards, elegant and tall, with flowering vines curling up the railings and rooms that opened with sunlight. He gave you the second floor. His own chambers, you suspected, were above.
He did not touch you. He did not speak to you unless necessary. You tried not to let it break you.
You filled the days with quiet things: writing letters you never sent, and reading books left behind on shelves, though the stories were too joyful to feel real. You helped the cook set the table when she allowed it, and tried to keep your hands busy so your thoughts wouldn’t turn cruel.
Every evening, when Nyx returned from whatever diplomatic task he’d been called to, court business, border negotiation, tracking troublesome individuals, training with his family, or up in the mountains with other Illyrians, you tried to make a positive impact.
Sometimes it was tea. Or a carefully prepared plate of spiced vegetables and lamb, left covered on the dining table.
Sometimes it was just a curious question. “Did your meeting go well?” “Did the weather hold in Windhaven today?” “Would you like me to move to a guest house if it would be more comfortable?”
The answers were always brief. “Fine.” “No.” “You’re fine where you are.”
You never pushed, even when his dismissal hurt. But you noticed small things. He always ate in the room, even when he didn’t say thank you. He always left your books in a neat stack, never moved or shunned. When your shawl slipped off your shoulders one cold morning on the veranda, it was returned to your room before you went back inside.
He was not cruel but distant. Shut tight like a sealed door. And still, you couldn’t help hoping.
One evening, the scent of rosemary and wood smoke guided you from your room. The townhouse was quiet, save for the soft hum of voices from downstairs. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop.
You only stepped out to find the source of the warmth and paused when you heard his voice. But it sounded different now, relaxed and open.
You hesitated near the stairs, hidden by the curve of the bannister.
“I told you I could handle it,” he was saying, lightness in his tone you’d never heard before. “You didn’t need to send half the Inner Circle to spy on her first.”
A soft laugh, female and warm, followed. Feyre, the High Lady.
“We just wanted to be sure. She’s still a noble’s daughter. And your father was concerned–”
“My father was worried for me,” Nyx said, not unkindly. “I get it. But he doesn’t see what I do. She’s nothing like the others. She’s quiet. Careful and reasonably kind.”
Your breath caught.
“You like her,” Feyre said, amused.
Nyx paused. “I don’t know her yet,” he said. “But she hasn’t asked me for a thing. Not once. No politics or power. She just tries. Even when I ignore her, Mother.”
Your fingers curled into the bannister.
“I’m trying to protect her, too”, he said, voice lower now as he sighs. “Even if she doesn’t know it. The court would eat her alive if I looked too fond of her too fast. They’d use her against me. Against you.”
There was a long silence. Then Rhysand’s voice, smooth, measured and full of pride and warning. “You are your mother’s son.”
“And yours,” Nyx replied quietly. “So I’m doing this my way.”
Yu backed away before they saw you. Heart pounding and eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hadn’t misread it. He was good and loyal, even under all that steel.
You had seen only the armour, but now, maybe, you could believe in what was unearthed. For the first time since the wedding, you let yourself hope for more.
~~~~~
The more time passed in Velaris, the less you flinched at sunlight. At first, the city had felt like a fever dream, too soft and too free to belong to someone born beneath a mountain filled with hatred. However, as the days passed, and the breeze carried laughter instead of screams, you began to believe it might truly exist.
You still hadn’t laughed, not fully. But you smiled, and it was real. Nyx didn't notice, or so you thought. He didn't speak to you more than necessary, but he watched.
When you helped the elderly florist gather fallen blossoms outside her shop after a strong breeze, when you knelt to comfort a crying child who’d scraped their knee near the river walk. When you thanked every servant by name, even when they tried to disappear into the walls.
He saw it all. And though he said nothing, something in his expression had softened just a little. The angles of his jaw weren’t always so tight, and his gaze lingered longer. Sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he would just watch you. Once, you caught him staring. He didn’t look away fast enough.
But nothing changed, not really.
That night, you found yourself in the small sitting room near the fireplace. You hadn’t meant to stay up, but your thoughts had kept you restless, and the fire was warm.
Nyx appeared just after midnight, boots still on, jacket loosened, and top button undone on his shirt, revealing more of the swirls of his tattoos. He paused in the doorway.
You startled, beginning to stand. “Oh, sorry. I’ll leave–”
“No.” his voice was tired. “It’s fine.”
You blinked, surprised. He crossed the room and sank into the armchair opposite you, stretching his long legs toward the fire.
Shadows played over the elegant cut of his face, the tousled strands of midnight hair falling over his brow. He looked less like a prince and more like a man who had spent the day trying to keep his court from fraying at the seams.
You sat in silence for a long moment. It was the most peace you’d had together since the wedding.
Then he croaked, “Do you like it here?”
You glanced up. He wasn't looking at you, but the question had come from somewhere real.
“I do. It’s the first place I’ve ever been where no one’s tried to use me.” Nyx’s jaw tensed, so you quickly clarified, “I didn’t mean you.”
Nyx exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t you?”
You smiled faintly, folding your hands in your lap. “You haven’t tried to use me. You’ve ignored me. That’s not the same thing.”
