{Borderlands} Rhys x F!A.I.! Reader x Handsome jack A.I.
A/n: I don't know where I'm going with this, but you can see this on my archive as well if you want, link should be on my pinned post
...
Your artificial light pink form radiated next to Rhys as you stood by anxiously as he had found himself in some trouble with losing 10 million dollars and trying to track down the case.
As the Pandorans tried pushing Rhys and Vaughn outside the van once more, you glanced at Rhys. “You still have Professor Nakayama’s ID drive, it’s risky as we don’t know what’s on it, but maybe you can track the money that way?”
Rhys stared at the Nakayama drive cautiously before he looked at the A.I. he created almost 10 years ago, whom he typically only called pet names, silently asking for your permission as he didn't know what it would do to them.
"Go ahead, Rhys. It's the only way to find the money. I'll be okay."
Rhys shakily swallowed before he jammed the drive into his port and subsequently passed out for a couple of hours.
You quickly disappeared into a glitch of pixels.
***
You lifted your hands in front of your face to see the code glitching and becoming fuzzy, but overall maintained the physical properties.
You felt relieved that the ID didn’t do anything until you heard a deep voice in the subconscious of Rhys’ mind, “I’m very disappointed in you. Did you really think you could follow in my footsteps? You are nothing more than a pitiful little code monkey. All swagger, no substance.”
You glanced around the dark abyss of Rhys’ mind, it didn’t normally look like this.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
You thought you heard the voice pause in his speech and come closer, but then Rhys woke up.
But you still weren't back online.
When Rhys finally came to he felt better than he did before he passed out, but he couldn't see you in sight, but he tried not to panic and focused on tracking the money.
***
It wasn't until hours later that you were able to come back online and that was when Rhys fell into a hole in that arena after everything else had happened, including the money being ripped to shreds.
"H-hello?" Your voice glitched for a few moments before your code stabilized on its own. “What was that voice?” You looked around the room for a moment before you spotted Rhys staring at you with utter relief.
He felt instantly calmer at the sight of your glowing form, the light of the artificial intelligence physical form being a soft pink to stick out more to him.
“You’re okay! I thought... I thought the ID killed you.” Rhys smiled lightly, even with all the shit he had been through today, it had instantly gotten just a little better with you being next to him. He had invented you years ago for emotional support, and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.
Before Rhys could do anything else or before you could tell Rhys about the voice you heard earlier, Vaughn called down, “Rhys! Are you dead? If you’re dead, say something.”
You smiled at hearing Vaughn’s voice after a good while of walking through black, empty space.
“You should probably say something. You don’t want to worry them,” You said, offering your advice as you normally would as it was in your programming.
“I could use a little help down here,” Rhys called up, waiting for an answer. You glanced around the room, seeing buttons but not being able to push them as they were only able to be triggered by a physical body
“What’s down there?” Vaughn called down.
Rhys glanced around the room, seeing old Atlas tech. “There’s a bunch of old Atlas prototype stuff… some tech… there are a few weapons and--”
Rhys was cut off by Sasha and the rest of the group making their way into the hole. Rhys half-heartedly glared at everyone before watching Sasha ramble about a gun excitedly.
“It’s nice they’re all having fun given what happened with the money. What do we do now, Rhys?” You asked, not knowing where to go from where they currently were in terms of safety.
“Uh--” Though, Rhys wasn’t allowed to say much as Fiona quickly cut him off.
“Okay, it’s been bothering me since we met but who are you talking to?”
Rhys froze in an instant, his eyes went to you, silently asking for your permission to show your form to the small group.
“Go ahead, Rhys.”
Without saying a word to anyone else in the room, Rhys pressed a few buttons on the screen that came from his hand.
With a slow glow of a figure next to Rhys, the adults in the room watched as it slowly revealed a woman with a light glow surrounding your form.
“Hi, my name is (y/n). It’s nice to meet all of you.”
Fiona and Sasha side-glanced at each other before approaching the AI.
"Um, hi. What are you?" Sasha asked, cautious of course at the new face.
You gave the sisters a friendly smile before explaining things, "I'm an artificial intelligence. Rhys made me when he was in college, we've been together for 10 years now. I was made for emotional support but as time has gone on-"
Fiona cut you off, "You adapted. Wow. I'm surprised that Rhys was able to make you. It's really impressive."
Rhys gave Fiona an insulted look but she pointedly ignored him. You giggled at the interaction before you noticed a button on the wall.
“Rhys, Fiona, look.”
The pair look at the button and decide to open it together seeing as how they haven’t been able to open any of the other old treasures in the room. The button caused a machine to pop out of the floor and two odd figurines to pop out. The pair glanced at each other for a moment before they each grabbed their designated pieces. Before anyone could do much of anything, both Gortys pieces forced themselves together and started to hover in the air. Then the core beamed out a map that showed a vault symbol.
In a state of shock, Fiona dumbly uttered, “Is that… a map?”
You were about to explain what it was according to the little research that was made available to you via all the access to any information stored on the echoweb, but an almost warbled voice appeared out of thin air. One that was quite familiar with you as you had to endure the sound of his voice day in and day out thanks to Rhys’ obsession over the man: Handsome Jack.
“So, she’s the brains of the outfit. Is that…a map? I-I-I don’t know, it’s so confusing,” The unknown voice said, though only two people could hear him mocking Fiona without her knowledge.
Rhys turned around wildly, trying to find the source of the voice. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Gortys project… and it’s gonna lead us to a vault,” Rhys finally turned to his right to see the one and only Handsome Jack holding both his and Fiona’s shoulders, staring you down. The entire group jumped as Rhys screamed in surprise at the reveal of Handsome Jack in the room.
Summary: A collection of more moments with Rhysand.
Authors Note: No warnings below. Self established relationship. Moments are inspired by my imagination and not in any particular order. 💜
Rhys hadn't spoken in hours.
The room was silent except for the crackling fire. You sat beside him on the floor, close enough that your shoulders touched, but not so close that it felt suffocating.
He hadn't cried. That was somehow worse. He was simply staring at the wall. Unmoving. Unblinking. Broken.
The blood on his hands wasn't his. Neither was the blood staining his clothes. He hadn't changed since he'd returned. Hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. Had barely breathed.
You knew what he'd seen. What he'd found.
His mother. His sister.
You couldn't even bring yourself to think about it for very long. The grief was too immense. Too cruel.
And Rhys...
Cauldron.
Rhys looked hollow.
As though someone had reached into his chest and torn something vital away.You slowly reached for his hand. His fingers tightened around yours instantly. Desperately. Like a drowning male finding something solid.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then finally—
"They were innocent." His voice was rough and raw.
You swallowed hard. "I know."
"My mother never hurt anyone."
You squeezed his hand. "I know."
A shaky breath escaped him. "And my sister..."
His voice broke. The sound nearly shattered your heart. You'd never heard Rhys sound like that before.
"I promised her I'd take her flying the next time—." He closed his eyes as the words became stuck.
You leaned against him then. Carefully. Gently. As though he might fall apart if you moved too quickly.
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have been there."
"Rhys, you couldn't have known."
"I should have protected them." The words came out harsher this time. Anger directed entirely at himself.
You turned toward him. "Rhys."
Nothing.
"Look at me."
Slowly, violet eyes met yours. They were full of pain. Full of grief. Full of rage. And beneath all of it—
Guilt.
The kind that would eat a person alive if left unchecked.
"You are not responsible for what was done to them."
His jaw tightened. "I wasn't there."
"No, you weren't." The words came out firm but steady as you cupped his face, forcing him to hold your gaze. "But the people who did this are responsible. Not you."
For a second something vulnerable flickered across his expression. Then it vanished, replaced by something colder. Something dangerous. You knew that look. The moment he stood, you knew.
Rhys moved toward the door, towards the weapons hanging nearby. Your stomach dropped.
"Rhys."
He didn't answer, he just reached for the sword. The knife. The leathers. Your heart broke, because you knew exactly where he was going.
"Rhys."
This time he stopped. His shoulders were rigid. His hands clenched. You stood, crossing the room until you were in front of him, blocking his path.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
His words came out quiet. "I have to do this. They butchered my family."
Tears burned behind your eyes. "I know."
His voice cracked slightly. "I can't do nothing..."
You stepped closer. "I know."
Because you did. If someone had done that to the people you loved, there would be no force in Prythian capable of stopping you. You hated it, but you understood.
Rhys looked away first, the anger slipping for a brief moment leaving only grief behind.
"I can still hear her."
His mother's laugh. His sister's smile. All the things he'd lost in a blink of an eye.
You wrapped your arms around him. Immediately his forehead dropped to your shoulder, like the weight of the world had finally become too much. You held him tightly with one hand in his hair and the other against his back.
For several moments he simply stood there holding onto you.
"You don't have to go tonight."
His laugh was humourless. "Yes. I do."
You closed your eyes because deep down you knew he was right. This wasn't something you could talk him out of. The decision had already been made hours ago. Maybe the moment he'd seen their bodies.
So instead you pulled back enough to look at him. To memorise every detail and every line of his face, because suddenly the possibility of losing him felt terrifyingly real.
"Then promise me something."
His gaze softened. "What?"
Your voice nearly failed you. "Come back."
The room went quiet.
"Come back to me."
Something in his expression shattered. For the first time all night. For the first time since he'd returned. You saw tears gather in his eyes, threatening to fall.
You reached up and brushed your thumb across his cheek. "Promise me."
His hand covered yours, holding it there. As though it was the only thing tethering him to the world. He thought about it for a moment, then he nodded once.
"I promise."
Your throat tightened. "Good."
He let out a shaky breath, then lowered his forehead against yours. His words were barely audible as he whispered, "I love you."
You felt your own tears slip free. "I love you too."
For a moment neither of you moved. You just stood there together. One final moment of peace before the storm.
Then Rhys kissed your forehead. He lingered, eyes closing as if he needed to memorise the moment. Almost as if he needed something good to carry with him into the darkness.
When he finally stepped back, his hand found yours one last time. He squeezed once, before reluctantly letting go. Then he turned toward the door.
Toward vengeance. Toward grief. Toward the terrible thing he believed he had to do.
At the threshold he paused, glancing back just once. And despite everything—
Despite the tears. Despite the fear. Despite the certainty that neither of you would ever truly be the same after tonight—
You managed a small smile. "It's okay, I'll be here when you get back."
His gaze held yours and for the briefest moment, you saw the male you loved beneath all the rage.
Then he nodded and disappeared into the night.
You had spent three hours making dinner.
Three. Hours.
Nuala and Cerridwen had very kindly offered to help several times, but you'd waved them away, determined to prove that you were perfectly capable of cooking a romantic meal for your mate.
Had some things been slightly burnt?
Perhaps.
Had one of the vegetables looked suspiciously black?
Possibly.
But you had tried and that counted for something.
Apparently not.
Because after taking one bite, Rhys had looked at his plate and said:
"Darling, I think this chicken died twice."
The silence that followed had been deafening. The moment the words left his mouth, Rhys's eyes widened realising far too late that he had insulted your efforts whilst attempting to be funny.
You stared at him. He stared at you. Then you stood up and walked out, slamming the dining room door shut.
The first attempt came thirty seconds later, Rhys's voice filtering through your mind.
Darling?
You immediately imagined a large wooden door and slammed it shut.
BANG.
Silence.
Ten minutes later, there was a firm push and the door cracked open.
I didn't mean it.
BANG.
Twenty minutes later and you felt Rhys push on the door even harder.
In my defence, it was a very funny joke.
BANG.
You slid a deadbolt across the lock this time for good measure.
Half an hour later:
The joke was funny, you have to admit it. The timing was catastrophic.
BANG.
You slid multiple deadbolts this time, determined to keep him out, but your mate was the most powerful daemati for a reason.
An hour later the door flew open once again.
I've apologised to the chicken too.
You almost laughed, before remembering how hard you had worked.
BANG.
This time you imagined the door as an impenetrable metal fortress, chains, bolts, sealed around the frame and hidden behind another door for good measure.
By the next day, the entire Inner Circle knew. Mostly because Rhys had apparently become unbearable. You were sitting in the library when Mor appeared, trying—and failing—not to smile.
"Still not talking to him?"
"No."
"He looks miserable."
"Good."
Mor laughed. "He genuinely feels bad."
"He compared my dinner to roadkill."
Mor lost all composure as a snort escaped her.
You pointed at her accusingly. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am." Another laugh. "I just also understand why he said it."
You glared and Mor wisely left. It was common knowledge amongst the Inner Circle that cooking was not your strong suit.
Shortly afterwards, you felt banging against your mental shields and it took every ounce of effort to keep him out. You smirked in victory when you felt his claws retreat without even a crack in your shields this time.
By late afternoon, Rhys had apparently become desperate, because the next thing you knew, you felt a tentative knock against your shields. Not his usual smooth entrance, an actual knock.
...May I come in?
You stared ahead.
No.
A pause.
Please?
Go away.
I miss you.
You ignored him.
Darling.
Ignored.
I am suffering.
Good.
The silence that followed was deeply satisfying.
An hour later you were walking through the gardens when shadows exploded around you. You yelped as darkness swirled and wind rushed past. Suddenly Rhys was standing directly in front of you, looking dramatic and devastatingly handsome as usual.
His hair was windswept. His violet eyes were pleading. And there was an expression on his face that suggested he had finally reached the end of his patience.
"You blocked me."
You folded your arms. "Correct."
"All day."
"Correct."
"Do you know how hard it's been not hearing you? Not being able to feel you?"
You simply shrug, crossing your arms over your chest and averting eye contact. You could never resist Rhys when he looked at you with a desperate pout and he knew it too.
His mouth twitches, a dangerous sign.
You narrow your eyes. "Don't smile."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm trying not to."
That only made you more offended. "You hated my dinner."
Immediately, Rhys groaned. "I did not hate your dinner."
"You compared it to a dead chicken."
"It was a dead chicken."
You gasped. Rhys immediately realised he'd made it worse. Again.
"Oh, that's not what I meant."
"You just did it again."
"I didn't."
"You did."
He dragged both hands down his face. The picture of a male who desperately wished to travel back in time.
"I spent hours making it," you exclaimed.
"I know."
"I was trying to be thoughtful and romantic."
"I know, darling. It was incredibly sweet."
You tried not to soften, but Rhys immediately noticed the fight leaving your words and your arms automatically uncrossing as he stepped closer.
Predator.
"The fact that I possess a terrible sense of humour is unrelated."
You snorted despite yourself and his eyes lit up at the sound, which you immediately dismissed.
"No."
"That was a laugh."
"It wasn't."
"It absolutely was."
Before you could stop him, Rhys stepped forward and wrapped both arms around your waist. You tried to remain offended. Unfortunately, he immediately buried his face in your neck. A completely unfair tactic, especially as he began to pepper your skin with kisses.
"Forgive me."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I'll never joke about your cooking again."
"No."
"I'll write a formal apology and declare it for all to hear across Velaris."
You couldn't help yourself, you laughed. Rhys practically sagged with relief.
"Oh thank the gods. There she is."
You rolled your eyes, but his grin only grew.
"To be clear, I do love you."
"Mmhm."
"And I appreciate the effort."
"Mmhm."
"And perhaps..." He hesitated.
"Perhaps?"
His smile turned sheepish as he pulled back to look down at you, making sure to keep his arms around you in case you bolted. "Perhaps we leave the cooking to Nuala and Cerridwen."
You stared. Rhys stared back.
Then he immediately added, "Not because you're bad."
"I am bad," you sighed with reluctance.
"You are."
"Rhys! You're not supposed to agree with me."
"I'm sorry darling, but you know I can't lie to you."
You smacked his shoulder. He laughed, the sound bright and warm as he pulled you closer.
"You know," he murmured into your hair, "for the record, this is the longest you've ever managed to ignore me."
"Really?"
"Twelve hours and seventeen minutes."
