#Aro/Ace Elain Archeorn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

achaotichuman · 5 months

Note

Could you pair Raven with Rhysand in the masc! Feyre AU and baby drama happens when one of them gets pregnant? ( rhys or feyre)

HAHAHAHA Ngl when I threw Rhys into the original one-shot of this, it was just for shits and giggles, but I love this request sm. I made Rhysand the pregnant one here because I personally think its fucking hilarious. I had to split this one into two, but that just means I get to write more of this later.

This AU you can also read on Ao3. This is chapter two of what will be four part. Here is the first part on Tumblr.

“Tamlin.”

Tamlin would recognise that sneering voice anywhere. His eye twitched and he gripped the knife in his hands a little tighter, without looking away from the herbs he was cutting up, he said, “Rhysand, what have I said about knocking?”

The witch could practically feel the smirk that appeared on Rhysand’s face. Tamlin tried to ignore the dark presence behind him as he threw the herbs he had chopped into the cauldron bubbling over the fireplace in the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, yes. Always knock and leave if the door is not answered, but just look!” Rhysand insisted.

Tamlin breathed in, then out. Repeating in his mind, Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad. Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad. Don’t curse him, Lucien will get mad.

Tamlin turned, and there he stood. The half Illyrian looked as good as he always did. Wearing a black silk shirt, a black porcelain corset wrapped tightly around his waist. Black trousers and a coat on his shoulders. He was smiling as he held up a basket, no doubt holding an offering.

He wanted to make a deal. Gods above.

“What is that supposed to be?” Tamlin snarled as if he didn’t already know.

“A sacrifice for the witch.” Rhysand hummed, he put the basket on the counter, “If you’ll do me a deal.”

Tamlin pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have much of a reason to dislike Rhysand as much as he did. But since the day his powers began to grow, something whispered in his ear that Rhysand was dangerous, that he was unpredictable. Even if Tamlin was very good friends with his sister Branon, he tried to stay away from her older brother.

“I am busy at the moment.” Tamlin said, not a lie, he was incredibly busy. Lucien’s friend, a human male named Jurian who had once served as a General during the War had recently been freed from the grasps of that fucking Amarantha. Someone assassinated her after word spread of her attempting a siege on Prythian. That ring was stolen and taken to the Faerie market. Where Lucien had found it, and with a few of Tamlin’s spells they managed to free to male.

Lucien took him back to the human lands where they struck deals with a famed Lord. Not long after, Jurian fell sick with an unknown illness. It was undoubtedly something Amarantha had cursed him with whilst he was in that eye ring.

Amarantha may have been a witch in her own right, but Tamlin was ten times more powerful than her. He had no doubts the cure he had come up with would work.

“Oh please, it will only take a few moments, I know you can do it.” Rhysand pleaded.

“I don’t believe the word ‘please’ has ever passed through your mouth before.” Tamlin snapped, stirring the cauldron before him with a long wooden spoon.

“All the more reason to believe this is urgent!” Rhysand appeared next to Tamlin. Tamlin closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

“Come on, Tam. It's just one little deal, one bargain, I brought you an offering.”

Opening his eyes, Tamlin released his breath very slowly.

With a resigned sigh, Tamlin asked, “What did you bring?”

Rhysand’s violet eyes lit up excitedly. Quickly he retrieved the basket, opening it up, he revealed its contents.

Tamlin glanced down at it, then his eyebrows raised.

Inside were jars and jars of rare herbs and spices from the continent over. Tamlin took the basket from Rhysand’s hands and rifled through it, “By the Mother, where did you find these?!”

Rhysand shrugged, “I have my connections.”

Tamlin needed some of these. Some of them could help this cure for Jurian…

Gods above.

“Fine, what do you want in return?” A curse of ill fortune perhaps, maybe a death spell. Knowing Rhysand it was likely to be something sadistic.

“I need you to turn me female.”

Tamlin nearly dropped the basket. Before it could slip out of his grip, he carefully placed it on the counter before choking out, “You want to be female?”

Rhysand nodded yes.

“May… may I know why?”

“No.” Rhysand said simply.

Tamlin blinked at him. Rhysand blinked back. Tamlin sighed, “Okay then. If that's what you want, though with these, I won’t require another offering to turn you back.”

“Perfect!” Rhysand smirked, lifting his head as he waited.

Placing both his hands on Rhysand’s shoulders, Tamlin felt a drop of power leave him as it flooded Rhysand’s veins. Morphing, shifting, shaping, moulding. Rhysand closed his eyes, letting the magic work.