To your shock, he laughed. Tilting your head, you asked, ” Did you grow up here?”
He nodded. “Velaris. The House of Wind. Sometimes the mountains, when training. But always with my family close.”
You hesitated. “You were loved?”
That made him glance over. “Yes. Fiercely.”
You looked away, focusing on a spot above the mantlepiece. “I think I would’ve liked to know what that felt like.” He sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave you his full attention.
You didn’t mean to say more, but something about the way he’d said fiercely cracked something in your chest. “I wasn’t meant. Not in the way others were. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t hurt. My father believed in control. So everything I did, everything I was, was measured and watched. Even my smiles. They were taught and practised until my cheeks ached.”
You twist the edge of your sleeve with bottled nerves. “I was only ever valuable for what I could give him and what I could become. He told me softness was a weakness. That compassion made people vulnerable to being broken. I tried not to believe him.”
Nyx didn’t speak, but he was listening intently.
“I used to pretend. I’d close my eyes at night and imagine I was someone else. That I lived somewhere with sun, music, with people who didn't look at me like I was a pawn. I guess I didn’t pretend well enough because now I'm here. And I still don't know how to be anything but a duty.”
Silence. Then, “you’re not a duty.”
You looked up, startled. Nyx’s gaze was on the fire, but his voice was steady. “You’re kind and gentle. Smarter than you let on.” his throat bobbed as he flexed his fingers. “I see that, even when I try not to.”
You said nothing, breath held and heart pounding. He stood. You almost thought he might come closer, might touch you finally, but he only said, “Goodnight,” and walked towards the stairs.
Even though he hadn’t said much, he simply had let you vent. There was still a shift in the atmosphere, like you both were able to breathe for the first time. And maybe, you were hoping this was the start of something more.
~~~~~
The world around you moved in fragments. The cobblestones. The river. The scent of brushed lilac and blood.
A voice had called you a traitor. You’d turned, too slow and too trusting.
Your cousin, a face you hadn’t seen since the wedding, had been standing in the street, still wearing the cold smile of a Hewn noble. You’d known him as a boy, always cruel, always picking on you.
His eyes looked at you now, full of hate and evil. “You’re nothing but a whore for them. Here you are, galavanting around as if you’re in charge, forgetting about your family. Your role is to help us get more power. Have you forgotten who put you in this position?”
You’d opened your mouth to speak, to actually stand up for yourself for the first time in your life, but the first blow knocked the air from your lungs.
Everything after came in flashes of pain, boots, fists, blood, screaming.
Your vision went white. You thought of Nyx. Of his voice. The wya it softened only when he spoke to others. The quiet way he watched you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. The gentle heat of his fingers on your wrist that one time he steadied you after a fall.
You thought, just before the dark took you, that you’d like to know what it felt like to be his. Then the world went still. And something anxiety and furious woke.
It wasn’t your pain that pulled him from the meeting; it was his pain. The moment the bond snapped into place, Nyx was halfway through a critical discussion, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Something in his chest screamed. Split wide with terror.
And then he felt it. Your blood, your fear, your life slipping through his fingers.
He didn’t say a word to anyone. Just vanished. When he reached you, your body was crumpled on the street like a broken doll. Blood ran from your mouth, your temple, pooling beneath like a puddle.
He didn’t remember grabbing the attacker, misting him on the spot, using the power of the Night Court. He’d simply acted on impulse; his mate, broken before him, was in danger, and he needed to protect.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, voice cracked and desperate. “No, fuck! Please, open your eyes.”
The bond between you burned like an invisible string attached to both of your hearts, connecting you. You were his, and he was yours. And there you were, dying in his arms.
~~~~~
You woke to the scent of cedar and linen. Your body hurt, not like pain, but like gravity had turned against you. Your ribs throbbed, your head ached.
You didn’t know where you were at first. The walls weren’t made of stone; they were made of warm wood and soft tapestries. Sunlight filtered in through gauze curtains. A gentle breeze rustled the open window.
And at your side, slumped in a chair, wings folded tightly behind him, was Nyx.
He looked terrible. Dark circles, bruised the skin beneath his eyes, his jaw was unshaven, his clothes wrinkled and stained. But it was his expression that struck you hardest.
He was watching you like you might vanish if he blinked. Your lips parted, and a soft, broken sound escaped. His chair scraped the floor as he stood.
“No, don't move,” he said quickly, his voice thick. “You’re hurt.”
You swallowed thickly. Your throat was dry, but the fear in his face quieted your own.”
“What happened?”
His jaw clenched. “Someone from your family attacked you.”
Your eyes fluttered closed. Of course, they would see your peace as betrayal.”He said I was a traitor.”
Nyx flinched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re not.”
Silence stretched between you. It wasn’t cold this time. Just heavy. You looked at him again, really looked. “You haven’t let?”
“I couldn’t.”
He sat on the edge of the bed now, careful not to touch you. But his hands hovered, one near yours, the other twitched like he wanted to hold your face and didn’t dare. “I felt it,” he whispered.
“Felt?”