You blinked. "You timed it?"
"I was being punished."
"You deserved it."
His arms tightened around you before he pressed a soft kiss against your temple. Then another. And another.
"So, are we speaking again?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Depends."
On cue, Rhys became immediately suspicious. "Depends on what?"
You smiled sweetly. "What's for dinner?"
The look of pure panic that crossed the High Lord's face was worth every second of your grudge.
"Maybe let's go out."
Music thumped through Rita's, laughter spilling over every table as Velaris celebrated another peaceful evening.
You and Mor had long since lost count of how many drinks you'd shared.
"To us!" Mor declared, lifting her glass so enthusiastically that half the wine sloshed onto the table.
"To us!" you echoed, clinking yours against hers which resulted in more wine sloshing everywhere.
Both of you dissolved into hysterical laughter.
"I'm crying," Mor wheezed.
"I can see that."
"No, really." She wiped at her eyes. "You're blurry."
"I think that's just the alcohol."
Another round appeared. You weren't entirely sure who had ordered it. Or if either of you had.
Hours passed in a blur of dancing, singing terribly to songs neither of you knew the words to, and loudly insisting to complete strangers that they were the most beautiful people you'd ever seen.
By the time you finally stumbled towards the door, the barman smiled knowingly.
"Shall I send someone to fetch the High Lord?"
You and Mor stopped dead, looked at each other, then simultaneously scoffed.
"Pfft."
"We're perfectly capable," Mor announced with all the confidence of someone who could barely stand upright.
"I've never been more capable in all my life," you stated.
The barman raised an eyebrow. "You can barely walk."
"I can absolutely..." You took one determined step, which ended in more of a wobble. "...walk."
Mor nodded proudly. "See?"
The barman sighed.
"At least let me summon The Shadowsinger."
"No."
"The General?"
"No."
You both burst into scandalised laughter.
"We're grown females."
"We don't need them!"
The barman looked entirely unconvinced.
The cool night air hit you both immediately as you left. You linked arms as you started down the street.
"This was a terrible idea," you giggled.
"The best terrible idea."
The streets of Velaris were quiet now, lanterns casting warm pools of light over the cobblestones and the Sidra.
Mor suddenly pointed at the sky. "The stars are moving."
You frowned up at them. "...I think that's us."
"Oh."
After a few minutes, Mor slowed. "We should winnow."
You looked at her in horror. "No. What if I leave one of us behind?"
"What if you accidentally winnow us into the Sidra?"
"What if we come out upside down?"
You both stared at each other.
For a brief moment the alcohol made it seem like a a good idea, but luckily the thought of winnowing made you feel nauseous. Walking suddenly seemed like the safest option imaginable.
"Walking it is," you declared merrily.
Mor grumbled about her feet hurting behind you.
You made it another twenty feet. Then because the universe was punishing you, your heeled foot caught on a raised cobblestone.
"Oh."
There was a brief, hopeful moment where you thought you'd recover. Instead you lurched forward. Mor tried to grab for you, but she missed completely.
You landed with an undignified thump.
"...Ow."
Everything hurt. Your palms. Your knees. Your shoulder. You lay there for a second, staring at the stars.
Mor peered down at you. "...Did the ground just attack you?"
"I think it did."
"The audacity."
You laughed as she helped haul you back to your feet. Your knee stung. Your hands burned. Something warm trickled down the side of your face, but you barely noticed it. Mostly because your entire body now ached.
"I think..." You winced. "...I lost."
"The pavement fought dirty, otherwise you would have won," Mor said.
You both started giggling again as she linked her arm with yours. Slowly but steadily, you begun the journey home.
The River House was unusually loud. Cassian was halfway through recounting a story involving a goat that nobody believed.
"It was absolutely wearing boots."
"Goats don't wear boots," Azriel replied.
"This one did."
Rhys laughed, shaking his head.
Then the front door opened.
"Rhyyyyys!" Mor called.
Rhys smiled automatically as the bond immediately flared to life now that you were within feet of each other.
A second later, you wandered into the sitting room behind her. Still laughing. Still slightly limping. Still completely oblivious.
Rhys's smile disappeared. His chair scraped violently across the floor as he stood. Every instinct in him screamed at once.
Blood.
There was blood running down the side of your face. On your hands. On your clothes.
He crossed the room so quickly you barely had time to blink. "What happened?"
His hands were already on your face, turning your head carefully, searching every inch of you.
You blinked at him. "...Hello."
"What happened?" he repeated, more urgently.
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
Cassian had reached you by then, his easy grin vanished the instant he saw the blood. Azriel's shadows filled the room before anyone even realised he'd moved. His hazel eyes scanned you once.
"Was someone following you?" he asked quietly.
You looked between all three of them, utterly confused. "...No?"
Rhys's thumb brushed carefully beneath the cut on your forehead. "You're bleeding."
You touched your temple and pulled your fingers away. "...Huh."
There was blood. You hadn't realised. "Oh."
Rhys's violet eyes were almost glowing faintly now, his posture taunt as he tried to keep his anger and panic in check. "Tell me who."
You tried very hard to remember.
Mor suddenly gasped. "The pavement!"
Three pairs of male eyes slowly turned towards her. Mor pointed accusingly at absolutely nothing.
"It jumped her."
Complete silence.
You nodded solemnly. "It was very aggressive."
Cassian blinked. "The pavement?"
"It cheated," you informed him.
Rhys looked from you, to Mor, then back to you again. "Darling, did you trip?"
You considered it. "I was pushed."
"By the pavement?"
"Exactly."
Azriel let out a slow breath, his shadows immediately receded. Cassian dragged both hands down his face.
"I was about thirty seconds away from hunting someone down," Rhys muttered.
"Go and decimate the pavement then," Mor exclaimed, flinging a finger in the direction of the door. The sudden motion caused her to lose her balance and she would've face planted if Cassian didn't catch her.
You both erupt into giggles again.
Rhys doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the situation. He looks down at you, saw the tiny scrape on your forehead. The grazed palms. The torn knees. Nothing deep, but just enough blood to make his heart stop when you'd walked through the door.
The relief that nothing truly bad at happened to you hit him so hard his knees almost gave out. You were blissfully unaware and clearly had had a nice time, so he let himself be mildly amused at the situation.
So instead, he reached forward and pulled you into him. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other wrapped tightly around your waist.
"You frightened me."
Your sleepy smile softened. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't even know you were bleeding."
"I just thought everything hurt."
Mor nodded in agreement. "We're very sore."
Rhys snorted. "I cannot believe the two of you didn't ask for one of us to come and get you."
"Very irresponsible," Azriel deadpanned.
"We were being responsible," Mor insisted.
Rhys pulled back just enough to stare at her. "Responsible?"
"Winnowing drunk seemed dangerous."
"...And walking wasn't?"
You and Mor looked at one another, then shrugged simultaneously. "...In hindsight."
Azriel actually laughed, a quiet, disbelieving sound.
Cassian pointed at you both. "You know what? I'm with the barman."
You blinked. "What barman?"
"The one who, judging by this story, absolutely offered to send for one of us."
You and Mor froze. "...Maybe."
All three males simultaneously groaned.
Rhys closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them again with the long-suffering expression of a male who knew he had no hope. Without a word, he scooped you into his arms.
You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck. "I can walk."
"No."
"It was one little fall."
"You lost a fight with a cobblestone."
"It was an unfair fight."
Rhys couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He kissed your forehead, carefully avoiding the scrape.
Cassian looked at Azriel.
"...Should we arrest the pavement?"
Azriel deadpanned, "Only if it resists."
For the first time since you'd walked through the door covered in blood, Rhys laughed. It was shaky and relieved.
"Come on you, let's get you cleaned up."
And as he carried you upstairs, his grip never loosened once.
Moonlight poured through the bedroom windows, painting silver across the sheets.
Your eyes slowly blink open. The room is quiet and it's clear it's still the middle of the night, but something has pulled you from your sleep.
You blindly reach next to you. The bed is still warm beside you, but empty.
You frowned. "...Rhys?"
No answer.
Pushing yourself up onto one elbow, you find him after a moment sitting by the open balcony doors. He's barefoot, clad in nothing but a pair of loose sleep trousers. The night breeze gently stirs through his sleep tousled hair.
He's quietly watching you.
You sit up slightly. "Rhys?"
The moment he realised you'd woken, a small smile found his lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't." You rub sleep from your eyes. "What are you doing?"
His gaze drifts towards the balcony. "I couldn't sleep."
You hummed softly in understanding. It wasn't unusual. You knew that some nights memories of Under the Mountain still lingered.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head, a gentle smile on his face. "Go back to sleep, darling."
You would never push him, so you obliged and laid back down. You couldn't get back to sleep though. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you had never been uncomfortable.
Eventually, you caught him looking at you. Not just looking, watching with the sort of quiet, intent gaze that made your cheeks warm.
You smiled sleepily. "...You're being creepy."
Rhys huffed a quiet laugh. "Am I?"
"You've been staring."
"I know."
You huff in amusement. "Should I be concerned?"
"No."
A beat.
"You know you could've just woken me."
"I didn't want to."
"So instead you sat in the dark watching me sleep?"
His smile grew just a little. "When you say it like that..."
"It sounds very alarming."
"It does."
You laughed quietly. "There are laws against that, you know."
"I am the law."
"Oh, of course."
"The perks of being High Lord."
You rolled your eyes, an amused smile on your face.
His amusement faded after a moment. Not completely, just enough that you noticed. His gaze settled on your face again, gentler this time.
"I like watching you sleep."
You tilted your head. "Why?"
Rhys was quiet for several seconds, long enough that you wondered if he'd answer at all.
"Because I still wake up expecting..." His voice trailed off.
"...Expecting what?" You ask softly.
He looked away.
"I still have moments where I expect to open my eyes and find stone walls."
Your heart clenched. "The mountain?"
He nodded once. "I'll wake up, and for a second..." He gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. "I forget."
"When I realise I'm here..." he continued quietly, "that I'm free..."
His violet eyes lifted to yours.
"Sometimes I need to remind myself it wasn't a dream, so I look at you."
Your throat tightened. You didn’t know what to say. There was little you could do but be here for him when the memories became too much. Silence settled between you. The sort that pressed against your ribs.
You looked at him. At the shadows beneath his eyes. The vulnerability he so rarely allowed anyone to see. This impossibly strong male who had carried the weight of an entire court that you had the honour of sleeping beside.
Without saying a word, you pulled the blankets back and you held your arms open.
Rhys blinked. "What?"
"Come here."
His eyebrows lifted. "You don't have to ask twice."
Despite the joke, he hesitated, just slightly. As though he wasn't sure he deserved it.
You smiled in understanding. "Rhys."
That tiny hesitation disappeared. He stood and crossed the few steps between you. And the moment he reached you, you wrapped your arms around him tightly. His forehead immediately found your shoulder, his legs tangling with yours.
The breath he let out was slow and heavy. Like he'd been holding it all night.
You ran your fingers through his hair. "That's better."
He hummed.
Neither of you moved for a long while. The city glittered beyond the balcony. Peaceful and safe. He practically melted as your nails scraped gently across his scalp.
“The strongest High Lord in history..." you mumbled. "...reduced to being cuddled."
A beat.
"You know, this is terribly undignified for a High Lord."
"I don't hear you complaining."
"Fair point."
His voice was already sleepier, already softer. After a few quiet moments, he spoke again.
"So... you're really here?"
You looked down at him. Your heart ached. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
"I'm really here."
"And this isn't a dream?"
"No."
"You promise?"
You tightened your arms around him. "I promise."
He was silent for a long moment, then you felt him relax completely. Every last bit of tension leaving his body. As if those three words had finally convinced him.
Outside, Velaris slept peacefully beneath the stars. Inside, Rhys tucked one hand into the fabric of your nightshirt, as though needing to keep hold of something real.
You kissed his hair one last time. "Get some sleep."
His answer came so quietly you almost missed it. "I always do... when I'm in your arms."
Within minutes, his breathing had evened out. Steady. Peaceful.
And this time, when sleep finally claimed him, there were no stone walls waiting on the other side.
Only home.
The visit to the Day Court had been perfectly diplomatic until Helion spotted you.
"There she is!"
You barely had time to react before the High Lord of the Day Court swept you into an overly dramatic hug.
"It's been far too long."
"It has been..." you laughed. "How long?"
"Three months."
"You make it sound like decades."
"It's felt like decades."
Rhys appeared beside you a heartbeat later. Calm. Collected. Perfectly polite.
"Helion."
"Rhys."
The two High Lords exchanged smiles. The sort that looked friendly to everyone else, but you knew better from the slight tension in Rhys's jaw.
Helion finally released you.
"I was beginning to think the Night Court had stolen you away permanently."
"They nearly did."
"I heard that," Rhys replied dryly.
"I wanted you to,” you playfully stuck your tongue out at him.
The meeting itself went smoothly. Trade. Borders. Magical treaties. Everything was settled surprisingly quickly, which meant there was plenty of time afterwards for wine and conversation.
You found yourself standing on one of Helion's sunlit balconies while he recounted a story about the last time you'd visited the Day Court to some of his courtiers.
"...and then you convinced everyone the peacocks were sacred."
"They weren't?"
"They absolutely were not."
"They chased me!"
"Because you stole one."
"I borrowed it."
"You named him Gerald."
"He looked like a Gerald."
Helion laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine.
Across the balcony, Rhys noticed. Cassian noticed Rhys noticing.
"Oh no," Azriel muttered into his drink.
Cassian glanced over once. "...What?"
Azriel smiled knowingly. "Watch."
Rhys took a very slow sip of his wine, his violet eyes narrowed in your direction.
Helion wiped a tear from his eye. "I've missed this."
"I've missed you too."
"So," Helion continued with a grin, "have I become wiser with age?"
You looked him up and down thoughtfully. "Wiser?"
"Yes."
You tilted your head. "...Debatable."
Helion clutched his chest dramatically. "A fatal blow."
"But..." You smiled. "You are still ridiculously handsome."
Helion bowed extravagantly. "I'll treasure those words forever."
From somewhere behind you...
Silence.
Very dangerous silence.
The journey home was quiet, far too quiet, which was unusual especially since Cassian and Azriel had accompanied you both. You approached the entrance to the Day Court palace where you were expected to winnow away.
Rhys walked beside you with perfect composure, hands clasped behind his back. The image of an utterly unbothered High Lord, but you knew him far too well.
"You alright?"
"Mhm."
"You seem quiet."
"Am I not allowed to be quiet?"
"You're usually not."
Something was definitely wrong.
It started innocently enough once you got back to the Night Court. As you walked through the House of Wind, Rhys casually asked,
"So..."
"Mhm?"
"You think Helion is handsome?"
You blinked. "You don't?"
Rhys pursed his lips. "I see."
You laughed at his expression. "What? You asked."
"I didn't."
"You literally just did."
"Hm."
That sounded suspiciously like a sulk.
You stared at him. "Rhys."
He looked at you with complete innocence. "What?"
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're pretending you're not bothered."
"I'm not bothered."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You absolutely are."
"I simply found your observation..." He searched for the word. "...Interesting."
You laughed. "Oh, I see. You're jealous."
"I am not jealous."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
Ten minutes later you exit the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom after changing, only to find him standing in front of a mirror adjusting his jacket.
You leaned against the doorway. "What are you doing?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you staring at yourself in the mirror?"
"I'm making sure I look presentable."
"You always look presentable."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose I do."
You bite your lip to stop yourself laughing. He bustled past you, pressing a brief kiss to your temple as he went.
A short while later you're curled up in your favourite armchair when Rhys wanders into the library entirely too casually.
"So..."
You look up from your book. "What?"
"'So, have you always thought Helion was handsome?"
You burst out laughing. "I knew it!"
"You knew what?"
"That's what's bothering you!"
"It isn't bothering me," he says innocently.