A heartbeat passed, then the next. Tamlin released him and took a step back.

Gods above.

He wasn’t half bad to look at. Or… she wasn’t half bad to look at.

Rhysand opened her eyes. The front of her shirt now stretched to accommodate the larger chest pressed against the buttons. She was slightly shorter and her wings were considerably smaller. As if noticing the lost weight on her back, Rhysand fluttered her wings for a moment, adjusting to the new size.

Her angular face was now softer. She ran a hand along her jaw, then her fingers danced on the stretching fabric around her breasts. Her eyes flicked up to Tamlin’s, she smirked, a smile flashing all her teeth, “I see you were quite heavy-handed with the chest.”

Tamlin gritted his teeth, “I shift based on the genes I already find within your body. If you were born female, you would look exactly like this.”

Then Tamlin turned back to the cauldron on the fire, tossing a handful of red spices into the mixture, “If you wish for me to customise anything I shall, but I don’t believe it is a good idea to mess with your body too much.”

“Well then, I suppose this will do. Thank you, Tam.”

“Get out, Rhysand.” Tamlin snapped, glancing back over at her.

Rhysand just smiled, before she turned on her heel and left.

Even with the spices he had now acquired from Rhysand. Tamlin couldn’t help but wonder what she would do with the new form he had given her.

***

“Another marriage proposal, Lord Raven.” Morrigan declared as she flounced into Feyre’s office.

Feyre smirked, then held out her hand, “Alright, let’s see who this is from.”

Morrigan shot her a grin as she handed it over. Feyre tore the top open and pulled out the letter, her smirk growing as well as her ego as she read it over, “My my, Lord Aiedian is looking for a marital prospect for his daughter.”

“Oh Gods above.” Morrigan huffed as she fell into a velvet chair, draping herself across it like a statue carved from marble, “Do these Lords have nothing better to do?”

“Probably not.” Feyre hummed as she tore the paper in two and let it turn to nothing.

Morrigan laughed, as the sound rang through the office Nesta walked in. Morrigan’s eyes brightened the second she laid eyes on her, Nesta smiled at her before looking at her youngest sister, “We have a ball to attend tonight.” She announced.

Feyre nearly groaned, she had been to too many parties and balls in the past month. How long would this continue?

“Feyre, whilst the Court is still settling into this new way of ruling, you have to appear at all of these gatherings.” Nesta told her as she settled into the chair next to Morrigan. Morrigan kissed her cheek and pulled Nesta to sit in her lap.

“I know, I know.” The High lord said, “I’m just tired.”

“We all are,” Morrigan sighed.

“Of course you two are.” Feyre mumbled.

“What is that supposed to mean, High lord?” Morrigan asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh please, Morrigan, I beg of you, put up a silencing ward around your bedroom at night. The sounds I have heard I shall never unhear.” Feyre shuddered, nearly gagging at the memory of the cries she heard from her sister and Morrigan’s shared room.

Nesta went red and glared. Morrigan tipped her head back as she laughed. The blonde kissed Nesta’s neck, whispering something to her that made the eldest Archeron roll her eyes.

Feyre smiled at the scene but… she couldn’t help the strain on her heart. The longing for someone of her own to hold and treat as hers like Morrigan and Nesta did for each other ached in her chest.

She longed for someone to hold like that, to call mine. Nesta had found her person; she and Morrigan fit together like a hand in a well-worn glove. Elain didn’t feel romantic attraction for any at all. And Feyre… well despite having double the options due to her enjoying the company of both females and males she hadn’t settled down with anyone.

She supposed her options were now incredibly narrowed down, due to the fact she couldn’t marry at all unless she was absolutely certain it would be in the best interest of the Court. Then there was the responsibility of bearing an Heir…

At least she didn’t have to be the one to carry the child. She had always cringed at the idea of pregnancy. Had seen the uncomfortable and often dangerous things that would occur. At the same time, she didn’t particularly wish to inflict that on another either.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an option, it was a requirement.

At least she had a little bit of time to choose a female she liked before she had to bear an Heir.

***

Raven tapped his feet to the music in the air. His arms crossed as he looked out at the sea of people. Hewn City citizens, Velaris citizens and Illyrians all mingling. All acting alike. He smiled. This was what the Night Court was supposed to be. This was what it should look like.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, Raven turned his head to see Elain smiling at him, dressed beautifully in a floor-length, sparkling white dress, it dipped in at the neckline, but had sleeves that ran down to her wrists. She looked like a beam of moonlight.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Of course.” Raven replied, his voice a little gruff. Truly he was exhausted, the idea of his bed being the one thought in the forefront of his mind.