“The bond.”
Your heart seemed to stop in your chest at his words. “I didn’t know until then. Didn’t feel it. But when he hurt you, it was like something in me snapped. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, I just needed to get to you.”
You stared at him. “So it’s real.”
“Yes,” his hand found yours. “It’s real. You’re my mate.”
The word rang through your bones. You turned your face away, blinking back tears. “I think if I could be good enough, you might want me. Even without a bond.”
He inhaled sharply. “I didn't let myself see you, not really. I was so busy protecting everyone else, I didn't realise I was letting you suffer.”
You looked at him again. “I don’t need protecting.”
Nyx leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “You do now, because you’re mine. And I will never let them hurt you again.”
His lips hovered above your skin, not quite kissing, but you felt the promise in every breath; warmth bloomed in your chest. You weren't a pawn or a duty. Not anymore. You were. And God's help will be with anyone who tries to take you from Him now.
~~~~~
You’d never been looked after like this. Ever.
Not when you broke your wrist at ten years old and your father called it “a lesson in pain.”
Not when your Mother forced you to sit at a desk with a straight posture until you all but collapsed onto the floor because “you needed to have more strength.”
Not when your first blood came, or your first heartbreak. But now, there was Nyx, and he would not leave.
Every time you woke, he was there, either seated at your bedside or lying entirely clothed on the chair across the room. His wings would twitch when you stirred, his gaze snapping to yours like it had been waiting.
You were never alone. He barely let the healers touch you. Not because he didn't trust them, but because he couldn't stand being apart from you for even a heartbeat. It wouldn't have been suffocating from anyone else. But from him, it felt like sunlight after a hundred years of night.
The shift was everything. The way he touched your hand now, not just resting there, but curled around your fingers like they were precious.
The way he murmured, “easy, sweetheart,” when you winced, sitting up. The way he fluffed the pillows, because you could ask, held your teacup when your arm trembled, warmed the sheets with his magic so that you wouldn’t shiver.
And the way he looked at you like you were already half gone, and he couldn’t bear the idea of it.
That terrified softness in his eyes. That feral protectiveness just beneath it all. It made your chest ache.
Because now you knew how much he'd been holding back.
Nyx wasn’t cold; he was terrified. Terrified to love, of losing things he cared about. But you’d seen him now, and he had stopped pretending and hiding.
One morning, you woke to find him dozing in the armchair, his head tipped back, finally at rest. You watched him.
The slope of this throat, the thick, dark lashes against his cheek. The way his hand had reached toward you, even in sleep, fingers just barely brushing the blankets.
Your chest tightened. He's yours.
Not just because of the bond but because he’d chosen to stay, he hadn’t run or hidden like you had expected.
And for one, you wanted to choose something for yourself.
~~~~~
He was quiet that afternoon, reading beside you while you dozed. He hadn’t left the room all day. You didn’t think he would unless someone dragged him.
You shifted under the blankets, your body sore but steady. “I need to ask you something,” you wondered, voice still healing from the attack.
He glanced up, his eyes flicking over you instantly, becoming on high alert. “What is it, sweetheart?”
You smiled faintly at the nickname. ”If I say yes to the bond and accept it fully. What happens?”
Nyx went still. Slowly, he lowered the book. “You don’t need to rush–”
“I'm not rushing. I just want to know if saying yes means I belong to the court, to your parents, if anything would be expected of me.”
Nyx couldn’t help but smile at the uncertainty in your voice. “No,” he said softly. “Not unless you want that. This bond is between us; you don't owe anyone else a damn thing.”
You exhaled slowly. “Good.” Then you looked at him. Really looked at him. “You’ve been kind to me.”
A flicker of guilt passed through his face. “Not always.”
“But you are now. And I know that’s you, not just the mating bond talking. I’ve seen how you are with your family. With strangers. With me, even when I didn’t know what I was to you.”
He sat up straighter. You pushed yourself to sit up, too, ignoring the pull in your side. “I’ve never had anything that was mine. No safety. No love. Not even my own name without a price. But I want this. You, not because I'm told I should, not because of the bond. Because you make me feel like I matter.”
Nyx’s throat bobbed. You held his gaze as you continued. “So, if it can just be outs, if it can stay private, then yes. I’ll accept. I want to.”
The silence that followed was sacred. Then, he reached for you, his hand cradled your jaw, and his thumb brushed your cheek. And his lips touched yours. The kiss was filled with heat and hunger, but mostly devotion.
It was everything you had ever dreamed of.
~~~~~
Nyx waited, allowing you to decide when the time was right. So you took the time to get to know him. The real him, not the High Lord and Lady’s son. Simply Nyx, the now century-old male who loved peanut butter on his toast and singing when he thought no one was watching.
Endless nights, he flew you around Velaris, exploring the place of your dreams as he fell maddingly more in love with you, until you finally squeezed his hand and said you were ready.
On a quiet night, just the two of you, in a cabin in the middle of winter bliss.
You’d spent two hours preparing a stew, a recipe from one of the local restaurants. Vegetables, rice, simmered in broth, with herbs you’d picked yourself from the garden.