You're not convinced. "Rhys—"
"It was simply..." He paused. "A surprisingly enthusiastic compliment."
"I called him handsome."
"Mhm."
"That's it."
"Mhm."
You finally gave him your full attention, placing your book down and getting to your feet. You walked over until you were standing directly in front of him. He refused to look at you, which only confirmed your suspicions.
"Rhys."
"What?"
"You know you're handsome too."
"I am?" The question came far too quickly.
You smiled. "There it is."
"What?"
"Are you fishing?"
"I am not fishing." Rhys sighed dramatically. "Just wouldn't hurt for you to say it every now and again."
You smiled knowingly.
By dinner, Rhys had somehow become even worse. Every time Helion's name came up, he casually mentioned something impressive he'd done.
"The Day Court library is so beautiful."
"The House of Wind's is larger."
"...Okay?"
"I'm just saying."
Or—
"Helion is very knowledgeable."
"I've read those books too."
Or—
"I've always liked his hair."
Rhys actually touched his own hair, shooting you a knowing look. You nearly choked on your drink.
Finally, you decided to put your mate out of his misery. You set your wine down. "Rhys."
"Hm?"
"Come here."
He looked suspicious. "...Why?"
"Just come here."
He walked over cautiously. The moment he was close enough, you reached up and cupped his face. His entire expression softened instantly.
"Helion is handsome."
Rhys's instantly face fell.
"But..." You stood on your toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You're beautiful."
He blinked. Another kiss.
"Infuriating."
Another.
"Ridiculously clever."
His hands had already settled on your waist. Another kiss.
"And unfairly attractive."
Rhys smiled despite himself. "Unfairly?"
"It's honestly a little annoying."
"You think so?"
"I do."
He looked entirely too pleased.
"You know..." He murmured, pulling you a little closer. "I've been waiting quite a while to hear that."
"I know."
"So you made me suffer?" He mock gasped.
You shrugged innocently. "I like it when you pout."
"I was absolutely not pouting."
From the doorway came Cassian's voice. "You absolutely were. It was embarrassing."
Rhys didn't even look at him, he was too busy smiling at you.
"So..."
You rolled your eyes. "Here we go again."
"...You think I'm more handsome than Helion?"
You laughed so hard you had to bury your face in his shoulder. "There it is again."
"What?"
"The fishing."
"I just like hearing you say nice things about me."
His honesty caught you completely off guard. You pulled back just enough to look at him. His expression had lost all teasing. Beneath the jealousy and the theatrics was something quieter that he didn't show often. He really had wanted the reassurance.
Your heart melted. You threaded your fingers through his dark hair.
"Rhys."
"Mhm?"
"I do have eyes." You smiled. "And I think you are the most handsomest High Lord that ever existed."
His violet eyes searched yours. "You mean that?"
"I do."
A grin spread slowly across his face. Victorious. Smug. Completely insufferable.
Authors Note: Protective Rhysand? YES PLEASE. Request by @callmeleighd
The first thing you noticed was the silence.
Not complete silence—there was never complete silence in an Illyrian war-camp—but the sudden absence of laughter from the group of warriors behind you.
It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
You were carrying a basket of supplies across the camp when a shadow fell over you.
"Where are you rushing off to?"
The male's voice was thick with amusement.
You recognised him immediately. Older. Bigger. One of the warriors who thought rank and size entitled him to whatever he wanted.
You offered a polite smile and stepped around him.
"Busy."
His hand caught your wrist.
Your stomach dropped.
Not because you couldn't handle yourself—you absolutely could—but because you knew exactly how these interactions tended to go.
"You could spare a minute."
You tried pulling free. His grip tightened.
"Let go."
The smile on his face only widened. "Or what?"
The words had barely left his mouth when another voice cut through the air.
Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.
"She said let go."
The warrior's expression faltered.
You looked up.
Rhysand was striding across the training field, heading straight to you.
The warrior let go of your wrist, but he didn't back down. Instead he angled himself between you and Rhysand, his friends now gathering behind you, effectively caging you between them.
You could see Rhys's nostrils flare in anger, his teeth gritted as he stopped in front of you.
He didn't say anything at first, simply held his hand out for you. You scurried out from behind the Illyrians, immediately going to his side.
For a moment, the camp seemed to hold its breath.
Rhys stood between you and them now, shoulders squared, violet eyes fixed on the male who had initially grabbed you with a calmness that somehow felt far more dangerous than shouting ever could.
The warrior cracked his knuckles.
"You got a problem, boy?"
Rhys didn't even blink. "You touched my mate."
Your heart skipped. Not because of the words, but because of the way he said them.
Simple. Certain. Dangerous.
As if there was no force in Prythian capable of changing that fact.
The warrior scoffed. "Wasn't doing any harm."
"You grabbed her."
"She's fine."
Rhys took a step forward. "So now you're telling me how she feels too?"
The warrior's expression darkened.
Then, from the edge of the crowd that had slowly began gathering, three of his friends drifted closer.
Not rushing. Not openly threatening. Just slowly appearing at his shoulders in a silent show of support.
Your stomach tightened.
Rhys sensed immediately.
Of course he did.
Without looking away from them, one arm extended behind him.
Searching. Finding you. His hand wrapped around yours in silent reassurance. Then he pulled you slightly behind him.
"Get behind me. Stay there." The command was quiet, but firm.
Then Rhys took a step forward.
The warrior laughed.
"You really think you can take all of us?"
Rhys smiled.
The smile made you nervous. Not because it was aimed at you, but because it wasn't. You were nervous for them.
"I think I'd enjoy finding out."
The temperature around the group seemed to drop. Several warriors nearby suddenly found other places they desperately needed to be.
The warrior took another step.
Rhys didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't give an inch.
And then—
A familiar voice called from behind.
"Well, this looks fun."
Cassian.
The crowd immediately parted as he approached. Broad shoulders. Training leathers. A grin that promised violence.
Beside him walked Azriel. Silent. Expressionless. Even more intimidating.
Cassian stopped on Rhys's right. Azriel on his left.
Neither asked what was happening. Neither needed to.
Cassian glanced at your wrist and immediately saw the red marks. His grin vanished.
"Oh."
That single word carried an alarming amount of meaning.
Azriel's hazel eyes settled on the warrior. Cold. Deadly.
The warrior visibly swallowed. The odds had changed rather dramatically. Three against four was one thing. Three against Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel?
Three future legends, even if nobody knew it yet. Even if they were still just boys in a brutal camp.
You could feel it. Their power. So could everyone else.
Eventually, the warrior muttered something under his breath. Then turned and walkway away. His friends followed. The crowd slowly dispersed and the tension broke.
And the very second it did, Rhys spun around, his entire focus landing on you.
"Are you hurt?"
You blinked. "What?"
"Are. You. Hurt?"
"No."
He grabbed your wrist anyway, gently inspecting it. Turning your hand over. Checking the marks. Checking your fingers. Your arm. Your shoulder. Like he expected to find some hidden injury.
"Rhys."
His jaw was clenched. "Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Did he scare you?"
"No."
"Did—"
"Rhys."
He stopped. You could practically see the protective instincts fighting for control behind his eyes.
Cassian snorted. "Here we go."
"Don't start," Rhys practically snarled.
"Oh, I'm absolutely starting."
Rhys ignored him entirely.
His hands settled on your waist instead. Checking that you were really there. That you were alright.
You could feel the leftover adrenaline vibrating through him. The anger. The fear.
Because that was the part Rhys would never admit. He hadn't been angry first. He'd been scared. For half a second he'd seen another male put his hands on you and his mind had immediately jumped to every possible outcome.
You reached up and touched his cheek.
"I'm okay."
His eyes closed briefly. Just for a second in relief at your calming touch.
Then they opened again. He pulled you even closer, as if the previous distance of six inches had been completely unacceptable.
"Rhys," you laughed.
"What?"
"You look like you're about to wrap me in blankets and lock me in a tower."
Cassian barked a laugh. "That's exactly what he wants to do."
"It is not."
"It absolutely is."
Rhys ignored him once again.
One hand moved to the small of your back. The other found your face. Thumb brushing your cheek. Checking. Always checking.
Azriel watched the entire thing with the expression of someone witnessing a very predictable disaster.
"You realise she's fine."
"I know she's fine."
"Then why are you looking at her like that?"
Rhys frowned. "Like what?"
Cassian groaned. "Oh, Cauldron save us."
You smiled despite yourself.
Rhys immediately looked down at you. The tension finally easing from his shoulders.
"There you are."
"There I am?"
"You're smiling." As though that explained everything in his reasoning as the last of his anger disappeared.
Maybe it did.
His forehead rested briefly against yours. A small gesture, private despite the crowd and for a moment the future High Lord disappeared. Leaving only your ridiculously overprotective mate who had nearly started a war because someone put a hand on you.
Behind him, Cassian looked at Azriel.
"We should leave."
"Agreed."
"They're going to be insufferable."
"Already are."
Rhys didn't even acknowledge them.
He was too busy making sure you were still tucked safely against his side as the four of you headed back towards the training rings.
And every few steps, his hand would tighten slightly on your waist.
Just enough to reassure himself that you were still there.
hiii so first if all happy birthday! can I have a request? I’m in need of some reader x Rhysand smut where maybe reader is a sister of Cassian/Azriel or to make it juicier Eris?
This one was tough for me to write for some reason, but I'm happy to finally have it done for you! I hope you like it ☺️
Violet Silk
ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | Bday Masterlist
Rhys x Cassian's Sister!Reader
Warnings: smut, fighting
Words: 1.1k
18+ only pls
💜🤍💜🤍💜
“I think I’m going to pass for tonight. I’m not feeling well,” you said, feeling bad about the almost-lie as you saw your brother’s face fall.
“Do you need to me to stay here and take care of you?” Cassian asked, worry spilling into his eyes.
“No, it’s just a headache, Cassie. I think I just need to lay down for a bit.”
He gave you a once-over, looking carefully to make sure you weren’t hurt in some other way that you weren’t saying. “Alright… If you need anything, just let me know. Okay?”
“I will.”
“I’ll see you later, munchkin,” Cassian said, giving you a brief squeeze before finally leaving your bedroom doorway. You shut the door, letting out a sigh of relief. You began stripping out of your clothes, then walked to your wardrobe. You flicked through your nightgowns, trying to pick out the one that would appeal to him the most.
You landed on one made of violet silk that just barely covered the swell of your ass, a number that had driven your secret lover wild in the past. While you did have a slight headache, you really wanted to stay home in the hopes that Rhys would seek you out before your brother returned home.
An hour passed after the house had quieted before a knock sounded on your door, sending a flutter of excitement through you. You could scent Rhys through the door already, feel his magic playing on the edge of your mind. “Come in.”
Rhys’s eyes went wide for a second at the sight of you sprawled on your bed with most of your skin exposed, then narrowed as he stalked towards your bed. “I heard you had a headache, darling. I thought I might be able to lend a hand,” he purred, already kneeling on the bed and prying your legs apart.
“That’s just what I was hoping for,” you giggled. You let out a soft gasp when Rhys lowered himself between your thighs, his tongue licking a broad stripe over your sex before his tongue dove between your folds, lapping at your arousal. He wasted no time in pressing a finger into you, quickly followed by another as his tongue moved upwards, licking at the sensitive bud there.
His violet eyes watched your face, drinking in the sight of your pleasure. He worked you perfectly, already knowing the spots that drove you insane and had you begging for him. Your hand worked its way into his hair, keeping him close. The stars in Rhys’s eyes shown brighter when you tipped over the edge, male satisfaction dancing in them.
Rhys pulled his fingers from you and you whined at the sudden emptiness, only to sigh happily when he moved up your body and dragged the tip of his cock through your folds. He was smirking when he pressed into you, the stretch of him taking your breath away and had your hands grasping against his pack. “My perfect girl,” Rhys sighed, peppering your face with kisses when he was fully seated inside of you. You smiled up at him, your cheeks flushing at his words. He let you adjust before he started a slow, steady pace. It wasn’t long before you were angling your hips, asking for more. Rhys’s pace picked up, each thrust drawing a moan from one of you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. His lips met yours, so tender and sweet. You shattered beneath him again, pulling him with you, the two of you panting and shaking with pleasure.
“I love you,” you whispered into his neck, savoring the weight of him over you.
“I love you too.” Rhys’s voice was soft, the voice that he reserved for only you. He finally pulled out of you and rolled to the side, facing you. “I’ll stay the night, make sure you don’t have anymore headaches,” Rhys teased, one of his arms wrapping over you. “If it’s alright with you, of course.”
“You know I’d like nothing more than that,” you said quietly, a yawn escaping you.
“I’m glad to hear it, darling.”
It only took you a few minutes to fall asleep, feeling safer than ever wrapped in your High Lord’s arms.
You awoke to the sounds of fighting.
The calm of sleep was sucked from you immediately as you sat up in bed, your sheets clutched to your bare chest. You looked to the source of the noise, shocked to see that Cassian had Rhys pinned to the floor, his fists making contact with the face beneath him. Rhys was already bloodied, and you knew that it would take only a thought for him to force Cassian off of him, yet he still took the beating.
“My sister?!” Cassian roared, landing another hit on Rhys’s cheek. “Of all the females in the world, you choose my sister?!”
“Cass, stop!” you yelled, wrapping the sheets around yourself as best you could and shimmying to the side of the bed they were by. Cassian paused, the hazel eyes you shared turning to look at you. “Let him go. He didn’t do anything wrong,” you begged.
“I disagree with that,” he growled. “Sleeping with my sister when he promised not to is wrong in my eyes.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “I am my own person, Cassian,” you started in an annoyed tone. “And as such I decide who gets to sleep with me, not you. Now let Rhys go!”
Cassian’s gaze darted between you and the male beneath him before he finally stood, then walked out of the room without another word.
“Are you okay?” You were at Rhys’s side in an instant, looking over the already fading bruising on his face and wiping away the blood that had trickled from his nose.
“Just fine, darling. A thousand more beatings like that, and I would still come back to you,” Rhys said with a grin, then claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “Cassian will calm down eventually, though I will miss the thrill of sneaking around with you.”
Your smiled wide at him. “I think I’ll be happier getting to kiss you whenever I want, regardless of the company we’re in.”
“Good. Now, we still have a bit of time before breakfast, and you’re already naked…” Rhys said with a predatory glint in his eyes.
You didn’t fight one bit as he pushed you back onto the bed, ready for the pleasure that he could give you.
A/N: As always this was gonna be a smutty one-shot and it spiraled into a full fic. Here's part 1 of Cauldron-Knows-How-Many. Enjoy!
Summary: After a failed rebellion, Rhysand ends up enslaved to the Asteri as their Umbra Mortis; working off his debt to Amarantha he finds himself as the bodyguard to Senator Beron Vanserra's daughter after she's attacked by a mysterious shadow demon.
Content Warnings: Drinking, Language, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Blood and Gore, Canon Typical Violence
Steam clogs the room in suffocating puffs, the vapor from the scalding shower head hot enough to burn. He reaches out a bloodied hand and cranks it even higher, watching as the cascade of water flows red off his blistering skin. It’s still not hot enough to cleanse him of his sins.
Rhysand grabs the bar of soap--something cheap, citrus scented, regulation--and scrubs furiously at the gore caked under his finger nails, then at the blood stains in the grooves of his palms and over the bruises on his knuckles. He doesn’t stop until the suds are white again. Then he moves up his aching wrists, over forearms with fingerprint shaped bruises in them, over the twirling patterns of tattoos from a home long gone, up biceps spotted with scars and cuts, till he reaches his shoulders, where the dried blood is the thickest. He hisses as he scrubs at it, not because it hurts, but because the blood that isn’t his won’t come off, even under the near boiling water.
He tries turning up the heat again, no matter that every inch of his bare skin is red and raw. He’s still not clean. Even as the water starts to run clear again. Even as he scrubs and scrubs every curve and muscle, every inch of him is still not cleansed.