“How about you mingle?” Elain asked, Raven knew she’d start pushing for her brother to join the crowd, he had to at some stage afterall. In order for neither to waste anymore of their time, Raven sighed and said, “Fine.”

Elain brightened and discreetly pushed him out towards the floor. Raven rolled his eyes but went with her motions. Joining the bodies moving, twisting to the music.

Immediately females and males alike tried to drag him into dances. Hands were on his waist, hips, arms, biceps. Pulling, pushing, squeezing, touching. Raven pulled away as politely as he could muster, smiling and swaying. Allowing the people around him to decide his motions.

Then someone pressed up against him, Raven was about to pull away from them as well, until he laid eyes on them.

The most beautiful female he had ever met in his centuries of living smiled up at him. She looked to be half Illyrian, with pointed ears but Illyrian wings tucked in tightly to her back. What she was wearing could barely be classified as a dress, just two panels of black, shimmering fabric that draped over her shoulders, just barely covering her breasts, connected by a silver ornament below her navel. Raven blushed hard as he observed the silver of fabric.

Her hair was short and midnight black. Her eyes were a sparkling violet that shone up at Raven like amethysts. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and her full lips twisted in a brilliant smile that stole the breath from Raven’s lungs.

“Evening, High lord.” She murmured.

Raven opened and closed his mouth, eyes darting all over her body. Barely able to feel anything except her full chest pressed against him.

Finally Raven mustered a “Evening.”

Blood was rushing through his veins, the world became colours swirling in the corner of his eyes as the seductive temptress slid her hands up his chest, murmuring, “Surely you mustn’t mind a dance?”

Raven couldn’t resist. His blood sang for the woman before him. Every inch of his body longed for her touch. Like something was pushing and pulling them against each other, a writhing song and dance, a want, a need for touching.

Maybe it was his own loneliness coming through, but Raven, for the first time tonight, accepted a stranger’s offering to dance.

“I don’t mind at all.” Raven said, and the female smiled like she had won. Without another word, Raven placed his hand on her waist, and took her soft hand in her other. She placed a hand on his shoulder and allowed Raven to take the lead.

They were swept into a swirling dance, the world became just star and moonlight, the pounding of hearts, the rushing of blood, the sounds of music in the distance. Raven found himself lost in violet and specks of silver. Following the beat of the footsteps around him. Letting himself, allowing himself, to fall into the mesmerising song and dance.

The female was a siren. Her body swayed with his, each movement a song in itself, a song that made all blood in his mind rush down.

The night went on. They never stopped. Raven never wanted to stop. Everything was a spinning haze and all he was locked on was the female in his arms, who smiled, and whispered to him, he laughed at her quips, he smirked at her words.

Then she pressed in closer, as the music slowed from fast and hard, to slow and soft. She pressed her warm body against his. Her breasts pressing into his chest. Her pearly white teeth biting down on her plush bottom lip. Raven nearly faltered in his step.

Then she turned, pressing her backside against his crotch. And the world seemed to come to a stop. Raven nearly groaned, when he pressed forward, she pressed back. And soon enough they were grinding on the floor, hidden from the eyes of the public by the drunk bodies laughing and dancing around them.

Seemingly done with the dance, the female turned her head back and whispered, “Lets take this somewhere private.”

Raven felt a grin on his face and his heart beating out of his chest, He squeezed her hips and ground against her ass, “Lets.”

With a flick of his wrist they winnowed to the palace. To Raven’s bedroom. Before he could get a word out, her lips were on his. Raven was only shocked for a moment, before he ran his hands down to the back of her thighs and lifted her up, placing her on his hips.

She groaned into his mouth and he mirrored the sound, they both rocked against each other, desperate for friction. Raven then walked to the far side of his bedroom and dropped her down onto the silk black sheets.

She grinned from her place below him, spreading her thighs open she said, “Go on, take what's yours, my Lord.”

A sound vibrated through his chest, a dark sound made feral with need and want. Raven crawled on top of her, her hands immediately went to his shirt, unbuttoning quickly, then her right hand travelled down to the hardness pressing against the seam of his pants.

A moan escaped him when she rubbed the fabric, providing well-wanted friction.

Raven captured her mouth in his own. When she bit his lip, the final tether of his control snapped. The Night Lord pushed the fabric of her ‘dress’ away, revealing the space between her legs. No undergarments.

Raven’s eyes went wide and the female smirked.