To accept the bond, you must prepare and offer food to the attendees. So there you were, offering him a bowl of the food you’d prepared. He took one bite before the air changed, thickening with desire.
His throat worked as he swallowed, his ocean eyes staring at you with such intensity you had to look away, hiding your smile.
That look, it had your body reacting in a way you’d never experienced before. Hungry and worshipful, as something coiled in your chest, your belly, between your legs. The bond is humming now, a physical thing tugging at your skin.
You licked your lips, looking back at him through lowered lashes.
Nyx’s fork clattered against the table. You opened your mouth to speak, but he was already standing, already moving. And when he reached for you, it wasn’t with desperation or because he had. It was like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
His mouth on yours was warm and firm. Hands just as fervent as they cupped your cheeks, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with loving strokes. You gasped into his mouth, fingers digging into his linen shirt, holding onto him as if you let go, he might disappear.
Your body seemed to know what it was doing as his head tilted, deepening the kiss. Nyx groaned heatedly as his tongue stroked yours, tasting your mouth.
You hadn’t even realised you were out of the chair until you felt weightless, his arms now supporting your weight by gripping your thighs around his waist, your arms circling his shoulders to hold on.
The bedroom was warm from the crackling fire, dimly lit, with fresh sheets and fluffed pillows.
But now with the bond aching in your blood, the air was too heavy to pretend that you were paying attention to your surroundings.
As he gently placed you into the centre of the bed, you looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you’re sure he can hear. “I’m nervous,” you whisper.
Nyx cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking gently beneath your eye. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“I am,” you say, breath shaky. “I want to. I just-I’ve never done this before.”
Nyx went very still, to the point that you’re sure he wasn’t breathing. Then he nodded, slowly, like you’d just told him the most sacred thing in the world, not that it should be a surprise to him.
“I’ll take care of you. Every second. You’ll only feel good, I swear it.”
You nod, trusting and believing him. Nyx didn’t move until you whispered, “Please!”
Then he kissed you, slower this time, taking his time to relax you completely, tasting you delicately. His tongue slid over yours, coaxing rather than claiming, and he cradled your face like you were the most delicate treasure in the world.
You felt the magic of the band crackle, hotter now. Needier. Your core ached before he even touched you.
He broke the kiss long enough to sit back slightly, clicking his fingers until a small glass vial appeared in his hand. “A pain draught,” he explained, “only if you want it, especially as it’s your first time. I want you to enjoy it, not fear for the pain that might come.”
You took it without a second's thought. Then his hands found your hips, and he began to undress you, not all at once or with haste. But slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift.
When your dress was inched down your thighs until it was thrown to the floor, he sat back on his heels and stared.
He let his hands trail over your skin, starting with your arms and shoulders, then the curve of your waist, before finally leaning in to kiss along your collarbone, down the swell of your chest, his lips praising, “so beautiful” between each press.
He leaned forward to take your underwear off himself.
And when you shivered, not from the cold but from the intensity of being seen so bare, he pressed a kiss to your thigh and whispered, “Mine.”
Then he rose and undressed. And gods, he was beautiful.
Gold-skinned, lean muscle carved like a god. Wings flexing wide as his shirt fell, trousers tugged off with elegant grace. You drank in every inch. And still, it wasn’t enough.
He laid you down so gently, pillows at your back. Kisses along your stomach, his mouth on your breasts, slow and thorough, licking, sucking, drawing soft asps from your lips as your fingers tangled into his curls.
When his hand slipped between your thighs, you nearly cried from the pressure of it all. His fingers were careful, two, slow and gentle but thorough.
“There you go,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he worked you open. “Just relax for me, sweetheart. That’s it. You’re doing so well.”
You didn’t know if the wetness was from the draught or his voice or your own overwhelming need. But it was enough.
When Nyx settled between your thighs, body caging you like a promise, you looked up into his eyes and nodded.
And Nyx kissed you hard as he pressed himself inside. You gasped at the strength, the fullness as your nails dug into his shoulders.
“Too much?” he asked, breath shaking against your face.
You clung to him. “No! Don’t stop.”
So he moved. Slow, deep rolls of his hips, his chest pressed to yours, his mouth worshipful, “you’re mine. Mine. perfect, so fucking good,” into your skin as you held onto him, legs wrapped around his waist.
You didn’t know when you started crying, but the moment was so intense, and there he was to kiss the tears away.
It never hurt, not even for a second. You also didn't know how many times you came, but he didn’t stop until you were trembling, boneless and gasping, and still he held you.
He came with a broken sound, buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, body shaking with the force of it. And after that, he didn't move, not for a long time. Just kissed your body, feeling every pulse of the bond.
You woke to warmth, not just the sun through the gauzy curtains, or the soft silk sheets tangled around your waist. But the warmth beneath you, around you.
Nyx’s chest, rising and falling slowly behind your shoulder. His arms were locked around your middle like he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go. His legs tangled with yours. His wings were tucked tight around your body like a cocoon.
You didn’t move, just breathed and listened to his heartbeat.