He’s still scrubbing as the heat runs out and the water turns icy. Still scrubbing when the bar of soap is gone, using his hands and his nails to claw at the mess he still feels wrapped around his body. It just won’t come off!
Eventually his hands become too shaky to continue his thorough cleaning. His teeth are chattering as he lowers himself onto the tiled floor, the cold porcelain biting into the back of his thighs. The water batters against him like a thousand ice picks now. He doesn’t care. He can only sit there, staring at the gray shower tiles. The last little rational part of him that’s still conscious knows that he should move to the bedroom and sleep--he’s so damn tired--but he can’t find the energy to do it.
Besides, he knows what he’ll see when he closes his eyes.
A knock on the bathroom door makes him flinch, breaking the staring contest with the wall.
“You dead in there, man?”
Jurian.
He’s too tired to answer. Too tired to move. Hell, even breathing feels exhausting.
Rhys runs a hand over his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
When it takes too long, Jurian pounds his fist against the door again. “Helion wants you in his office.”
He doesn’t groan. Doesn’t curse Helion or the Triarii or the gods that abandoned him. He doesn’t slander the Asteri or the brand they stamped onto his wrist. He doesn’t have the energy to complain about his miserable existence. He just puts his callused hands on the cold tile floor and forces himself to his feet. His body screams in protest, skin scraped raw, muscles battered and bruised. Slowly, hands still shaking, he turns off the water. There’s no more steam to cloud the bathroom mirror, so he looks away before he can see his reflection. He knows what he’ll see.
The towel on the hook by the door is rough against his still red skin as he ties it around his waste and opens up the door.
Jurian still stands there, looking like he was contemplating breaking down the door.
“Rough day, huh?”
Rhys pushes his way past him without a word.
They’re both here because of their decisions; both dogs at their master’s feet. That doesn’t make them friends. The barracks keep them within reach of each other, but that doesn’t mean they have to speak to each other either. He goes to his closet sized room and shuts the door behind him, just to ensure Jurian doesn’t follow. The other male is too chatty for his own good.
He dresses quickly, unthinkingly. It’s not as if he has a lot of options, everything in the closet is regulation: Stiff cargo pants, form fitting t-shirts, combat boots. They slide on like a thin set of armor.
His guns lay in the top drawer, disassembled and cleaned to a shine. He tightens the holsters around his thighs and puts one on each leg, then tucks a blade into the back of his belt, just hidden behind the shadow of his wings.
It’s cold in Lunathion this time of year, he grabs a leather jacket as an afterthought, sliding into it as he walks out the door.
“Good luck!” Vassa, another one of the Fallen, calls from the shared couch in the living room.
Jurian sits tucked on the opposite side of the couch, flipping through stations on the tv to find the sunball game. “Better you than me!” He says jokingly.
Rhys still says nothing as he steps into the elevator that makes up the front door and hits the button for the top floor of the building. He’d already given his report about his last mission, the fact that there’s another this soon makes unease sink like a rock in his stomach. Hadn’t he spilled enough blood today?
The elevator opens to an office framed by glass windows, bathing the usually starch space glow in golden light. Helion stands facing the windows, hands tucked behind his back, watching the sun slowly set.
“Lunathion isn’t as pretty as Prythian,” Helion says forlornly.
Rhys positions himself in front of the desk, hands behind his own back at attention. He knows how much Helion lost in the rebellion against Hybern, it is nearly as much as his own loss, but he can’t tell him that, not here. Not within the walls of the Commitium with the Asteri and Amarantha listening to their every word. So he says nothing. He’s gotten good at saying nothing; at shoving every want and desire down into the deepest, darkest parts of him until he can no longer reach them. He is not a male awarded the luxury of wanting; he is a tool, a well oiled weapon in the hands of his masters.
It’s only when the sun finally dips behind the sprawling city line that Helion finally turns to face him, his golden eyes damp with unshed tears. “You miss it too, don’t you?”
Helion had not led his people to their deaths on Mount Hermon. Helion hadn’t disrespected the Asteri and gone for their mouthpiece’s head. Helion hadn’t damned Prythian to destruction. Rhys had.
And he’d spent every damn day thinking about it.
When he doesn’t say anything, Helion snags a tissue off the desk and dries his eyes. Then he motions for Rhys to take a seat.
Rhys does obediently.
“You know I hate giving you missions back to back, especially after this last one.”
He tries not to think about the woman who had gripped onto his arm, nails digging through his shirt, begging and screaming for her husband’s life. She’d had no thought for her own self-preservation, nor had she tried to fight him. She had only held on and begged for him to be merciful, to spare them, and their unborn child.
“But this one came from her, so…”
Amarantha. The master that had bought him for more gold marks than he was worth, just to tout him around like a dog on a leash. The Umbra Mortis at her beck-and-call. She promised that if he killed 2,227 people to make up for the lives he’d taken from her people, then she would free him. She had never said she wouldn’t get creative with how he was presented with those challenges.
“It’s fine,” he lies. It’s not like he has a choice.
Helion pushes a manilla folder across the desk. “This one is different.”
Helion continues as he pulls out the file instead. The picture of a female fae is paper clipped to the front. She’s pretty; about his age; eyes a startling shade of amber that reminds him of embers in a fireplace. “Senator Vanserra is up for reelection next month. To keep the support of the Valbaraan fae, he’s arranged a marriage between his only daughter and one of their sons. Problem is, she was attacked last night, by some… thing.”
“Demon?” Rhys asks as he flips through the file. It’s mostly empty. The girl hasn’t done much after graduating college, just a few internships that had landed her a gig at the Archives. Only a few friends. No socials; that nearly makes a recluse in this town. No past relationships, just this arrangement with a male she’d probably met once. Yet, the back page of the file includes the police report, some crime scene photos of a trashed apartment, and another picture of the girl, this time with half her face slashed open. The report lists more stitches than he can count on not just her face, but her chest and left side as well.
“That’s what Vanserra would like to know.” Helion says as he rubs at his temples, clearly frustrated.
Rhys looks up briefly from the photos. “He doesn’t know?”
“See, here’s where things get weird.”
Rhys’s wings twitch behind him, the only sign of curiosity he’ll let slip.
“Her place? Surrounded by cameras and a private security detail. The girl is never, and I seriously mean never, not being monitored. Security guys log her meals, her movements, hell probably even how many times a minute she blinks. Beron knows everything she does as she does it. With the exception of last night.”
Rhys closes the file and sits up straighter.
“All the cameras went dark. Security is either dead or missing. The girl swears up and down that nothing unusual happened. She had dinner, went to bed, and woke up to something shadowy clawing at her face. She couldn’t see anything, blindly threw a couple fireballs at it, and that was it.”
“That’s…” a lie? Some kind of prank? He really doesn’t know what he wants to say about it.
“I know.” Helion says. “We’re missing something clearly. But Vanserra doesn’t want this to have any more media attention than it already has. He wants a quiet protection detail, who can keep tabs on his daughter and find out what the hell this all is. So naturally, Amarantha pulled your name.”
“What does he think happened?”
Helion pinches the bridge of his nose. “He said on the phone that he suspects his daughter is trying to find a way out of her coming marriage.”
Rhys looks back at the grizzly stitches in the photos. “He thinks she did this to herself?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?” Rhys asks with a frown. It would be pretty hard to make those slashes from those angles on their own, but he can’t totally discount it. He hasn’t encountered many demons with those kind of claws.
“I think there have been a lot of cases of women throwing themselves off cliffs to avoid marriages and with good reason, but still… there’s something about this one… feels like I’m looking at a puzzle with missing pieces.”
Rhys slides the file back into the envelope and sets it back on the desk. “It’ll be taken care of.”
Helion stands and glances back out the window. “Vanserra will meet you at her new apartment. Jurian and Vassa will provide assistance if needed and you’ll be required to check in with Beron and myself once a night.”
“Understood.” He turns to go.
“Rhys,” Helion says quietly. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, just be careful, all right?”
Rhys doesn’t tell him he feels the same as he steps into the elevator and lets the door close behind him. It doesn’t matter what he feels about it anyway.
------------------
The apartment is in an upscale neighborhood, just on the outskirts of town. Close enough to fae territory that Berron can get there quickly, but far enough away from the sprawling grounds of the Autumn estate to let his daughter maintain an air of independence.
The Senator is waiting in the apartment lobby when Rhys arrives.
While half of Prythian had immediately bowed to the Asteri’s arrival, the other half had followed Rhys on his path to rebellion. The 2,227 lives he owed weren’t enough to cover the number of lives he’d lost to Lunathion’s armies. Beron had never been on the battlefields, had so easily bent the knee and reaped the rewards of their new overlords from the beginning. Destruction had not touched him until now. It’s clear that Beron is not a male used to being on the receiving end of misfortune.
Beron won’t stand still in the lobby, pacing back and forth, hands wringing in front of him as he rattles off orders to the Aux members lent out as personal guards. Upon Rhys’s approach, he finally collects himself enough to stand still. “It’s about time!”
Rhys remains hidden under the hood of his helmet, shielded by the dark visor over his eyes, yet his reputation alone earns him a sneer of contempt as Beron takes him in.
“Amarantha promised me aid hours ago.”
“Apologies,” he lies. “There are sometimes delays in our communications from the capitol.”
Beron huffs in annoyance. “You were, at least, briefed on your responsibilities?”
“Yes, Senator.”
Beron fiddles with his shirt collar. “This is already becoming a media circus, I have all those damned reporters calling my office all hours of the day! It’s a miracle they’re not congregating outside like vultures.”
The flight over here had been uneventful, just the usual Lunathion traffic. Rhys had already done a quick sweep of the street and rooftop. Nothing and no one had been loitering.
“I’ll keep things quiet.” He promises.
“The crime scene will be opened to you later this evening, for now, introduce yourself to my daughter as her new protection detail. The Auxiliary can show you around their surveillance set up. Everything gets reported to me, understand?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
Beron points him in the direction of a staircase, tucked behind the mailroom. It used to bother Rhys that he had to take back entrances and hidden stairs instead of following the main flow of traffic; he doesn’t have that in him anymore. It’s routine now.
His mission’s apartment is on the sixteenth floor. A penthouse view that encompasses the whole top floor of the complex. Not exactly subtle; Beron clearly isn’t trying that hard to hide her.
There’s an elevator door on one end of the hallway, the door to the stairwell on the other. For roof access, she’d need a key to get through a bolted door inside the stairwell.
Two Aux members stand guard outside the only way in or out of the apartment. Both wolves by the smell of them. They say nothing as they let him inside.
For a brand new apartment, it’s well decorated. Probably one of those fancy elite interior design places that can renovate and furnish a place in a couple of hours doing. It’s all high end furniture, white and shiny and unused. The living room and kitchen have no dividing wall, just a long mahogany table that could serve twelve if necessary. The whole place smells like caramel apple candles and there’s half a dozen of them scattered around the sprawling space. A pot of coffee brews from an expensive looking machine on the counter, but it’s the only sign of movement as the door closes behind him.
He makes a quick assessment of the floor to ceiling windows that make up the far wall. None of them open. One way in, one way out. There’s a hall to the left, presumably leading to the bedroom.
He steps towards that direction as a door at the end of the dim hall opens.
“Oh. You must be my new babysitter.”
He’s spent the last 50 years cold; the rebellion had hollowed him out and left him a shell of his former self. There has only been blood and darkness, as if someone had locked him deep beneath a mountain, caged within stone, no light to be found. He had accepted it as he had the tattoo across his brow; had surrendered to the dark and let it chain him to his masters. Nothing in 50 years had made him wish for sunlight. He deserved this cold, dark cage. Yet, as his new mission stalks down the hall to face him, something aching and hungry claws its way out his rib cage. The cinnamon and burning cedar scent of her pushes its way through his mouthpiece—the breathing apparatuses situated in the helmet are supposed to filter out all scents, in case a room is filled with toxins, yet hers breaks its way through like it’s trying to personally introduce itself to him. He can’t help but breathe in deeper, letting the honeyed scent warm that thing inside him that’s cold and empty. For a flicker of a moment, he feels real; like he’s a person again and not just a weapon.
For a moment he forgets his place in the world and lets this fire-eyed creature approach him. Everything about her screams of restrained power—a wild fire caged within flesh and bones. It’s so strong her amber eyes glow with the flicker of flames.
Words escape him as she stops a hair width away, so close her forehead nearly touches the chin strap of his helmet. He can feel every second of her assessment like a brand. She doesn’t touch but she might as well have run her hands up his body with the heat that consumes his very being.
He can’t move. Can’t think. There’s just her. In his space. In his lungs.
“That’s a lot of leather for a babysitter,” she purrs, moving now to circle him like an animal inspecting its enclosure.
She’s looking for chinks in his armor, poking at the iron bars of her cage. His wings flatten tighter against his body as she loops around his back, and he forces himself not to turn and follow her. She’s not armed—there’s nowhere to hide a weapon, her legs are bare all the way up to the hem of her oversized band tshirt; she’s not going to fight. Not yet anyway.
Her breath on his wings makes his whole body tremble and he has to lock his knees to keep himself upright. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. The last time he felt anything at all.
“The Umbra Mortis,” she muses, the words a caress down his spine instead of an insult. “But you’re not an angel?”
“No,” the voice modulator in the helmet still picks up the hitch in his voice as he scrambles to find the ability to speak. By the goddess, you’d think he’d never spoken to a female in his entire fucking life!
“Interesting,” she purrs as she comes back around to face him again. “Do you have to wear that ugly helmet the whole time?”
“Only when I’m hunting.”
She grins, or at least, she tries to, the movement pulls on her stitches and her whole body shrinks in on itself as she hisses through her teeth. A trickle of blood rolls down her lips and she finally steps out of his space, a hand pressed over her mouth.
He’s not sure what he thought she was going to do, but walking right to the massive fridge, pulling a bottle of vodka out of the lower freezer door and knocking back half the bottle in one gulp wasn’t it.
He’s still standing there, still staring dumbly at her as she drinks half the bottle in the next gulp. The words that come out of his mouth next make him feel like his brain and tongue have disconnected, “Should you be drinking that on painkillers?”
He’s still kicking himself when she sets the bottle down on the counter with a mirthless laugh. The fire in her eyes burns brighter as she sneers, “You think Beron would let me near painkillers?”
Something hot and heavy flairs in his gut, the feeling unfamiliar after all these years in the dark. Beron Vanserra always had an air about him that made Rhys suspect he was just like every other politician in Lunathion, but the admission still jars him. What kind of father would let his daughter suffer like that?
“You must not keep up with the tabloids,” she continues, pausing only to knock back another drink. “I tried to fucking kill myself by summoning a demon.”
He studies the curvature of the marks over her face, following the path down over her chin and throat before it disappears beneath her shirt collar.
“I’m clearly a danger to myself so the place has been cleared of all pills and sharp objects.” She holds the bottle up in salute. “Had to fork over a pretty hefty bribe to convince one of those wolves outside to sneak down to the liquor store on the corner.”
His mind works to process all the information she’s so willingly offering, but he can’t manage to make sense of it. Why would she tell him all this if it wasn’t true? What could she gain by slandering Beron knowing that he’d take that information back to him in the morning?
She takes the bottle with her as she plops herself down on the couch with a hiss, hand pressed over her damaged side. “You’re welcome to tell him I can think of a few more creative ways to get back at him for shackling me to that dickhead from Valbara. None of which involve me looking like this for the rest of my miserable existence.”
She looks small on the couch. The deeper into the bottle she gets, the more she seems to curl in on herself. It’s like watching a campfire burn out.
He steps closer, fascinated with her every move. She wants to toy with him, or maybe she had started out that way, but the pain of those injuries is clearly more intense than he’d anticipated they would be. None of this information tells him anything useful about that night, yet, he finds himself unconcerned about the details. Not if it means he gets to be near her a little while longer.