“Well?” She murmured.

A grin slowly spread out on his face. With a snap of his fingers all his clothes were gone, and Raven took her mouth in his, saying, “Moan for me, beautiful.”

***

When Rhysand awoke that morning, he was tangled in black sheets. There was a pounding in between his legs that made him groan in pain. Blinking his eyes open, he stared up at a ceiling that was not his own. When he sat up he was in a bed that was not his own.

Looking down at his chest, at the full breasts now sitting there, and the garments he had worn for tonight, he remembered where he was.

He had fucked the High lord of the Night Court.

Or.. gotten fucked. If the soreness sitting in his core was any clue.

A low groan could be heard beside him, quickly he looked down and there he was.

Raven Archeron, in all his naked glory. Arms that could completely encircle him. A broad, strong chest rising and falling with every breath. A sharp-cut jawline. Long hair that had been in a braid last night was now spread out over the pillow. Rhysand stared at him for a minute, in awe.

The High lord rolled onto his side, his face pressing against Rhysand’s thigh. The half-Illyrian held his breath, fingers dancing on the fabric of the pillow before travelling to the burnished gold that was Raven Archeron’s hair. Ever so gently, he twisted a strand of hair into his hand.

He was beautiful, completely and utterly beautiful.

He opened his eyes. Rhysand’s breath was stolen from him. Eyes a blue-grey like storms fluttered, looking around before landing on Rhysand’s form. His eyes widened for a moment before he groaned low in his throat, sitting up on his forearms.

“Good morning.” Rhysand smiled, still playing with that lock of hair.

Raven grinned up at him.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He rasped, voice deep and scratchy from the lack of usage. Rhysand felt a shiver run down his spine, his skin feeling like it was on fire.

Raven sat up and looked about his room. Rhysand bit his lip, the air turning slightly awkward as neither party knew how to proceed.

They didn’t need to make a move though, as the door burst open and a female with the same hair and skin as Raven walked in. Her face was sweeter, her hair was in tangles, her eyes were irritated from rubbing them. She looked as though she just awoke.

Her eyes landed on Rhysand and her sweet mouth curled into a sneer. Quickly Raven covered Rhysand in a blanket, and Rhysand’s own wings curled around himself. At a closer inspection, Rhysand recognised the female. She was the middle child of the Archerons, Elain. The supposed sweetest and kindest.

She didn’t appear so sweet when she bowed her head ever so slightly and said, “Raven, who is this… lovely female you have brought to our home.”

“I…” Raven didn’t seem to have an explanation and looked as though he was caught. Rhysand felt very on display now.

“I must have forgotten to tell you to take the results of last night's drinking and dancing to the pleasure halls, not our home.” Elain all but sneered, still keeping that sweet smile and laughing eyes, but her tone was turning dark.

“Yes, yes Elain, I just- we were… caught in emotions of the night, the Lady will be off this morning.” Raven said. Rhysand cut his glare to Raven, whose eyes were skipping between Elain and Rhysand, as if deciding who was worse to piss off. Apparently he decided on Elain.

“The Lady best be going soon then, as noon approaches.” Elain snarled, losing her kind facade before she slammed the door shut.

“Shit.” Raven swore, jumping out of bed, Rhysand didn’t even get a chance to appreciate the artistry that was Raven Archeron naked as he was forcing himself into a pair of trousers whilst opening the light curtains, letting the late morning light in, “Its nearly midday, I’m sorry but you have to go.”

“But I-” Rhysand tried to persist. He didn’t want to leave yet, not when he was right in the bed of the High lord.

“Please cover yourself, take any clothing you want from my wardrobe, but be gone by the time I return.” Raven said, the words were harsh but his voice was apologetic, Rhysand still loathed it all the same.

But before Rhysand could express his distaste, Raven stormed from the room. Opening then shutting the door firmly.

Rhysand sighed.

“So much for getting out of the slums.”

***

Cassian and Azriel didn’t blame him when Rhysand came back with no luck. His friends just nodded, disappointment clear in their eyes but both of them just said he did what he could. Azriel even admitted that he would’ve preferred not to resort to marrying Rhysand off to the High lord to try and get them out of their situation.

But Rhysand knew all that was just talk. At this point any of them were willing to do anything to get out of their situation.

Rhysand had been the son of a famed Lord, who had a fall from grace. After his father was found forcing himself on the to-be-wed thirteen year-old daughter of a merchant, he was cast out from the Hewn City, and Rhysand wanted nothing to do with him.