Every so often, his nose brushed your neck, nuzzling in sleep. The bond thrummed where it stretched between your souls, not loud or burning now, but quiet.
You shifted slightly, enough to glance over your shoulder. He was already watching you. Eyes heavy-lidded, golden and soft. No mask, no distance.
“Hi,” you whispered, voice thick from waking.
His lips curled, “Hi.”
You turned full, reaching to brush a curl from his brow. “You stayed.”
“I’ll always stay,” he promised. “Are you alright?”
You grin, I am now.”
Nyx leaned in and kissed your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
“I still want this to be just us,” you admitted after a moment.
He nodded. “For as long as you need.”
Another kiss. “Even forever?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Especially forever.”
You buried your face in his chest and exhaled. And for the first time in your life, you believe it.
This was yours. He was yours. The bond was real, and for the first time, you were at peace.
Court politics | Courtship politics | Courtly scheming| A spoiled brat pushes reader’s buttons| A very good boy| Lucien’s the best | Eris is a good dad
Nyx stared at the hound with wide eyes. “Does she bring that thing fucking everywhere?”
Merrick, Tarquin’s son, heir to Summer, and Nyx’s honorary cousin by way of Amren and Varian’s common-law marriage, gulped beside him, “since he was big enough to go with her, yes.”
The terrifying terror of a hunting dog heeled at your feet had been a present from your father several years ago. A hound you could raise yourself for whatever purpose you wished. Many in your court - remnants from the days of the grandfather you never had the misfortune of meeting - had expected you to raise the pup as an adorable furry friend like the foxes you had a habit of feeding. Something they thought befit their opinion of what a High Lord’s daughter should be.
You had raised a furry friend alright, just one more suited for physical and social battles than walks through the woods.
In secret you babied Wolfe, but he was a smart dog. He understood that while you loved him, and behind closed doors would give him all the scritches and kisses he wanted, there were times and places for different kinds of work. This Autumn Equinox ball was one of them.
Your father, Eris, had done a great deal of work in the Autumn Court after the truly unfortunate demise of your grandfather. Not that you were alive to see those immediate changes.
He’d told you that he wanted to make the court a better place for many people. Your grandmother - though she lived in Day now - your Uncle Lucien, your mother, you.
But while Autumn had mostly turned from a court of teeth and fire to one more focused on the glories of your season, there was still a reputation to uphold. Many of the High Lords suspected that Beron’s rule had not ended peacefully. And as much as they may prefer Eris to your late grandfather, they were still just a bit wary of your family.
Your father never wanted you, his heir and beloved daughter, to ever bow or shrink for anyone. So posturing and baring your teeth, as it were, is what you did. Many in Prythian were mildly unnerved by you and Wolfe, and you liked it that way. Their momentary apprehension fueled you, made you feel confident in the power you already had.
Even if, often, you wished someone would see the heart of you. The way your mother had with Eris.
You looked up from your assessment of the room, eyes alighting on Nyx and Merrick watching you from across the crowded hall. You grinned at them scratching behind Wolfe’s ear, relishing in the discomfort in the Summer Court heir.
Nyx however, knew a little more about your family history than Merrick. Your uncle was his mother’s close friend even if the bond with his aunt didn’t pan out. And he knew exactly how your father got the throne, and how different a male Eris was from what he showed most of Prythian.
There was a deadly edge to your smile, but Nyx found himself unbothered by it. He knew the roles his family has played before. He’d come to recognize similar performances in others.
He scrunched his nose up skeptically your way. If you wanted to throw him off kilter, you’d have to work harder than that.
For some unexplainable reason - one that totally, absolutely escaped him - Nyx had taken to watching you at events like this one.
He watched as a tall blond male, dripping with smarm, dressed in a mortifying shade of orange, approached you. He recognized the male and ground his teeth. Complicated history between Autumn and Night aside, there was no one at this party he’d rather you not talk to than Oleander.
“Hi boys,” a female voice purred behind Nyx and Merrick. Nyx had been halfway into marching over to you, when his shoulder was touched - wings blessedly tucked away - drawing his attention behind him.
With one hand each on his and Merrick’s backs, the twin to the male talking to you, was grinning coyly up at them.
Amaryllis and her brother Oleander, the terrible twin heirs to Spring. Tamlin’s simpering and backhanded children.
Nyx pivoted immediately, removing her hand from his back, Merrick a step behind. Amaryllis was wearing a puffy purple dress that was darker than her usual shades, coming across almost as the color of a night dark sky or ocean. Nyx and Merrick shared brief, similar looks of disdain. Merrick’s was gone faster and was far more subtle, however.
One of the Spring twins’ favorite things to do at parties like this was to taunt people not just with their conversational slings and arrows, but in their dress as well. Often, they wore colors specifically to signal one thing or another to whoever their chosen target of the evening was. It never made sense to Nyx but most of what Spring got up to didn’t make sense to him.
Nyx couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes, “what do you want?”
Amaryllis’s eyes turned big, pitiful and doe-like and both boys knew every bit of it was fake as could be. “I can’t just want to talk to someone?”