Rhys dares a step closer, then another, until he’s standing behind her with just the back of the couch between them. She doesn’t shy away from him like most people do; just snags the remote and flips on the tv to some reality show.
“Are you going to torture me?” She asks as she flips to a different channel.
All thought eddies out of his mind like someone had turned on a fan and thrown open a window. There’s only the pounding of his heart in his ears. He wants to tell her he doesn’t do that kind of thing, but it would be a lie.
For the first time in 50 years he wants to lie. He wants to be anything other than what he is right now in this moment.
“I think you’ve been hurt enough,” he says quietly.
She snorts and takes another drink from the bottle. “Tell that to my Father.”
The tv settles on some crappy romance about vampires. Fake blood splatters across the screen as she takes another sip from the bottle, slower this time. “You know you can sit, right?” She says after a while of him standing stock still behind her.
This is a mission. He needs to focus. Rhys gives himself a mental shake. “I need to check your room, if that’s all right?”
She raises the bottle in mock salute. “If I find I’m missing any of my lacey underthings, I’ll roast you alive.”
Despite himself, a laugh slips out of him. His voice modulator crackles from the unfamiliar noise. When was the last time he had laughed at anything?
“Trust me, Princess,” the words come from somewhere inside him he forgot existed, “if I wanted to take anything, it wouldn’t be from the drawer.”
Does he have a death wish?! He can’t talk to his superiors like that! He should know better.
But she only grins, the reflection caught in the tv screen as a spicy scene fades to black. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s there, a challenge glinting in those fiery eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, Umbra Mortis.”
I just love the idea of reader being someone’s sister! Have you thought about writing Rhysand x sister of Eris/Tamlin? Someone he hates I mean, and someone who was raised to hate him
so like…..i really went way overboard with this. perhaps the longest piece i’ve ever written. idk if this is even what you were hoping for but….here it is 😅
The Enemy of My Enemy: Rhysand x Reader
Warnings: Violence, Light Smut, 18+, Non-gory depictions of battle, longggggg
***
“No,” you said, carefully brushing out your hair as you looked in your mirror.
“Not even for the good of the Court?” Your brother pushed back, crossing his arms in frustration.
You glared at his reflection behind you. “You cannot ask such a thing of me. Regardless, he will not go for it.” You set your brush down, reaching for a subtle gloss for your lips.
“You do not know that,” Eris said, suddenly becoming rather interested in his cufflinks. “Besides, he’s already been invited.”
Your movements stilled. “Tell me you’re playing a cruel joke.” You turned in your chair to face him head on, eyes narrowing. “Surely you aren’t this dumb?”
His eyes shot up to yours, the classic fire back in them. “I’m doing what is best for this Court, for you.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You know Father is getting more and more drastic in his actions. We cannot let this go on. We need the Night Court.”
You rolled your eyes. “And this requires me to throw myself at none other than Rhysand? You know we do not get along.” That was an oversimplification, really. Your encounters with the High Lord of the Night Court weren’t plentiful, but they were all memorable. It was no secret that he did not agree with the way the Autumn Court ran, and he certainly didn’t hide his disdain for your father or brothers. On the few occasions he had visited you were banned from the meetings, always seen as the delicate little princess. It irked you to no end.
Eris was the only one who truly saw you. He helped you learn to fight in private, keeping you strong and protected. He made sure you were up to date on all Court doings, never really left out of anything. You’d grown calloused in recent years, sick of the constant belittling from your father and other brothers. After Lucien left, you really stopped caring. Eris had to keep you from running after him, holding you in your room as you cried. You hated that Lucien had left believing you were all just as bad as your father. You hated being seen as another one of his precious children.
“You do not need to ‘throw yourself’ at him, sister. Simply talk to him,” he states, as if it’s the easiest task in the world. “I’m having several custom gowns made for you.” He delivers the sentence like it’s the greatest gift, and you have to use all your self control to not throw something at him.
“Can’t wait,” you respond flatly, “always to happy to be the Autumn Court whore.”
Eris groans, running a hand over his face. “Please. That is not what I am asking of you! All i’m suggesting is to try to get on his good side, whatever it may take.”
You shot to your feet, anger taking over. “What you are suggesting, Eris, is for me to mislead him. I do not wish to do this. What good is in it for me? I’m tired of the constant lies and games.” You knew you were acting rather juvenile, throwing a fit over a relatively simple plan.
Your brother sighed, reaching out to take your hands in his. “We need him. Perhaps once you get through his walls, get to truly know him, you will rather like him. He will know the truth eventually. If we have any hope of taking down Father, we need allies. And Rhysand is the best chance we’ve got.” You chewed your lip thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to argue.
“Why not Tamlin? Lucien is already there, surely he will be easier to go after.”
Eris shook his head. “Perhaps, but we run the risk of Lucien sounding an alarm before we get close. Besides, Rhysand is willing to come to us. And he’s leagues more powerful than Tamlin ever will be. We have to move carefully, and choose who can help us the most. Convincing one High Lord is the best chance we’ve got.”
You squeezed Eris’s hands before letting go, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I suppose you are correct. That doesn’t mean i’m happy about it, though.”
***
The night of the Autumn Solstice came far too fast for your liking. No one wanted to see your father fall more than yourself, but you hated the sacrifices you had to make. You were dreading spending the entire evening around Rhysand, your patience already thin from your brother’s incessant reminders of the plan. You stared at yourself in the closet mirror, palms running over one of the gowns Eris had chosen. You hated to give him credit, but Mother knows that male could make dirt on the ground look good.
The deep brown velvet held snug to your body, with long sleeves that reached down to your fingers. The neckline was off the shoulder, allowing the gold and ruby jewelry you had chosen to shine. The skirts flowed out slightly, offering room to dance and move comfortably. You loved it.
You raised your hands to straighten the tiara on your head, admiring the way the gold looked against your hair. You were every ounce the perfect Autumn Court princess. A knock at your door interrupted your thoughts, all joy at the way you looked dissipating as you remembered the reason you were dressed like this.
Rhysand.
You sighed, walking over to the door and opening it to find Eris. He smiled as he looked you over, nodding once he had decided everything looked correct. “You okay?” He asked, noticing the downturn of your lips.
“I’m dreading this, I won’t lie. The weight of everything feels crushing most days. Now I am to go down to Court, play with that male, and pretend to love it here?” You shook your head, the waves of your hair cascading over your shoulders as you did. “I wish we were not cursed with such a life.”
Eris wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. “I’m sorry, dear sister. You know I feel it too,” he whispered into your hair, “but if we have any hope of this ending, we have to get through tonight.” He pulled back from you with a fake smile on his face, extending his arm for you to hold on to.
You took it, forcing yourself to smile back. “Together?”
“Together.”
***
Rhysand wasn’t here.
Eris was getting more anxious by the second, every moment he had to stand by your father wearing him down. You had already been made to dance with several unfortunate males, all who seemed to think you were their way to become favored in the Court. You had finally managed to sneak away from the crowd, hiding behind a grand pillar on the edge of the room. You were angry at the whole situation. All of your planning, just for the male of the hour to not show?
If you didn’t already hate him, you certainly did now.
You peeked out from your hiding spot, checking to make sure no one was looking for you. Not that anyone typically cared where you were. Your father pulled you forward at the beginning of the night, to show off his perfect little daughter. He only ever spoke highly of you in front of a room of eligible bachelors, immediately passing you off to the first male who approached. Your nose crinkled as you recalled the way he smelled like wet dog, and stomped on your toes more than once.
“Looking for someone?” A smooth voice asked, causing you to whip around in fear.
“And why should you care?” You leaned back against the pillar, once again shielding yourself from prying eyes. You took in the male in front of you, hating the small part of your brain that rather liked the way he looked.
“Who said I did? I am curious, though, why the only daughter of Beron is hiding on the edge of the room instead of enjoying the devotion of her guests.” You didn’t miss the sarcasm lacing his words.
“Shove off, Rhysand. I do not need to explain myself to you.”
A smirk played on his lips, the violet in his eyes seeming to glow as he took a step closer to you, caging you against the stone. “Indeed you do not.”
You glared up at him, refusing to break eye contact or be intimidated.
“Is there something you need? Or do you have nothing better to do than bother me in my own home?”
He cocked his head as he looked at you, as if you were nothing more than a plaything. “Can’t think of anything i’d rather be doing.”
You scoffed, pressing your hands against his chest and pushing him away from you. You ignored how solid he felt beneath your touch, the way your palms tingled at the barest contact with him. If you hadn’t been looking down at them, you would’ve noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes widened, his hand coming to rest against where you pushed him. “It’s improper to corner an unwed Lady,” you chided, acting as if nothing had happened. “Or do you need a refresher on Court practice?”
He had reclaimed his cool facade by the time you met his eyes again. “Is it not improper to be hiding away from Court duties?”
You rolled your eyes. “As if you’ve always been the perfect High Lord. I recall those days in which you were just the Prince, sneaking around hallways you weren’t given access to.”
“How long have you been spying on me, then? At what point do we call it,” he paused, reaching a hand out to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, “obsession.”
You recoiled from his touch, fighting to hide the way your skin burned where his fingers touched. “Get your head out of your ass, Rhysand. It is my job to know the comings and goings of my Court.”
“Is it? Last I checked, it was your father who was the High Lord. Do you not agree?” Your blood ran cold at the accusation, the hidden meaning behind his words. There was no way he knew about the plot you and Eris had to overthrow your father.
You stood up straight, pretending to adjust the band of your sleeve around your middle finger. “Can a girl not be simply curious? You never snuck around your home as a child?” You looked back up at him, hoping you were coming off as calm. “Now, if you excuse me, I believe i’m being called to dance.” You moved to go back to the crowd, intending to find Eris. You were stopped by Rhysands hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back to him. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath running down the side of your neck. You fought back the shiver that tried to escape at the feeling.
“No one has called for you. Do not lie to me, Princess.” He straightened up, releasing your arm before extending his own. “If it is a dance you wish, then it is a dance we shall have.”
You wanted to kick him in the shin and tell him to screw off, but that wouldn’t do for your plan. You forced yourself to smile politely at him, taking his arm. “It would be an honor to dance with the High Lord of the Night Court,” you cooed, resuming the facade you were bred for.
A facade you were certain Rhysand saw right through.
He led you out to the floor, placing a hand delicately on your waist as you joined the dance. You spotted Eris over his shoulder, an expression of pure glee on his face. You really had to fight to not stick your tongue out at him.
“Now,” Rhysand said softly, drawing your attention back to him. “Care to tell me what scheme you are running?”
Your mouth went dry. “I am not sure what you mean, my lord. Is it a crime to wish for a few seconds to oneself during a night such as this?”
His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer. You were beginning to despise the way your body kept reacting to his touch, the slow need that was burning inside of you. “It will be in your best interest to not lie to me.” He spun you out wide once, twisting you back in until your chest rested against his back.
“There is no lie here,” you responded as he spun you out and back again, his hand resuming that cursed spot on your waist.
“We both know that is not true,” he leaned closer to you, lips brushing your hairline as he spoke. “What is Beron planning?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. Rhysand stuttered in his steps, pulling back to look down at you in confusion. “You think I am allowed in on his doings? You are sorely mistaken, I fear.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, letting the music fill the silence between the two of you as you danced around the grand ballroom. You were enjoying this, truthfully. It was more fun than you expected it to be, and as annoying as Rhysand was, he was a far better partner than any of the males your father chose.
The song ended and he let go of you, disappointment at the loss of his touch churning through you. “I do not believe you,” he said finally, leading you off the dance floor under the guise of getting drinks. “You know something.”
You accepted the glass of wine he offered, taking a thoughtful sip. “Do I?” You teased, smiling at him over your glass.
His eyes flared. “You should know better than to play games with me. Do you not understand the power I hold?”
Ah, there it is. That arrogance you know and hate. “Oh please, Rhysand. You will not come into my home and speak to me in thinly veiled threats.” You set your glass back down on the table, walking away from the male. You needed to find Eris, to tell him you couldn’t do this ridiculous task. Rhysand was impossible.
You felt his hand wrap around your wrist once again, annoyance rising in you. You barely had a moment to pull away from him before he was dragging you out of the ballroom, grip so tight you were sure it would bruise. “Excuse me? Where are you taking me?” You tried to dig your heels into the ground, but it didn’t even phase him. He stormed down the hall like he owned the place, you following like a helpless puppy.
“Where is a private room?” He demanded, still trudging forward.
“Why would I tell you? Let go of me!” You tried to break out of his grip, using your other hand to claw at his. He showed no signs of slowing down.
“Private room. Now,” he growled, and for the first time true fear slid down your spine. Rhysand had always been nothing more than an annoyance, a ridiculous High Lord who walked as though he was better than everyone else. You had heard tales of his power, of the destruction he can cause in the blink of an eye. This was your first time feeling it.
“U-up the stairs. To the left,” you stuttered out, ceasing all attempts to escape him. He said nothing as you directed him to your rooms, the only place you knew was absolutely secure. You chose not to think about how it would look to an outsider, seeing you dragged into your room by the High Lord. Alone.
When the door was shut and locked behind you, he finally released his grip. You cradled your sore arm against your chest, knowing the imprints of his fingers would be left there.
He faced away from you, looking slowly around your room. You felt a tinge of embarrassment as you followed his gaze, likely realizing how small and dull it was. You had a bed just big enough for yourself, a closet, a private washroom, and a vanity. Nicer than an average fae, for sure, but certainly not what would be expected of a princess. It was nothing compared to the rooms your father gifted your brothers. Just another reminder of how little you mattered to them.
“Will you tell me why you felt the need to drag me through the manor like a great big brute?” In hindsight, you should’ve known better than to speak to him like that. He turned on you before you could blink, caging you against the wall as his hands came to rest by your head.
“You know something. And you will tell me what it is. I am not here to play games with a snotty little female brat. You hold no power over me,” he said, looking to the side. “In fact, it appears that your family couldn’t care less about you.” He brought his gaze back to yours. “They hide you up in these rooms, only pulling you out when your father thinks there’s something in it for him. How long would it take them to realize you were missing?”
You felt tears spring up behind your eyes, the dirty truths falling from his lips hurtful. “You do not scare me,” you lied, raising your chin.
“No?” He leaned down, nose running against the length of your neck. You choked on your gasp, the sensation foreign to you. “Your scent says otherwise.”
Eris, please. Help me! You screamed in your mind, knowing he would never hear you. You were certain he would notice you were gone, but it would be much harder for him to sneak away to come find you.
“Your brother can’t help you now,” Rhysand said softly, lips next to your ear. “Last chance. Tell me what you know.”
You were shaking, tears beginning to stream down your face. None of this was supposed to happen. You should’ve known better than to go along with this, to try to pull one over the deadly Night Court ruler. He was as wicked as they say, as cruel. You were no match against him. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out what to say, whether you should be honest about your plan or lie.
“Tik tok, dearest. Do not try to lie to me, it will not go well for you.” You let out a sob as he pulled back slightly, wiping your tears away mockingly. You hated him more than ever in that moment, solidifying your decision. Your bloodshot eyes met his, anger sharpening them.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
And then you spit in his face.
He shouted as he shot back from you, hand wiping his face clean. You immediately ran for your door, hoping you could at least call for help before he recovered.
A fools chance.
His hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you tight against him as he cut off your oxygen, stopping you from making any noise. “Wrong choice, princess,” he murmured in your ear, before an endless blackness invaded all your senses. In your mind you screamed, utter terror taking away all rationality. You felt like you were yelling for Eris, but you couldn’t be certain.
That was the last thing you remembered.
***
You woke up in a dark room, completely disoriented. Your head swam as you tried to sit up, nausea forcing you to lay back down. You took a few deep breaths of air, trying to calm your mind enough to focus on your surroundings. From what you could feel you were on a soft bed, and you weren’t tied up in any way. The room started coming into focus as your eyes adjusted, and you realized you were in a rather opulent bedroom. Certainly not the place for a prisoner.