Given that without his father Rhysand had nothing, he was left to the streets. No one wanted anything to do with the bastard son of the male that raped the young daughter of the highly regarded merchant.

He had been sent to Illyria on the Steward of the time’s orders. Keir had smirked when he

made the order, he had never liked Rhysand, but given he was the son of his now exiled brother he hadn’t been able to express until then.

Rhysand ended up in Illyria, where he was sent to a remote village, where he had also been rejected.

After a good hike in the snow and nearly freezing to death, he found a small cabin like construction. It was made out of a large fallen tree and carved to be a shelter. Having no one else to go he entered, and there he met Cassian and his mother.

Cassian’s mom had run from her village upon finding out about her pregnancy, after a male had raped her. She along with her two sisters had made that little cabin and resided there. Cassian was fifteen and Rhysand was thirteen when they found each other.

Cassian had been stronger than Rhysand on account of being a full-blood Illyrian. But being completely isolated from the rest of his people. He didn’t fight. Rhysand had been trained to fight by his mother who was taught by one of her older brothers, one who didn’t agree with not teaching the girls how to fight.

So Rhysand taught Cassian, who at first was hesitant, but eventually learned to love the thrill. He didn’t like the idea of killing in a war at all, but still liked to spar with Rhys.

Then after a few years, another small boy came to the cabin.

A boy with scarred hands and shadows swarming him. Azriel didn’t know how to fly when he came to them. After gentle coaxing and patience, the older two Illyrians taught him to fly.

A trio was born. A trio that helped their mother, and lived on the outskirts of Illyria.

That was until the War was reaching its peak. Being so far removed from the War itself, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian had no idea it was even happening. But an order went out for all boys of age to fight. All were called for, and Rhysand was remembered.

The Illyrians hunted them down and found the cabin. The three boys were taken and never saw Cassian’s mother or her sister again.

Rhysand still hoped every day they were out there.

The only bright side to any of it was Rhysand saw his sister again. She wound up in the same section as them, a General now, bigger, stronger and so much meaner. When Rhysand saw her, he couldn’t believe who he was looking at, but those violet eyes didn’t deceive him.

Branon was there, in the flesh, living and breathing. She too had been sent to Illyria, where they attempted to clip her wings and marry her off. Didn’t expect that Branon was not just stronger than she looked, but a powerful magic user. Utilising the dark magic of the Hewn City folk, she was capable of warding away Illyrian males that came near her and tore many to shreds.

No one could stop the female from climbing the ranks, spitting out blood when she was knocked down and getting back up.

It hadn’t been a tearful, happy reunion like Rhysand had dreamed. Instead his sister had looked at him with a blank stare and delivered the news that their mother had passed.

Then she snarkily remarked that he would’ve known if he ever bothered to come find her. Rhysand knew then that she blamed him for never leaving the sanctuary of Cassian’s home to go after what was left of his family.

Their relationship improved over the years. Instead of being hostile, now it was simply strained. Branon rarely came to see him, and Rhysand rarely saw her. She worked in Illyria, and lived there most of the time.

Rhysand however, lived in the outskirts of Velaris, in the only place he could afford.

Cassian and Azriel went with him. None of them had money, and they were shunned from the villages of Illyria. They did what they had to.

Azriel and Cassian found ways to make money, ways that Rhysand didn’t care to know the extent of it. But from the disgusting smells and red stains they tried to hide when they came home from their ‘work’ Rhysand knew it they didn’t like it. At least would rather not do it. His friends had learned to be apathetic to death, Rhys learned when he was a child.

He knew Azriel and Cassian had been marked by the Court. Nothing could be proven to put them in any kind of facility, but they weren’t welcome anywhere really.

It also meant that they didn’t qualify for the housing being provided for those living in the slums. They were trapped there. With nowhere to go.

Three months passed, and nothing got any better. In fact Rhysand started to get sick, throwing up in the mornings constantly, a headache pounding in his head constantly and being so tired all the goddamn time.

Rhysand picked at his breakfast, the dry bread with butter was better than most days, but still he wanted more. He knew what luxury was like and Gods he missed it.

He missed Cassian’s mom’s cooking, he missed his own mom’s cooking. He missed his father before it was found out what a horrible person he truly was. He missed the Hewn City of all things.

“Rhys, you have to eat something.” Azriel said. Looking up, Rhysand met his old friend’s eyes. How they had changed, once they had been filled with a constant fear and anxiety, then Cassian and himself helped to fill them with life and joy. Now they were dull, weighed down by memories. By guilt.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“I will.” Rhysand grunted out. He was still in the female form Tamlin had given him. The torn, dirty clothes he wore stretched at the bulge of his breasts. He wished they could’ve been smaller, because Gods these hurt.