“In my experience, Amaryllis,” Merrick said, voice diplomatic, “you don’t often make-“
“You don’t talk to somebody unless you want something,” Nyx said, not having enough patience with the female in front of him to let Merrick finish. “So what do you want?”
“Would either of you care to offer the lady a dance?”
Nyx snorted. Merrick stayed quiet.
After a beat Nyx said, “you’re serious?”
Amaryllis’s eyes bubbled with crocodile tears. “Yes.”
‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ Nyx thought in Merrick’s direction.
Merrick sighed, “there are plenty of other males to dance with Amaryllis, why not ask them?”
Amaryllis began to sniffle and blubber.
‘Cauldron, how old is she?’ Nyx quietly said again. Had it been anyone else, Nyx wouldn’t have denied a pretty girl the chance to dance. He loved dancing in settings like this. It was always fun, a little flirtatious, and always entertaining.
It was a shame that the potential partner this time was a female he positively could not stand.
‘She’s going to make a scene if one of us doesn’t do something,’ Merrick thought back. It appeared he didn’t want to dance with her anymore than Nyx did.
Merrick had a massive crush on Kallias and Viviane’s daughter. He wanted to court her properly, he just hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her yet. The last thing he needed was rumors swirling around about him and the female heir of Spring. The relationship would be over before it even got the chance to start. Amaryllis, conniving little snake that she was, likely knew that. She was banking on Nyx’s hatred of her to spell doom for Merrick’s romantic prospects.
“Fine,” Nyx said, “If I dance with you once will you leave us both alone?”
“Nyx, you don’t,” Merrick began but the terror in purple cut him off.
“Sure, Nyxie.” A feral, satisfied smile, assuring him that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Nyx fought the urge to vomit.
Nyx’s usual play was bowing and offering a hand to his prospective dance partner. Once the hand was taken, he’d gaze up at them and softly kiss the back of it. Then he’d smile - a mix of genuine joy and mischievous glee - as he watched the reaction.
Instead, this time, he stiffly held himself in a dancing position, waiting for her to take his hands.
She glommed onto him, wrapping herself around him in a hug, hands brushed his shoulders where his wings would be if they weren’t magically concealed. Firmly, he grabbed her hands and pulled them back where he wanted them.
Merrick sent Nyx the most apologetic look he’d ever seen.
‘Finally ask your girl to dance, and we’re even, okay? Don’t feel sorry for me, I’ll manage.’ Nyx stiffly spun Amaryllis around, out of Merrick’s view. ‘Go now before she sees.’
Then Merrick was gone.
The music swirled around them and the other dancers, and Nyx quickly decided he hated this piece.
“The way people rave about your dancing, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so stiff, Nyxie,” Amaryllis cooed with a coquettish little laugh.
Nyx really was starting to feel sick, perhaps that last spin had been a mistake.
“My dancing is entirely dependent on the company I do it with,” he said.
“Aww, you don’t mean that!”
Twelve different disarming comments danced on the tip of Nyx’s tongue but he forwent them all in favor of another stiff spin.
Commotion to the side of the ballroom halted all dancing and conversation. Nyx dropped Amaryllis’s hands as his head whipped over to where the sound had come from.
Over in the last place Nyx had seen you, Oleander stood - a raging image of his father. He held his hand aloft, a bit of blood dripping from small puncture wounds. You were gone, the faint sent of smoke wafting over to Nyx. Wolfe, however, stood dropped low in a crouch a pace away from Oleander, growling, with faintly red teeth.
“The fucking thing bit me!”
Amaryllis surged over to her brother, pulling him away from Wolfe like he was the greatest monster known to faekind, all the while fretting over the tiny puncture marks that clearly were a warning nip more than anything else. For Cauldron’s sake, he could tell from where he stood the wounds wouldn’t last the hour.
Nyx walked over, cautiously but firmly approaching Wolfe, who was still faintly growling up at Oleander.
“Someone needs to put that thing down!” Oleander shouted.
Nyx held his hand out for Wolfe, who paused his snarling to look up at the Night Court’s heir. Wolfe sniffed the offered hand, looking at Nyx with indifference.
“He doesn’t seem too bad to me,” Nyx responded, “he was trained to protect his owner, seems to me he was just doing his job.”
Amaryllis dramatically gasped, something a bad actress in one of Velaris’s many theaters would have thought to accurately portray horrific betrayal.
Nyx ignored her, staring down her brother. He received a similar look of contempt from Oleander.
Nyx shrugged, placed one hand in his pocket, carefully scratched Wolfe behind the ear and whispered, “let’s go find your mom, huh?”
Wolfe looked at Oleander one final time before plodding after the smoke smell to the door, Nyx following after, pausing only to open the door and step outside after the dog. He didn’t care that the ballroom remained silent the entire time, he had an Autumn Court princess to find.
“Nyx!” Amaryllis, the brat that she was, whined, “we haven’t finished dancing yet!”
Nyx quickly, without looking back, gestured to the silent ballroom, “Sounds like the song’s over.”
He swore he heard his uncle’s booming laugh just before the door closed.