Is that what you were?
You played through the memories of your last moments with Rhysand, trying to make any sense of what had happened. You could easily figure he had taken you somewhere, as none of this was familiar to you. You carefully sat up again, feeling slightly better. You stood shakily, gripping on to the bedposts for dear life as you made your way towards the windows. You stumbled a little when you let go, body weak. You don’t know what Rhysand had done to you, but it wasn’t anything good.
You were relieved when your hands grasped on to the large velvet curtains, pulling them open quickly. Your eyes widened as you took in the view. Stars shimmered in the sky, bright in a way you’d never seen. You were high on a mountain, emptiness lingering far below. Your heart raced as you realized what this meant, where you were.
“Welcome to the Night Court, my dear Autumn Princess.” You turned toward his voice, fear twisting in your gut. “Now, may we talk?”
You stared at him. “I don’t know, are you going to try to kill me again?”
He sighed, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. “I did not try to kill you. I needed a cover.”
That caught your interest. “A cover?” You asked, moving slowly to sit beside him.
Rhysand nodded, looking down at his hands. “I had to get you out of there before anyone realized what I was doing.”
You blinked. “You had planned to take me the whole time?”
“Yes.”
You wondered if Eris had known, if he had yet realized you were missing. How long had you been missing? “Why? You should know I was not lying, before. I do not know the inner workings of the Court. What my father does is without my knowledge.”
He looked at you then, eyes piercing yours. “Perhaps he keeps it that way, yes. But Eris does not.”
Your heart stopped. “W-what?”
He sighed deeply, as if he were tired. “I know. I know that you and Eris are working together, that he makes sure you know what is going on. I know that for some reason this involves me, and I need to know what exactly it is that you are working on.”
Oh. “How do you know?” You asked quietly, understanding there was no use in denying it.
“I have my sources. What I also know is that you are not safe there. Whether Eris realized or not, I could see it the moment I walked into that room. You’re nothing but prey to those Autumn Court males. Do you not see it?”
You recoiled from him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That is my home, Rhysand. I have always felt safe there.”
He looked at you for a long moment, unblinking. “Have you?”
Oh, how you hated him. The way he seems to know everything. The hot and cold of his personality. The arrogance he carries himself with, as if he is not responsible for the deaths of thousands. He acts better than everyone, when he is just as dirty as a street rat.
And he was always correct.
“Maybe not,” you admitted, focusing your attention on your lap. “But Eris would never let anything happen to me. He isn’t like you would think. He isn’t like our father.” It felt like a betrayal to say it out loud, especially to Rhysand. This was bordering on treason against your Court.
“How do you mean?”
You picked at the skin around your nails, thinking carefully about how to answer. “My father is not a good male,” you said slowly. “I know that. Lucien knows it.” You raised your eyes to meet his. “Eris knows it.”
“Does he? Or is he using you too?”
You shot to your feet at the accusation, angry once again. “You know nothing, Rhysand of the Night Court. You do not know my brother, not really.” Your hands turned into fists, nails digging into your skin. “He is doing what he can to stop him! To take him down! What is happening in our Court is evil. Eris is working to dismantle it.”
“How can you be so sure? You are only fed the information he gives you. Who’s to say he isn’t lying to you?”
You heard the slap before you even realized you moved. Your hand stung from where it had connected with the side of his face. “You. Know. Nothing.” You seethed, “It was Eris who thought we should ask you for your help. It was Eris who invited you to come to the solstice. It has been Eris who has been working behind our father’s back, at great personal risk, to make sure his evil isn’t as widespread as he thinks. He has sacrificed more than you could ever imagine trying to help. You think he is bad because that is the point. Our father can never know what we are doing.”
The silence echoed with your words, the truth ringing in your ears.
“You hit me.”
You were going to scream. “That is all you have to say?”
“You believe him.”
“Of course I believe him. He is my brother.” The fight ran out of you as quickly as it came, your body still weakened from Rhysands power. You sunk back onto the bed, exhausted mentally and physically. “It’s always been Eris and I. And Lucien, for a time,” emotion clogged your throat, your words hard to speak. “We didn’t let him in on what we were doing, out of fear he was too young. We now know that was a mistake.”
Rhysand placed his hand soothingly on your arm, moving closer to console you. Thinking of your youngest brother was always hard, especially now. “I apologize, for my assumption,” he said slowly, “as you well know, the view we have of your brother is not, well, good. But-“ he held up a hand, halting you before you argued, “I understand the secrecy. Believe me, I know it better than anyone else.” He paused, as if to keep himself from saying too much. “You must understand, though, why I must take precautions with you.”
You pulled away from his touch, as much as your very soul seemed to disagree. “Why bring me here, Rhysand? Why tear me from my home?”
He stood, hands locked behind his back. “As I said, it is not safe for you there. I will send word to Eris that you are here with me, and he will come speak to me if I am to be in your plan.”
You were too tired to be angry any longer. “So i’m a bargaining tool?” You asked, dejected. Of course, it was all a trick to lure Eris here, so the High Lord can make his demands on his home front.
“I would not say so. Rest, now. There is much to be done.”
He was gone before you could ask anything else, leaving you to sink into the bedcovers once again.
***
The next few days passed with little to report. Food was delivered to your room around mealtimes, along with clothes and shampoos. You took a long bath the first day, enjoying the different scents of the Night Court. You were quite taken aback by the clothing options that had been selected for you, certainly nothing like the ones you were used to back home. Here, less was more. You adorned a cropped blouse with long sleeves, and a pair of flowing pants. The exposure of your midriff was new, but you weren’t entirely objecting to the way the midnight blue fabric looked on you.
You hadn’t seen Rhysand since the first day. In fact, you hadn’t seen anyone. You had tried the door the second day, finding it (unsurprisingly) locked. You’d taken to investigating every inch of the rooms you were in, trying to find something to do. When you grew tired of that, you moved out to the balcony. This is where you spent most of your time, watching the stars at night and the clouds by day. Thinking.
Eris had not yet come. You didn’t know if he had missed Rhysands message, if he was lost, or worse-if Father had figured out what was going on. You were back to angry today, thinking of how Rhysands intervention could have ruined everything.
That’s when you started screaming. You yelled his name as loud as you could, trying to force him to come to you. You needed an explanation. You screamed until your voice went hoarse, and then you screamed some more. You started punching the marble railing on the balcony, wanting to just feel something.
He never came.
You laid curled in bed that night, tears falling steadily from your eyes as you cradled your bruised and bloody hands. Your throat was on fire, every swallow feeling like it was full of razor blades. You felt betrayed, belittled. Used as yet another pawn in someone else’s game. You were almost thinking that Rhysand was not as bad as the stories say, that maybe he was secretly good like Eris.
Now you were certain he was the monster they all said he was.
***
“What happened to you? What have you done?”
You struggled to open your eyes, body sore from the freak out you had the day before. You gasped in pain as your hands flexed automatically, the intake of air only reminding you of the pain also in your throat.
“Look at me!” Came that panicked voice again, arms wrapping around you and forcing you to sit. You winced at the movement, finally pulling your eyes open. You blinked a few times at the brightness in your room, trying to figure out who was speaking to you.
“Here, drink. Now”, it commanded, forcing a liquid into your mouth. You gulped it greedily, sighing as it immediately dulled some of the pain. It was then you realized it was Rhysand who was fussing over you. “Good. Care to tell me what happened to you?” He seemed furious, a fact that made you a little bit happy.
You shrugged, as if it was totally normal to wake up with a mouth full of blood and hands that were black and blue. “I got angry.”
“You got angry.”
“Yep.”
“At yourself?”
“No.”
“At what, then? Dinner not to your taste?”
You glared at him. “If this is how you will be, feel free to leave. Lock me away in your precious little tower and pretend I do not exist.”
He looked shocked by your words, eyebrows furrowed. “I did not lock you away.”
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms tight in front of you. “Okay. The door just locked on its own then.”
“The door-“ he shot a glance over to it, confusion all over his face. “No. You have free rein of my home while you are in it. I would not trap you in one room.” He seemed genuine, and that only upset you more. You were constantly unsure of him, how he truly was. You were so certain that he was evil last night, only to have that certainty ripped apart again.
“It was locked. I tried to leave.” You dropped your arms, sighing deeply. “I do not understand you, High Lord.”
He looked at you again, gaze tracing over your body from where he sat by your side. You were sure he was checking for more injuries, but that traitorous little part of you was thrilled for his attention. “I do not understand you, either. Why do you wish to stay in a Court full of those who wish to do you harm?”
You blinked. “It is not. The ones who wish harm upon me may be the one in power, but that is not the good majority of fae. The Autumn Court was once a lovely, beautiful, rich place. The High Lord welcomed any who came his way, thrilled to share the bounty of our land with any. Beron has poisoned it. That is why Eris and I must stop him. Don’t you see?” You had reached out and grabbed his hands in yours without realizing, pulling him slightly closer. “I love my home. That is why I must fight for it.”
Rhysand was quiet, one of his thumbs drawing circles on the back of your hand. He stared at you with that dark intensity, the violet of his eyes seeming to read your very soul. “I do see. How am I to help?”
You smiled brightly, sliding close enough to him that your thigh pressed against his. “You are the most powerful High Lord of our time, if not of all history. We need support to take our father down, but it is risky to try to build an army against him.” You lowered your voice, making sure your words were only for the male in front of you. “We knew we had to choose someone who would be most likely to help. Someone who hates Beron as much as we do.” You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “And that is you, my lord.”
Rhysand stilled at your words, hands squeezing tight around yours. You weren’t prepared for how close you truly were to him when he turned his head to face you. Your noses brushed, your breath hitching as you stared deep into his eyes. The violet of them was glowing bright, his pupils blown wide. He was beautiful, in a deadly way. You knew the polite thing was to pull away, to give him space. You were trying to ask him for help, for Mothers sake, and this was quite unprofessional of you.
But as his eyes dropped down to your lips, you did not care. There was a magnetism about him that you couldn’t quite fight, a need to be around him. “You truly trust me to help?” He murmured, one hand letting go of yours to rest on your waist. “You do not know me.”
You tilted your head slightly to the side, ignoring the fire rapidly burning across your skin. “Perhaps.” You moved closer to him, allowing your lips to brush against his jawline. “Yet the same can be said for me, High Lord. And still, here you are.” You pressed a kiss to his skin, reveling in the noise he let out.
“Who are you?” He whispered, fingers tightening against your side.
You hummed against him, kissing up towards his ear. “I’m the Autumn Court princess, didn’t you hear? Whisked away by the big, bad, High Lord of the Night Court.” He groaned as you nipped at his skin, hand traveling up and down your body. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to stop this, that this was so far from proper you weren’t sure you’d ever go back. You couldn’t help yourself, though. Every touch of his skin against your lips was addicting, pulling you back in for more. You needed him in a way you’d never needed anyone, and you didn’t even know it.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He growled out, pulling back from you. He let go of your other hand and moved to grab ahold of your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His thumb danced across your bottom lip, teasing you. You sucked it into your mouth, sighing at the taste of him. You don’t know what compelled you to do it, to act so brazenly, but the deep throated groan he let out was worth the risk. Your tongue roved over the digit as he stared at you, the hand on your waist falling to your thigh. “Fuck, princess,” he said, pulling his thumb from your mouth. You pouted at the loss of him, entirely unlike yourself.
Then his lips were on yours. You moaned into his mouth, arms twining around his neck. You needed him as close as he could get, as much as he would give. His touch burned through the thin fabric of your pants, every inch of your body on fire. You had never been kissed like this before, never been touched like this. In fact, you’d rarely ever been this close to another male.
You forgot everything when he opened your mouth with his, deepening the kiss. His hand slid down between your legs, pressing gently over your clothed core. You gasped into the kiss, body alight at his every touch. “Rhysand, I-“ you stumbled out, arching against him as his hand pushed harder against you. “I’ve never, I don’t-“
He was gone as soon as the words were out. You fell forward slightly, surprised at his sudden absence. Your eyes caught on him, on the opposite end of the bed. His lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, breathing heavy. He was everything.
And he was staring at you like he had seen a ghost.
“Your brother is here.”
Your brain blanked out at the statement, already too hazy for its own good. “W-what?”
“Eris. He’s arrived to the palace.” Rhysand stood, straightening his clothes and clearing his throat. You watched as he struggled to regain his composure, eyes drifting back to you as soon as he’d calm down. “Fuck,” he groaned again, hand running over his face. “You can’t look at me like that.”
You cocked your head innocently to one side, widening your eyes and pouting your lips. “Like what?”
Rhysand debated how much trouble he would be in with Eris if he walked in on him fucking you deep into the bed.
Too much, he decided, choosing instead to help you to your feet. “Do you not wish to see him?”
Your heart did soar at the thought of seeing your brother again, of reassuring him that you were okay. Of hopefully making sure he was okay. The thought of what your father may have done to him sobers your lust-filled mind. You smooth your pants down and place your hand on Rhysands arm, nodding. “Let us go.”
He lead you through the halls of the palace, each one cold but beautiful. The soft sunlight shone through every window, lighting the delicate interior. You couldn’t help but think how lonely it all felt, how sad. Surely this wasn’t how Rhysand lived, was it? The Autumn Court may be full of evil, but it was warm. It was loved. Your castle home was rich and inviting, a wonderful place to explore as a child. Your heart ached for the High Lord next to you, unable to imagine a smaller version of him ever running through these corridors.
You finally reached a large set of double doors, opening for you as if they knew you were coming. You couldn’t hide the smile when your gaze found Eris, seemingly in one piece. You let go of Rhysand to run to him, arms wrapping tight around his neck as he wrapped his around you. “You’re okay,” he breathed in relief, holding you as if he couldn’t believe you were truly there.
“And you’re okay?” You asked hesitantly, pulling back enough to look him over.
He shrugged, a half smile on his face. “Father was not pleased, but i’ve had worse.”
Tears filled your eyes once again as you hugged him close, anger and sadness warring in your mind. “Oh, how I hate him,” you whispered to him. Eris ran a soothing hand through your hair, shaking his head.
“As do I, dear sister. As do I.” As if remembering the task at hand, he let you go and faced Rhysand. “Can we trust you?” He asked, face cold as ice.
You wrapped your arm around his, squeezing gently. “I do believe we can,” you said, smiling softly at Rhysand, an action Eris definitely noticed.
“What have you told him?” Your brother asked, focus back on you. You recapped your discussions with the High Lord, acting as if the decision wasn’t fully made due to Eris’s arrival. He did not need to know all that had happened.
Eris nodded along as you spoke, turning to Rhysand when you were done. “Well?” He asked, holding out a hand. “Will you help us?”
It felt like an eternity passed before Rhysand moved, clasping your brother’s hand in his. “I will,” he said, “as long as you promise to lead better when you are High Lord.”
A silent conversation seemed to pass between the two, Eris standing a little taller when it was done. He shook his hand once and nodded. “I love my Court with everything in me. I’ll die before I see it treated so terribly again.”
And so it was, that the deal was made. They discussed when more detailed planning should take place, and Rhysand told you of his friends he thought may help. For the first time in a long time you felt truly hopeful in this silent fight against your father.
“Should we be going? Father is ready to send armies out if I do not bring you back unharmed,” Eris said, holding his hand out to you.
Your feet were suddenly lead, your heart screaming to stay with Rhysand. How could you tell that to your brother, though? “Is he worried?” You asked, surprised that he even cared you were gone.
Eris shrugged. “I think he just wants to fight,” he admitted, eyes soft. It shouldn’t have hurt you, not after all this time, but you couldn’t help the way your chest ached.
“Maybe I should stay,” you said slowly, refusing to look at Rhysand.
“Stay?” Eris asked, brows furrowed.