He had squandered so much money getting those herbs for the witch. On some delusional idea that he may be able to seduce a fucking High lord. Because of him the three of them now had to take turns for who would eat in the morning.

They had tried to leave the Night Court. Tried to go anywhere fucking else, but word had spread of Azriel and Cassian, how dangerous they were, what crimes they had committed. Word spread of Rhysand, of his father, what he had done. What Rhysand had done during the War. The bloodthirsty brothers were shunned from everywhere they went.

Not fucking fair.

Though a small voice began to wonder if it was…

“Rhys.” Cassian murmured, Rhysand looked up at him, face near grey and eyes downcast.

“It’ll be okay.” His brother promised, Rhysand didn’t believe him.

The half-breed looked back down at his meal. And forced himself to choke it down.

It was only a few minutes before Rhysand was jumping from his chair and sprinting for the bathroom. Azriel and Cassian watched, listening as he threw up until he was slumping back against the wall, breathing hard and hungrier than before.

“God fucking damnit!” Rhysand screamed.

Cassian was the one to appear in the doorway, “You need to see a healer, this has gone on too long.”

“And waste more money?!” Rhysand shouted, forcing himself to his feet.

“We’re wasting money because you keep vomiting everything you eat.” Azriel called out from the kitchen, “If there's anything to stop this, we need it.”

Rhysand put a hand on the wall to keep himself from falling.

After a moment he sighed, “Fine, fine we’ll see a healer.”

***

Cassian’s face had gone completely white and Azriel’s shadows swarmed like a storm while his eyes went wide as saucers.

Rhysand had gone silent, before he choked out, “Please no.”

“I’m afraid so.” The healer said, a lovely small female with long brown hair and green eyes, “But I will say that I know it seems overwhelming right now, but it will get better as you accept his new reality of yours. You know Rhys, it is so incredibly rare for a High Fae to conceive. I promise this is just a new gift.”

A gift?! A fucking gift?!

A baby…

He… he was going to have a baby.

Rhysand wrapped his arms around himself, his wings cocooning around him, before a broken sob was ripped from his throat. He had always wanted a child, but not like this, not when the future was unstable and tomorrow could be the last meal he eats for weeks. He didn’t want to bring a baby into this world. Not when it was like this.

Not when it was so fucking unfair.

Cassian wrapped his arms around Rhysand and held him as he cried and cried. The tears refused to stop, streaming down his face, racking his body with a constant trembling.

Azriel spoke to the healer, but Rhysand didn’t hear it. Cassian picked him up and walked home with Rhysand in his arms. Flying through the air whilst holding the shaking Illyrian.

Everything else a daze of blurry nothing. Rhysand just remembered being placed on the small thin mattress of his bed and falling into darkness.

***

When he awoke the next day, Cassian and Azriel could be heard arguing in the kitchen. Silently, Rhysand crept from his bed, opening the door and looking out into the room. The apartment wasn’t big at all, with just one small bedroom, bathroom and attached kitchen.

Looking through the crack in the door, Rhysand watched as Azriel paced back and forth and Cassian sat at the small creaky table with his head in his hands.

“We can’t do that to him, Az. He is our brother-!” Cassian argued.

“Lower your voice, you will wake him. Listen Cass, we, along with him starve in these Godforsaken slums, that child in his womb will not survive the conditions here.” Azriel stopped his pacing as he spoke, glaring at Cassian.

On instinct Rhysand’s hand fell to his navel, pressing gently against the flesh there. Memory of the visit to the healer’s yesterday was thrown back at him. Rhysand swallowed.

Pregnant. He was pregnant. He now had the budding of another life inside of his body, a fake body, a body that he had constructed to try and seduce the High lord of the Night Court.

“We cannot allow that child to die, it will be the most likely contender for Heir of the Night Court.” Azriel stated.

Raven’s eyes flashed through Rhysand’s head. He remembered the warm hands that had pulled him down on his hard cock, the mouth that sucked bruises into his skin, the eyes that had looked into his own.

“Fuck!” Rhysand swore, smashing a fist into the threshold of the door. Needing to let out some of the excess energy.

Azriel and Cassian quickly snapped their eyes to him. They both shared a look, before Azriel sighed and gestured to the seat across from him. Rhysand gritted his teeth. Hating how weak he was now. Hated how this was a situation he had no control over. He couldn’t do anything here. He wasn’t in control anymore.