Outside the Forest House, on the exterior walkways, it was beautiful. Soft golden light flitted out through the windows, partially lighting the darkened balcony. Nyx would give Autumn this, it was gorgeous at night. The reds and oranges of the leaves turned shades of blue and purple in the dark, the only lights being the golden red of a hearth or campfire. Looking up, Nyx noticed that the moon was almost perpetually golden here. An ever harvest moon for the seasonal court built on yields of abundant crops.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He heard a hushed, sweet voice further away, followed by a sigh of relief. He blinked in the dark, glancing in front of him to find you. Hidden away from the light of the windows, visible only where you’d knelt down to inspect your prized pooch.
Nyx, even though he’d suspected some of what he saw now, was surprised to see you like this. Kneeling in front of your beloved furry friend, your hair haloed where the golden light from inside just managed to reach you. There were drying tear tracks on your face, he realized with a start.
You looked small, cracked slightly to his eyes, as you hugged Wolfe to you.
“I’m so sorry, bud,” you said, even through your own discomfort, “I’m sorry I left you there.”
“You really should see the other guy,” Nyx said stepping closer, “I thought Amaryllis was going to faint.”
You looked up, recognizing who stood before you, and stiffened. Where Wolfe had been licking at your tears, he stopped, heeling to sit at your feet as you stood up. He sat regally beside you, watching Nyx with a sharp eye.
“It’s you.”
“It’s me.”
“What do you want?” You wiped as subtly as you could at what evidence of your tears remained on your face, but Nyx had seen it and it appeared you recognized that. Classified the information he now had on you. Nyx found he didn’t like how unsettled you seemed by it.
“I, uhm, I was helping Wolfe find his way back to you. Oleander looked about ready to-“ Nyx realized that what he was about to say would likely be unhelpful, and stopped.
You beat him to the thought though. “If he even thinks of laying a finger on Wolfe, I’ll kill him. I- I don’t care what anyone says.”
Nyx noted the stumble in your words, that little pause that could say so much if he figured out what it was for.
“Well,” you said, still sounding a little shaken, “was there anything else you needed? Anything hospitality wise is inside” The edge hadn’t left your voice, but Nyx decided he’d try his luck tonight.
He leaned his arms on the railing, looking cautiously at you, not unlike approaching a wild animal. “Actually, I wanted to check and see if you were okay.”
“Well, I’m fine, alright, I don’t want your help, and I certainly don’t want your pity,” you bit at him.
Nyx pushed forward, “What did he say to you?”
You said nothing.
“I know he said something, or the ballroom wouldn’t have smelled like a barely contained inferno. What did he say?”
The balcony doors eased open a crack, allowing another figure to step out onto the walkway.
“There you are,” a familiar, smooth voice said as your Uncle Lucien swept over to stand between the two of you. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You are a remarkably difficult female to find, young lady.”
For the first time all evening, Nyx watched a real smile spread across your face. Like starlight in the darkness. It was…
“You’ve been hunting with me before,” you said to Lucien, “you shouldn’t be surprised.”
Lucien smiled rakishly at you, shaking his head fondly. His expression shifted to a more serious one as he asked, “are you alright?”
Nyx expected some bite, some comment to your uncle to mind his own business, but instead, you seemed to melt like candle wax. As if Lucien held the magic words to loosen your tongue.
You looked down to save yourself some amount of embarrassment, but you answered him. “I’ve been better.”
Nyx shifted, remaining quiet. It was like you’d forgotten he was there. The sharp-toothed, sharp-clawed Princess of Autumn was gone. This was Lucien’s niece, and she’d been hurt tonight.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You looked up at Lucien with a sharp eye, the word ‘no,’ etched into every inch of you.
“Okay,” Lucien said, “answer a question or two for me first, little flame?”
“Fine.”
“Did Oleander approach you, or did you approach him?”
“He came to me.”
“And Wolfe-“
“I didn’t tell him to do anything, I just left. I assumed he’d follow me. Oleander must have done something. He can say whatever lie he wants, but we didn’t do anything to him that he didn’t earn.”
Wolfe, as if to help, barked.
Lucien looked down at the dog and nodded sagely. That got a laugh out of you, and an unbidden soft smile out of Nyx.
“There she is,” Lucien smiled.
The balcony doors opened once again, your father’s broad shadow stretching out to meet you all before the door shut behind him.
Eris frowned at you and shared a brief look with his little brother. He sent one quick side glance at Nyx as well before he said, “I’d like to speak with my daughter. Alone.”
“Where’s-“ Lucien began but he didn’t have to say your mother’s name for any of you to know who he was asking about.
“Inside, handling it,” Eris responded.
Eris’s tone didn’t sound angered, at least not at you, but Nyx watched as you dropped your head, suddenly very interested in your boots and Wolfe’s paws.
“And no,” Eris said, a touch of his customary dry humor leaking in, “she does not need your help, brother. We’ll be inside shortly.”
Lucien nodded, sending a sympathetic smile your way before walking to the door.
“Alone means you too, boy,” Eris said when Nyx didn’t move.