“To work on the plan,” you rushed out, “you can make up a lie to Father. Tell him i’m here finding out the Night Court secrets, that i’m not in danger. In truth, Rhysand and I can figure out the best ways to take him down. I can meet with his soldiers and ensure we are all in agreement about how this shall go.”
“She’s right,” Rhysand agreed, shocking you enough to finally look at him. “Your father clearly doesn’t truly care about her, just what she can offer him. You can convince him that she can hold her own here, can’t you?”
Eris said nothing for a long moment, looking suspiciously between the two of you. “I suppose he would go for that. He desperately wants to best you, High Lord of the Night Court.” He fidgeted with the sword at his side, thinking. “I do believe he will wish a guard to be here with you, though. I can attempt to convince him to send me, but I do not think he will want me away from him for too long. How do you suggest we get around that?”
“Tell him it would raise suspicions of the High Lord too much. Send one of your hounds if you must, or tell him you can do regular check ins with me.” You did genuinely agree with your plan, getting extra time with Rhysand was just a benefit. If you wanted this to work you’d need to be able to trust him and his men, and make sure that nothing would go awry. A single moment unplanned for would be your greatest downfall.
Eris nodded in agreement. “I can bring Theron on my visit back, if Father agrees to it. I’d suggest getting to work immediately on our plan, in case he demands I bring you back.”
“We will,” you replied, chancing another look to Rhysand. “Are the males you speak of available to discuss this?”
“I’ll send for them immediately.” He bowed his head slightly to your brother. “I will not betray your trust.” He left with that, on his way to get his warriors here as soon as possible.
You tried to ignore the way your brother was practically bursting at the seams with laughter. “You like him, sister!”
“I most certainly do not! I just think he will be greatly beneficial, is all.” You tried to play off the embarrassment in your tone, a clear sign that he was correct.
“Oh, of course, of course,” he said, raising his hand in surrender. “Though if even a hint of trouble arises, do not hesitate to call me. Theron will be able to signal me from here, and I will come immediately.” He placed his hands on your upper arms, squeezing gently. “Stay safe, Sister.”
You smiled softly at him, laying your hands on his forearms. “You too.”
So it was that the plan to take down Beron officially went into motion.
***
“This is Azriel, my Spymaster, and Cassian, the General of my armies. Anything you can trust to me, you can trust to them.” You looked warily at the two large males flanking Rhysand, aware of the tales of their power.
“Thank you, for helping me,” you said, nodding to each of them. The long haired one on his left-the General-laughed coldly.
“We do what Rhys here says, not you. You may have gotten your claws into him, but I do not trust you or your snake of a brother.” Your chest tightened at his words, and for the first time you wondered if this was all pointless. It would be nearly impossible to convince anyone that the atrocities from your family weren’t connected to you, and even harder to prove Eris wasn’t bad.
Though as you watched Rhysand glare at the male, you wondered if that was true. After all, you had been told of how evil he and his Court were for centuries, and now it appears not all is as it seems. A truly evil High Lord would not have shown you as much respect as he has, and certainly would not agree to taking down a fellow High Lord who they should, on paper, get along well with. And an evil male most certainly wouldn’t make your stomach flutter with every look. Not when you were raised to see people for who they truly are.
“Forgive my brother, Princess. He is a rather stubborn mule.” Rhysand said, shooting him another look. “We know what it is like to try to work behind the backs of those in power, and the sacrifice that entails. What you and your brother are doing is honorable.” He moved to stand next to you, leading you to a large war table in the next room. You gazed upon a map of Pryrhian, little statues depicting different armies scattered about. “We believe the best time to strike will be upon the Winter equinox, when Autumn comes to a close.” He leaned over from behind you, arms loosely bracketing you against the table. “Your father will be at his weakest, having just spent the season celebrating and leading his own battles around. The focus will shift to the Winter Court, leaving the least amount of eyes around yours.” You nodded in agreement, studying the map carefully.
“I can get you in, easily. The question is how do you do it?” Your voice quivered, the seriousness of it all hitting you at once. You despised Beron, and what he has done is unforgivable. Yet at the end of the day, he is your father, the one who sired you. Even knowing what you were doing was for the good of the Court, you couldn’t shake that feeling of deep betrayal.
Rhysand made a soothing sort of sound, gently wrapping his arms around you. You sunk back into his chest, eyes never leaving the plans in front of you.
“Do you truly wish to know?” he murmured against your ear, fingers tracing your upper arm lightly.
“I’ll find out in the end,” you responded, voice sounding far less certain than your words did. “Perhaps we should discuss that part more with Eris. I am certain he wishes to be at the head of it all.” Your heart grew cold again, remembering all the reasons your father deserved what was coming.
Rhysand hummed in agreement, letting you go and stepping to your side as Azriel and Cassian came to join you. You tried to not let it hurt, the distance he placed between you when others were around. It is what made sense, after all. You were just the Autumn Court girl, someone here to discuss treason with. A potential enemy. No one knew what had happened between the two of you, and no one could know. Already Cassian had expressed his suspicion of you, worried you were tricking Rhysand. They could never see the longing you felt for him, lest it destroy any hope you have of them backing you.
The weeks that followed were much of the same, endless meetings of strategy and ideas. Theron stayed dutifully by your side since Eris brought him over, the shadowhound bringing you a sense of familiarity. He had taken a liking to Azriel, helping to create a sort of bond between the two of you. He started walking the halls with you in the morning, offering little conversation, but the silent support was what you needed. While you trusted Rhysand, you weren’t certain of his Court. From what you had seen it consisted of this cold, moonlit palace, built high above the citizens of the Night Court. Something about it confused you, the discord between the way this place seems and how their High Lord acts. You often find yourself wondering what he may be hiding. He is able to understand your and Eris’s feelings about your father, but he is the High Lord here. Can he not be the change his wishes? If the whole Court is the same as this forsaken place, how did it create him?
You had also noticed he didn’t seem to live in his palace. He had rooms, yes, an appearance of what should be. Though at night, when you grew restless and wandered, he was never around. You had only peeked into his room once, curiosity beating out proper manners. You immediately noticed how empty they felt, clearly not a place he stayed. The thought of him having a lover and staying with them crossed your mind more than once, but you shoved it aside out of jealousy. No, there had to be another place. One you were not privy to.
The matter of the High Lord himself was something else entirely. There had been no discussion of what had happened, and you’d almost convince yourself it was all in your head if it weren’t for the way he acted around you. Anytime you entered the room, his eyes found yours instantly. When you studied the war table, moving figures to different positions, he would stand directly next to you with a hand resting on your lower back. You knew he watched you whenever he could, enjoying the way he blatantly admired your body in Night Court attire.
He was driving you insane.
There was not much to do to distract yourself from him. The only other fae you saw were Cassian and Azriel, with the occasional visit from your brother. Cassian had yet to warm to you, and Azriel seemed content to not speak to you. You had explored the entire palace by this point, discovering a small library and countless balconies. You spent time going through the filled closets in your room, observing all the differences from your home fashions and here. Much of the day was taken up with discussions about your father, but any downtime was a curse.
You spent many a night sunk deep in a warm bath, hands between your legs. Sighing the High Lords name as you came, a temporary relief to the raging fire he has built inside of you. It felt ridiculous, to be this lost over him, when you were here to discuss overthrowing your father. As it drew closer to the Winter Solstice, the meetings gradually became shorter. The Night Court soldiers spent more time training, preparing physically for what was to come. Rhysand spent more time with Eris, discussing what was going to happen after it was done. Your other brothers posed a threat to his claim, so it was long debated on what to do with them. Ultimately Eris had chosen to leave them alive for now, and he will handle them as High Lord if he needed to. Your brothers were possibly as bad as your father, yes, but they would always respect the rulings of the Court. And a part of you knew Eris wanted to deal with them on his own, for himself, for you, and for Lucien.
You were currently working on a map of your home, trying to add as many details as possible. You tried to highlight the places you assumed would be important, such as Berons rooms, the armory, any secret tunnels, and where the guards typically reside. While your part in the physical battle seemed small, this map would be the backbone of everything. Without it, the entire plan would fall apart. Naturally this left you in a very relaxed, calm space, not at all internally panicking that you were misremembering everything and would end up getting your brother killed.
You threw down your charcoal in frustration, eyes going bleary from staring at the parchment all day. “Trouble?” Came a familiar voice from behind you, your body tensing at his presence.
“Not at all, my Lord,” you responded smoothly, not looking at him.
“Mmm,” he said, and you felt him move to stand behind your chair. “Is that so?” His voice was low, teasing. You had opened your mouth to respond when his fingers pressed into your shoulders, relief seeping through your tense muscles. You snapped your jaw shut to swallow the moan that threatened to escape, sinking into the High Lords touch. His hands moved closer to your neck, soothing your flushed skin under them. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, working out a particularly rough knot. You hummed at his words, only half listening.
It was then you felt his lips press into the space under your ear, one hand slowly sliding down. His touch was a burning iron pressed against your skin, leaving your mind blank aside from thoughts of him. His hand teased the top of your blouse, fingers dancing hesitantly under the neckline. You angled your head slightly, inviting him in. He nipped at your neck as his hand slid under your shirt, cupping your breast gently. You whimpered at his touch, needing more. “Oh, my sweet,” he whispered against your skin, thumb rolling over your nipple. You sucked in a harsh breath at the sensation, pushing your chest against his hand in a silent plea for more. “So good for me.” He repeated the motion again, his other hand slowly tracing down your body until it reached your waistband. “Let me play with you, please,” he asked, his voice rough against your ear.
“Rhysand,” you gasped out, body electric from his touch. He gave a slight pinch to the nipple he was working on, fire burning down your spine. “I need you.” He growled at your words, kissing and sucking down your neck as his fingers slid under your pants, lightly brushing you over the lace covering you wore. You cried out as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder, a way to mark you as his.
“What magic have you placed upon me, that I cannot go a single day without dreaming about you?” He asked as he found your clit over the fabric, pressing just enough for you to feel, but not enough to bring you anywhere. “We are planning the greatest treason Prythian has ever seen, and yet all I can think about is this.” He groaned at your low moans, adding more pressure to his touch. “How badly I want to feel you, hear you, taste you,” each word was punctuated with a kiss against your heated skin. You turned your head slightly to look at him, heat burning even hotter in your core at the sight.
His pupils were blown, focused directly on to you. His lips were swollen and slick, cheeks flushed. He looked wrecked, a male who needed you as desperately as you needed him. He looked like this, and he hadn’t even fully touched you yet.
You rocketed up in your seat, his hands falling from your body as your lips pressed against his. He grabbed you like he wouldn’t survive a second more without you in arms, your chair clattering to the ground, forgotten. The kiss was harsh, teeth and tongue fighting for more, more, more. Rhysand moaned at the taste of you, moving to set you on the edge of the war table, his body slotting between your legs. “So perfect,” he said over and over, hands gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. You curled one hand around the back of his neck, bringing him as close as possible. You needed him more than anything. He was the world, the sun, the moon. He was the air in your lungs, the blood in your veins. There was nothing before this moment, and there would be nothing after. It was simply here, now, him.
He pulled away from your lips, a whine coming from you that would be embarrassing at any other moment. You reached out to drag him back to you but he had already fallen to his knees, hands gripping the band of your pants. “Please,” he whispered, voice broken, looking up at you.
You wanted to remember this moment until the day you died.
The High Lord of the Night Court, the deadliest male to ever walk this land, on his knees for you. Begging you to let him touch you, to taste you, to please you. You were done for as you nodded, eyes wide when he ripped the fabric from your skin. You had no time to marvel at the desperation the torn shreds on the floor resembled, his mouth finding you instantly.
One of your hands tangled in his hair as he feasted upon you, the other supporting your weight on the table behind you. He licked and sucked against your clit like it was his lifeline, pulling out every moan and cry he could. You watched him in awe, getting closer every time his eyes connected with yours. “Oh, Rhysand,” you groaned loudly, head falling back as the pleasure began to rise. He moaned against you, hands holding your thighs wide open for him. You couldn’t held the way your hips ground desperately against his face, every sensation your undoing. His tongue explored deep inside you, moving in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your breaths were coming in staggered gasps now, pleasure threatening to rip you apart. He sucked hard against you, the pressure building in you ready to explode. Tears pricked at your eyes at the need to finish, your body shaking with need. As if reading your mind, Rhysand swirled his tongue around you, ripping your orgasm from your soul. You screamed his name as you came, arm buckling behind you as you fell flat against the table. You were floating, you were burning, you were drowning. You were everywhere and nowhere at once, suspended in this bubble of pure pleasure. He worked you through it, prolonging the feeling as much as possible. He kept going until you were a blubbering mess under him, legs shaking in his grasp. He pulled away with a gentle kiss to your thigh, crawling up to hover over you.
And oh, how he loved what he saw. “Are you alright, Princess?” He murmured against your lips, taking in the tear stains on your face. You nodded, slowly regaining control of your breathing. He hummed as he traced your face with the back of his hand, the touch almost loving. “Was I too much?”
“No,” you said, “no. Mother, Rhysand, you are-you were everything.” Then you were kissing him again, welcoming the taste of yourself on his lips. You were insatiable when it came to him, needing more already. You were reaching for the button on his pants when a loud laugh from the hallway shattered the moment you were in, your blood turning cold.
You shoved him off of you in an instant, sitting up and looking at him in panic. There was no hiding what had happened, not when your trousers lay in pieces on the ground. He wasted no time in pulling you down and pushing you under the table, kicking your clothes as he went. You hid behind one of the thick, heavy legs, trying desperately to slow your pounding heart as Azriel and Cassian entered the room.
“Rhys! We have some thoughts-“ You barely dared to breathe as Cassian stopped speaking, silence ringing loud in your ears. “What were you doing?”
“What was I doing? Standing here, studying the table, as one should days before a major attack.” You can’t see him, but you imagine the cocky look on his face. “Did you have something to add?”
There was a small grumble as two pairs of boots walked to meet Rhysand, mere inches from where you were hiding. “Thought something smelled off, if you know what I mean,” Cassian said, laughing. “Probably that Autumn Court whore.”
“Oh please, Cass. That is not how we speak about our guests,” Rhysand chastised, though anyone could hear the joking tone behind it.
“Of course, My Lord. Forgot we have to be kind to the sister of my greatest enemy.”
“Eris is far from your greatest enemy,” Azriel said softly, poking fun.
“Fair, fair.” He laughed again, loud and bold. “I still cannot believe we are working with him! To take down Beron, of all things.”
“Why is it so hard to believe, Cass?” Rhysand asked. “After all, my father was no winner either.”
“No, but you didn’t try to kill him.”
“Hmm. Luckily for me he died without that step then, yes?”
“Why are you so dead set on defending them?” Cassian asked angrily, taking a step back. “You’ve never liked the Autumn Court a day since i’ve known you, since Beron took over. Do you truly believe his children are so different? The girl, maybe, but Eris? Do we not forget what he did to our own, to Mor?”
You bit hard on your lip to keep from gasping. You wanted to scream that it wasn’t him being cruel, that if he had married her things would’ve been so much worse. Your heart ached when you heard about what was done to her as a result, but you knew anything under your father would be significantly worse. She’d be a prisoner in her own body.
You were not very fond of Cassian.
“We do not know what he was told that made him decide that. Do you not see, brother, how cruel Beron is? He let his only daughter be kidnapped, and then just accepted that she was to live with us?” There was rising anger in Rhysands voice, though he kept the volume low. “Do not forget, in their eyes it is I who is the evil one. The Night Court has a reputation, does it not?”
A moment of silence. Then-
“She is not so bad.”
Emotion clogged your throat at the Shadowsingers words.
“Excuse me?”
“The girl. The princess. She is not bad, Cassian.”
“And you know this, how?”
You could hear him shrug. “I walk with her most
mornings.”
“You walk with her.”
“I like the dog.”