He hadn’t been for centuries.

“Sit, Rhys.” Azriel said.

Rhysand stared at the chair, before he gave up. He walked over and slouched in the chair, glaring at nothing. Glaring at his own stupidity.

“Listen, Rhys, we…” Azriel trailed off, the male had never been good at handling emotionally delicate situations. He opened and closed his mouth, not knowing how to phrase his next words.

Cassian’s eyes betrayed his anger for the situation, for the grief of his mother and his aunt. For what they had done in the War, and what they had done after.

The grief that none of them truly cared about what they had to do. Rhys sucked in a breath, straightening his back until it was stiff as a rod. Rhysand wished he cared more about the death he had inflicted in the War. Rhysand wished he cared more about what he did to Tamlin’s father-.

Cassian finished what Azriel couldn’t say, “We will need to speak to the High lord, Rhys.”

Rhysand knew what would happen if they went to the High lord. He would be either killed silently before word could spread, but if he was as kind as he proclaimed to be another likely event would be Rhysand being stolen away to a palace high in the mountains never to see or speak to another again.

But they could use this. Rhysand fluttered his wings a little, the smaller, faster wings that could allow him to zip through tight spaces. The curve of his hips, the swell of his breasts. Everything he used to seduce the High lord to his bed was now being used to house something that would eventually become another person.

“I’ll go to the High lord,” Rhysand said, “I’ll go to the High lord.”

Azriel looked at him with saddened eyes, but a firm look in his face that Rhysand knew was the acceptance they didn’t have another choice.

They’d go to the High lord.

***

When they went to the High lord, a month had passed and it was starfall.

At least that was a nice part of living outside the Hewn City. The Hewn City wasn’t a good place, but Rhys could skate by fine. He was a high-ranking male so most had accepted him finely.

But it was dark and shrouded in shadows down there, with snakes breathing down your neck at every corner. Up here though. You could see the stars.

Rhysand remembered his first true starfall. He had been out in Illyria and Cassian had dragged him outside. Then the stars had rained down upon the Earth and Rhysand thought the world was ending.

Now he saw the magnificent shades of silver and blue. How they fell across the sky like an avalanche of magic.

Though tonight even the wonder of the magic splitting the sky, covering the world in a deep shine, he couldn’t shake the sickness sitting in the pool of his gut. Nausea lept up in him with nearly every movement. He wanted to vomit.

“Are you alright?” Azriel whispered, a hand sitting on Rhysand’s shoulder. Rhysand nearly gagged but he managed to nod. The Shadowsinger furrowed his brow, Cassian leaned into say, “You look like you are about to pass out.”

Rhysand shook his head, a hand falling to his stomach. A small bump had now begun to form on his belly. Stretching out his shirt ever so slightly. It had annoyed him, mostly because the tighter dresses he had bought for the female form he had been given now no longer fit him. Azriel had disappeared when Rhysand was near ready to cry over the mourning of his outfits. When he returned it was with a midnight blue over the shoulder dress with long flowing fabrics and white gloves.

Rhysand had been immensely thankful for it. Tears streamed down his face as he put it on. Azriel and Cassian had shared a look, Rhys refused to acknowledge the fact he was acting more emotional than he normally would. He didn’t care. Not at this moment.

He wanted to vomit, to run away and never come back. To go back to the small world he lived in centuries ago.

Azriel squeezed his shoulder and Rhysand looked up.

There he was.

Tall, dark, foreboding, handsome Raven Archeron. He grinned and shook the hands of the courtiers that came his way. His shoulders loose and rolling, his fingers tapping against his thigh to the beat of the music, his blue stormy eyes sweeping the crowds with a scrutinising gaze.

Rhysand sucked in a near pained breath. His ribcage groaning at the stretch of his lungs. A reddening flush spread up his body, making him shake his hands by his sides to relive the growing need to run far and fast.

The three stepped into the light of the moon and stars. A falling star fell through the large gathering, smattering the crowd in shimmering blue, sprinkling across Rhysand’s hair, making it glow in the light.

He lifted his eyes to the falling sky above. It was pretty in a desperate way, stars falling down to the grounds below. Falling from their place amongst the night sky. A final goodbye to the lives they lived, a desperate last cry to the world that they once existed.

Rhysand loved Starfall.

When he brought his eyes back down to the sea of people. His heart nearly stopped in his chest. From across the party, feeling a world apart, a pair of sharpened green eyes met his own.