Nyx locked eyes with you, then looked over his shoulder at Lucien, who stood waiting for him by the door.
Not entirely wanting to, Nyx turned and followed Lucien inside.
“Let’s go find Cassian,” Lucien suggested, “the least we can do for the High Lady is ensure he doesn’t aggravate the situation.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Nyx asked. He didn’t have to specify he was talking about you.
Lucien paused, looking down at his friend’s son, at the concern on his face. “She’ll be alright, I’m sure. I don’t know what happened, but if she is every inch her mother and father’s daughter - and she is - she will be just fine. Thank you, Nyx, for checking on her before we could.”
Nyx nodded then with a sour expression, “What makes Oleander and Amaryllis think they can get away with treating people like this?”
Lucien sighed, “Those children are products of their environment. Tam… Their father did not shield them from his worst courtiers and the two of them learned by example.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Nyx argued.
“No,” Lucien said, patting the younger male’s shoulder, “No it doesn’t. Come on.”
Nyx frowned, sending one last look back over his shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and Eris through the window.
Outside, Eris studied you momentarily. He waited for you to start, but once he realized you would not, that you would continue staring at the ground, he sighed and tilted your head up to meet his eyes.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
“Pretty sure the whole ballroom saw.”
Eris tilted his head, waiting.
You grabbed Wolfe and hugged him, resting your chin on his head. The affection had him wagging his tail softly into your side, but he whined for both of you.
“Darling, please,” Eris said, his voice like a breaking heart.
You mumbled your answer into Wolfe’s fur.
“What?”
“I failed you,” you said.
Now Eris’s heart truly did break. He didn’t balk at the dog in between you, pulling the both of you closer, wrapping his arms around the two of you, studying your face.
“Failed me how, fawn?”
You growled your frustration. “Today was mine. Ours. Our equinox. And I let him take it from me, I let him ruin it. I let him win. I let him beat me.”
“And you’ll be ready for him next time, little vixen,” Eris said, comfortingly.
“Is mother-“
“She’s talking to Tamlin now, things will be fine, darling. You did everything right.”
You sighed, rubbing your thumb through Wolfe’s fur.
“I have to ask, however,” he began, dangling the end of his sentence, waiting for your answer.
Oleander’s words echoed in your head, a million back-handed little comments.
Interesting that no one wanted to dance with a vicious little thing like you.
Everyone knows what your father did.
Shut up, you’d said.
What are you going to do, kill me?
Nothing serious, but every tiny jab had been delivered with such a sadistic sneer that they stuck in, penetrated your armor and illuminated everything you feared. All you’d ever wanted was for someone to love you. Oleander highlighted your most devastating what-if. What if no one trusted you enough to try?
“I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to sleep,” you responded.
Eris nodded, “alright.”
He stood and offered his arm to you.
“I can walk there myself, father,” you groaned.
Eris smiled softly, “someone needs to escort the lady home.”
You faintly smiled back, linking your arm with his and fell onto his broad arm. Leaning into your father’s steady support the whole way, your best friend with four paws trailing behind you.
A/N: Ah! Super proud of this one! I had a lot of fun with names in this! Looking forward to the next one! Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged! Have a good night!
P.S. Did you know orchids are spring and fall blooming flowers?
Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.
Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx
A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)
6.4k word count.
"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.
I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.
"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.
"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.
I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.
It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.
"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.
Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.
She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."
I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."
I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.
Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.
His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.
"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.
I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.
"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."
I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.
"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.
"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.
"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."
The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.
Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.
But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.
I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.
"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.
"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."
I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.
———
Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.
But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.
I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.
"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.
"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.
"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."
"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."
I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.
His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."
A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."
He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."
"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"
His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.
"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.
"You don't mean that."
"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.
I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.
I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.
I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.
The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.
"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.
I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.
He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."
My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.
Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.
He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."
I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.
He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."
———
My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.
I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.
"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.
He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.
I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.
———
The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.
"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.
"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.
The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.
"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.
"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."
I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"
"Careful," he growls in warning.
A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.
"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.
"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.
Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.
"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.
I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.
He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"
I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.
"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.
"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.
"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.
"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.
"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.
He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.
My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.
Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.
"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.
I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.
"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.
I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"
He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."
I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.
"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.
"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.
He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.
"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."
"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.
"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."
He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"
"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."
He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."
"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.
The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.
Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.
Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.
He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."
I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."
He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"
I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."
He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."
"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.
He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."
The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"
His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.
I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.
He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"
"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."
He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."
I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."
"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."
"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.
"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"
"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"
I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.
The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.
"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"
I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."
"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"
"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"
I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."
"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."
"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."
He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"
"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."
His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."
I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"
He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."
I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."
"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."
"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.
"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.
We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.
"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."
"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.
"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.
He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."
For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.
When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.
I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.
The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.
I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.
We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.
We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.
We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.
"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"
I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.
I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."
His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."
My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."
"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."
I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."
"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.
"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"
It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."
It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.
"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."
His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.
"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.
We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.
He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.
The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.
"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."
I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"
"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."
There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.
"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.
"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.
"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."
The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.
"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."
I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.
As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.
I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.
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