“You like-oh Mother, Az. The dog?” Cassian was incredulous. “Eris’ dog? Tell me you are joking.”
“He is nice. The shadows like him.”
You could almost see the blank stare Cassian was giving Azriel, mouth slightly open in shock. “The shadows. Right.” You listened as he took a deep breath. “I do not trust them, Rhys. They sell us this story about how evil their father is, but who is to say they are not going to do worse once he is gone? After all, you know of their court’s reputation.”
“And what of our court’s reputation?” Rhysands voice is quiet, but you can hear every word.
“Well, that’s different, you know.”
“Is it?” You heard him straighten, gesturing around the room. “Look at this. They have asked us for our trust in a plan that could easily result in getting them killed, or worse. At any moment I could send a letter to Beron and tell him what they are planning.” Your heart stopped at that, fear pricking at the back of your mind. “This is not without extreme risk, Cassian. If they were as evil as he is, they would not be sacrificing their safety in this way.” You listen as he picks up a figure from the table above, setting it down in another spot. “They trust us with that, and we still lie to them every day. It is wrong. We need to be truthful with them.”
Lie?
“You know it is not the same, Rhys! Have you gone out of your mind?” Cassian was incredulous.
“Perhaps I have,” Rhysand responded softly, almost too low for your ears. “But that does not mean I am not correct. Last I checked, General, I am the High Lord of this Court, not you. I believe it is up to me to share my secrets, don’t you?”
The tension in the room thickened, the boots belonging to Cassian moving to sit flush together. “Of course, Rhysand,” he said coolly. “I just want to make sure we are keeping our home safe, is all. If you trust them, then I will trust them.”
You watched the shoes as Rhysand stepped close to Cassian, the sound of his hand cupping his shoulder ringing through the room. “I do not wish to fight with you, brother. Not today. Come, let us discuss more over some food and wine.”
There was a grunt in response as you watched the three pairs of boots walk away, a sinking feeling in your stomach. Clearly Rhysand knew you were there, listening, and all he did was tease his secrets. There was more to him, something you were so blatantly missing, something that worried you. How fragile was this partnership you had made? Under the guise of lust it felt strong, powerful. Now?
You were left with more questions than anyone could have the answers for.
***
The Winter Equinox had arrived.
The morning started much the same as any other day here, cold and slightly dreary. Breakfast was delivered to your room at its usual time, but the food upon it was heartier than normal. Something to prepare your body for what you were walking in to later today.
You had not spoken to Rhysand outside of final meetings. You refused to look at him, always feigning more interest in the plans. He could not bring it up without raising the suspicion of his friends and your brother, and you made yourself scarce when he was around after. Thankfully, preparations for today were taking up much of his time. At the last meeting he explained how his Illyrian soldiers were ready to fly into the Autumn Court at a moments notice, with clear instructions to only harm the High Lord and his companions.
“Though they do not always listen well,” Cassian had warned, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. “The ideal plan is for us to get in and do it without them, but they are there in case Beron tries to fight back.” He gestured to you, pointing down at the map of your home. “You remember the plan if they are to be called, yes?”
You nodded, going over your responsibilities in your head. If the Illyrians were to be called in, it was up to you to get the innocent citizens out of harms way. You know that the soldiers had been trained extensively on who exactly to target, but there was no telling what they would do to any other Autumn Court fae they saw. You were to lead them down a back hallway, with a tunnel that emptied out deep into the wood. The knowledge of this hidden path had been kept from the armies, hopefully allowing you time to get the fae you cared for out.
“Remember,” Rhysand had said, voice booming. “The goal is not to take down the Autumn Court. We want to leave it as unharmed as possible, our only focus being Beron and his cronies. Understood?”
You would be lying if you said you weren’t scared. So many things could go wrong.
And what of if everything went right?
Whatever happened today, the fate of your life would be greatly changed.
A soft knock at your door broke you out of your thoughts. You opened it to find Eris, holding a rather large ball gown.
A traditional Autumn Court gown.
You helped inside, grabbing half of the heavy fabric. You’d adorned many of these dresses, but this one was truly exquisite. Your favorite deep, rich, browns, hints of gold scattered about. Layers and layers of skirt and tulle, all meant to show you as the perfect princess. The Equinox was a large event all on its own, but your father never shied away from making a party bigger. He had told Eris that today would also be a coming home party of sorts, to welcome you back with the honor of the court. In reality, he was going to pretend to make a great deal about you coming home, and then immediately shuffle you off to the most promising marriage match he had found.
You were thrilled that it would be his last chance to do such a thing.
“Are you ready for this?” Eris asked you, eyes watching you closely.
You thought for a moment, running your fingers over the soft material now strewn across your bed. “How can I be?” You responded softly.
He nodded, understanding. “It seems an impossible task now that it is here, does it not?”
You slipped your hand into his, squeezing tight. “Quite.” You took in a deep breath. “We say we must do right, we must protect the Court. Yet in turn we will make murderers of ourselves. A dark stain on our very souls, to taunt us forever.”
“A murderer of me, not of you. Besides, it will not be my first time. I’ve fought in many a battle at his side.” Eris dropped your hand, clasping them behind his back as he spoke.
You shook your head. “It will be on me as well. I am complicit in all this. You may deal the blow, but it is I who drew the weapon.”
The two of you stared at each other, taking the moment to grieve what was to happen. You’d been planning for so long, suffering at the hands of your father, and tonight that will end.
Mother help you to not fail.
***
Stepping onto the polished marble floors of your home felt like a death sentence. Your nails dug slightly into Eris’s arm as you took note of your father, perched coolly above the crowd on his throne. Always a chilling sight, it was particularly heavy tonight.
You adorned your face with a polite smile as you reached him, bowing slightly. “Father. How good it is to see you.”
“Hmph,” he grumbled, swirling the wine in his glass. “I send my only daughter all the way to the Night Court, and she comes home without nary a marriage proposal?” He looked at you with disgust. “An alliance with that place would bring us great power. Do you not even care for me? Are you not thankful for all I have done?” You do not react to his words, to the lies that spill from his tongue. Though you wish you could gloat about your very own alliance, how he has not won this time.
He waves his hand as if dismissing you, standing up and calling for a toast. Gone is the disappointment in his voice as he yells out that you have returned. You curtsy politely to the crowd as they applaud you, and your father has attached you to a much older male before the noise has even stopped.
You walked away from the throne, feigning interest in whatever it is the fae next to you is saying. All you can think is how that was the last time you would speak to your father.
***
You danced and drank and made pleasant conversation until the midnight hour hit, the clanging of the bells sobering you up. You glanced up to Eris, and he gave you a slight nod.
The plan was to commence.
For a moment, nothing happened. You worried that an error had been made, that something catastrophic had happened.
Then the first scream rang through the room.
More followed as dark mist crept across the floor, shadows seeming to grow out of it. Your heart beat rapidly as your father stood, outrage clear on his face. “What is the meaning of this?!” He yelled out, “Show yourself, Rhysand!”
In half a moment he was standing in the center of the room, smiling broadly up at Beron. “No invite? I house your daughter, feed and clothe her, keep her safe, and you take her back without a word?” Rhysand tsked, the cocky High Lord persona back on. “Not very thoughtful of you, Beron.”
You could almost swear you saw steam coming out of your father’s ears. “You are not trusted. Not here, not anywhere. How was I to be certain I could keep my Court safe from you?”
Rhysand sighed, as if your father was missing an obvious piece to the puzzle. “Ah, but do you keep them safe?”
The room went silent.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, no offenses meant, old friend, but it does not seem like you take good care of your citizens. After all, you didn’t even notice your precious only daughter missing until Eris alerted you.” Rhysand spoke as if they were merely discussing the time, like this conversation was of no importance to him.
“You are out of line. Remove yourself from my home before I must!” Your father yelled, signaling his guards to surround the other High Lord.
“Ah, do you really wish to attack me?” Rhysand said, pushing your father even more. “After all, can your little guards handle the power I hold?”
“Perhaps not,” Beron answered, a touch too calmly. “That’s why I have sons.”
You screamed a warning to Rhysand once you realized what was happening, the noise swallowed up by the crowd as chaos descended. Several of your brothers raced towards the High Lord, fire blazing at their fingertips.
You watched in horror as they all stopped running, bodies shaking against some unknown force. A strangled noise came from your throat as you watched Rhysand destroy their minds, leaving their limp bodies to rot on the ground.
The tunnel. Go to the tunnel.
The tunnel. The tunnel. The tunnel. The words raced around your mind, but you weren’t comprehending any of it. You were staring at the deceased forms of three of your brothers, lying on the ground of your family home. They may have been evil, and nothing but terrible to you, but it was still a shock to see your family ended in such a way.
Princess. The tunnel. NOW, commanded the voice inside your head. You realized now that it was not your own thoughts, but seemingly Rhysands?
The tunnel. Yes! Your body finally caught up to your mind, quickly ushering those closest to you towards the hallway that will take you there. The Autumn Court fae followed you without question, their darling princess, who just watched her brothers be slain in front of her eyes. They knew to trust you, that you weren’t the same as your father. Many of those who live here have suffered under his reign, and the ones who love him were too distracted with Rhysand to notice most of the court disappearing.
You lead them to the tunnel, instructing on where it would let out and to wait for you there. You knew you were supposed to go with them, to safety.
Your heart called for you to go back.
You ran back down the hallway, skirts swishing quickly around your legs. You pulled out a small dagger you had hidden away in them, knowing it would not next to nothing to protect you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t leave him.
You burst back into the room, coming to an abrupt halt as you took in the bloodshed around you. Illyrians fought against Autumn fae, blood slick on the floor. Rhysand battled your remaining brothers, Cassian racing to help him.
And Eris.
He stood in front of your father, fire engulfing his hands. Azriel stood behind him, shadows tight around your father’s neck and arms. “We always must do what is best for the Court, yes, Father?” Eris admired the fire dancing between his fingertips. “I’d lay down my life for this Court, for my home. Yet that is not what is needed, is it?” He turned his gaze back to Beron, fire in his eyes as well. “You have done great harm the fae who live here. You have used everyone who has come through these doors, making life better for no one but yourself. You’re a coward, Father. You have been so focused upon making yourself seem great, that you didn’t even notice you were raising your own enemy.” The shadows seemed to tighten around his body, your father making a garbled sort of noise. “Do not waste your energy. I am done listening to what you have to say.” Eris kneeled down in front of him, lowering his voice. “Just know, I will be the High Lord that goes down in history. Not you.”
You turned away as Eris stood, power glowing bright as he concentrated directly into your father, into his heart. Your hands clasped over your mouth, muffling the scream that involuntarily came out of you. Your ears rang as his power took over the room, ceasing the rest of the fighting. It was known, then, that their High Lord was dead. Autumn court fae fled, though you were certain Eris would find them later. The Illyrians were called off, sent back to their homes in the Night Court. And as the light dimmed, it revealed your brother, standing tall. Looking at a pile of ash that you used to call Father.
It was done.
There was no movement for a moment as everyone realized what happened, Cassian breaking the silence with a loud cheer. You laughed, in a weird way, at the absurdity of it. Your plan had worked. The reign of terror Beron had bestowed upon your home was over. Eris could take the throne, Lucien could come home, and you would be free to do as you wish.
You looked up at him, watching the way Azriel laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. While you guys had been planning, training, for this, it was still a grave undertaking. What your brother had done today was a true act of love for his Court. He had sacrificed a piece of himself to ensure the happiness and peace of this place.
You felt like they would never be able to repay him.
He caught your gaze, giving you a small smile as he raised a fist in the air. You applauded, slightly delirious after all that happened. It was truly over. You would never be pushed aside again, used only when it benefited your father. You could live, dance as you please, with whomever you please, whenever you please.
You were freed from your role as a pawn in his never ending game.
Your eyes dropped to Rhysand, who was clapping his General on the back. You were overcome with sudden emotion, a sudden need to claim him as yours. You were running again, running through the carnage, through the death and destruction, right into his arms. He wrapped them tight around your waist, lifting you and spinning in a circle. His hold, which felt like light, like life and hope.
And the you were kissing him.
Kissing him like he was your life, as if you would shrivel up and die without him. So much had changed in such a short time, your entire life demolished and rebuilt. Your hands held his face as he kissed you, and for a moment nothing else mattered.
“MY SISTER, RHYSAND?!”
He pulled only slightly from the kiss, turning his head to look at your brother. Your brother, who had just killed one High Lord, looked ready to do it again. “Uh, yea,” Rhysand said, looking back at you. He brushed loose strand of hair out of your face, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Your sister.”
***
It had been several years since Eris had killed your father. The Autumn Court was thriving in a way it never had before, fae constantly flocking to your borders in search of a safer home. You welcomed all, Eris personally greeting every one who came in.
Lucien had returned, unsure at first. You had wrapped in a tight hug when you first saw him, tears streaming down your face.
It took him a little longer to warm up to you.
You, him, and Eris spent night after night talking, explaining why things had happened the way they did. There was anger, grief, anger again, and acceptance of all that had happened. Without the shadow of Beron over them, your other three brothers became more manageable, willing to work with Eris. You’d never really be a loving family, but it was leagues better than it had ever been before.
And Rhysand.
Oh, Rhysand.
He had taken you home after that night. Not to the moonlight palace you had grown used to, no. He took you to Velaris, his magical home in the stars. That was where you now resided, but you had weekly trips back to the Autumn Court. You felt lucky, in a way, to get to live in two beautiful places.
You felt luckier when Rhys came behind you, arms folding you into him. His lips kissed your neck, forever insatiable when it comes to you. You hummed happily, sinking deep into his chest. Your fingers rolled over the ring on your hand, tracing down to the matching one on his.
Warnings: none NGL, this is just fluff and fluff and well.. fluff ❤️🧚🏻♀️
a/n: HIII LOVELY PEOPLE!!! I had such a good morning so I decided to start it with a Christmas fanfic. Enjoy 🎄
Velaris is draped in snow and starlight.
Every balcony glows with faelights, every street hums with music and laughter, and the Sidra reflects it all like a ribbon of silver. The city feels warmer tonight—softer—like it knows it’s a holiday.
You’re standing on the balcony of the House of Wind, wrapped in a thick sweater, when arms slide around your waist.
“Cold?” Rhysand murmurs, chin resting on your shoulder.
“Only a little,” you lie.
He chuckles and snaps his fingers. Warmth blooms instantly, gentle as a kiss. His wings unfurl behind you, blocking the wind and drawing you closer until your back is pressed to his chest.
“You’ve been suspiciously quiet all evening,” he says. “Usually you’re the first to drag me into festivities.”
“I like watching,” you reply, gazing down at Velaris. “Everyone’s happy.”
“Mm,” he hums. “And here I thought I was the reason.”
You laugh, turning in his arms. His violet eyes are bright tonight, reflecting the lights, the snow—and you. For once, he isn’t wearing his High Lord mask. Just a simple black sweater, hair loose, smile soft.
“Come inside,” he says. “I have something for you.”
The House guides you to the sitting room, where a tree—tall and shimmering with ornaments shaped like stars, moons, and tiny wings—stands near the fireplace. You stop short.
“Rhys,” you breathe. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” he replies easily, then hands you a small box. Midnight blue, tied with silver ribbon.
You open it slowly. Inside rests a delicate necklace: a tiny star cradled between crescent moons, glowing faintly with magic.
“So you always carry a piece of the night with you,” he says, quieter now. “Even when I can’t be there.”
Emotion tightens your throat. “I love it.”
He fastens it around your neck, fingers lingering at your skin. When he looks at you again, his expression is tender—unguarded.
“Merry Christmas,” Rhys whispers.
You rise onto your toes and kiss him, slow and warm, tasting peppermint and magic and home. His wings fold around you, the fire crackles brighter, and outside, snow continues to fall.
Above Velaris, stars burn a little more brilliantly.
And for the High Lord of the Night Court, there is no greater gift than this—