Shrouded in the shadows, leaning against a pillar. Tamlin tilted his head in a manner not unlike a curious cat. Although his expression was not curious, no, it was knowing. Tamlin had a glint in the emerald of his eyes that made Rhysand feel as bare as the day he was born. Barer even, like Tamlin could see past his skin, to his muscles, his tendons, his veins expanding with every pump of blood. His bones covered in the gore of his body.

The child in his womb.

Azriel and Cassian didn’t seem to notice the gaze that had locked and targeted Rhysand. They both slipped away with a murmured assurance they would be nearby. Leaving Rhysand alone amongst the blabbering of the public.

Tamlin looked him up and down, incredibly slowly. Locking each and every part of his form into his memory. Before he kicked off the pillar and strode through the crowd. Then his form disappeared behind a person and Rhysand felt his body relax as the Witch fell out of his sight.

It was quickly replaced by dread as Rhysand looked back over at the High lord to see him conversing with none other than Lucien fucking Vanserra.

The red-headed male was grinning and drinking as he was sprawled across a velvet purple lounge, the High lord of Night beside him. A drink in his hand as well. They chatted away seamlessly, exchanging easy smiles and lazy tilts of heads. Gesturing as their conversation flowed.

Rhysand tried to push back into the crowd, to disappear from sight. But it was too late. As hands wrapped around his shoulders. He turned over his shoulder to see the middle sister of the Archerons.

Elain Archeron smiled at him, a beautiful wide-mouthed grin with soft doe eyes. Different from the morning they had originally been acquainted where she had been pissed without a doubt.

But even now that sweet facade was not genuine, when Rhysand glanced over his shoulder to see Tamlin behind her, his face one of stone indifference, Rhysand knew his time was up.

Rhysand smiled anxiously at the female behind him. Putting on his sweetest voice he fell into the rhythm he had created. The mask he put up.

She not he. Her not him. Her’s not his. Rhysand breathed out ever so gently and let everything he knew and wanted slip away.

When Rhysand snapped in his next breath, she fixed her smile to be sweeter.

“My Lady, Elain, is there anything I may help you with?” She asked, voice sweet as honey and smooth as butter. A gentle curtsey bending her knees.

“Yes there is, my Lady…”

She lowered her head, tilting her gaze up, “My name is Esmeray, my Lady.”

“Esmeray,” Elain repeated slowly, each syllable sweet and soft on her tongue, “A pleasure to formally meet you Esmeray. Perhaps you don’t recall but we had an… interaction a few months past.”

How could Esmeray not remember? The very evidence of that night was now lying in her womb. Mother above, it appeared the woman before her still did not approve.

“I do remember that… interaction, Lady Elain.” Esmeray curtseyed once again, “I do wish our first meeting had been smoother, but I would gladly make it up to you.”

Elain smiled, but her eyes said, ‘Oh you best make it up to me.’

Esmeray swallowed hard.

Soft easy footsteps caught Esmeray’s attention. She wasn’t sure how throughout all the crowd noise she heard them, but she did. Elain seemed to as well, they both looked over Elain’s shoulder to see the Witch striding for them.

Elain’s shoulders loosened, her back relaxing ever so slightly. Tamlin’s eyes were pinned on Esmeray. Keeping her locked in the spot where she stood.

It had to be magic. The way the crowd seemed to part and become nothing but a flurry of background noise was not natural.

Tamlin’s green eyes glowed in the light of the night. Gleaming like metal in direct sunlight. Reflecting into Esmeray’s own.

“Elain.” Tamlin smiled softly at her, Elain tilted her head to him in acknowledgement, not correcting him to say ‘Lady Elain’.

So they’re friends, Esmeray mused.

Tamlin then turned his eyes to Esmeray, “Forgive my eavesdropping, my Ladies, was it Lady Esmeray you said?”

“It is indeed.” Esmeray replied stiffly.

“A pleasure,” Tamlin said, taking her hand in his own and gently grazing the back of her palm with his soft lips. Esmeray straightened. She didn’t need Tamlin to ruin this for her. Would he expose her? Take away what they had bargained for?

Now that she thought about nowhere in their agreement did it say Tamlin could not change her back whenever he pleased. Would he? How would that affect the baby?

Could that kill it?

Esmeray felt panic beginning to rise in her but before she could break down, a miracle, or perhaps a curse fell upon her.

“What is going on over here now?” A deceptively soft, seductive voice murmured from behind her.

Esmeray didn’t need to turn to know the High lord stood behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, kissing freedom and perhaps even her life behind as she turned to face Raven Archeron.

She looked up and smiled. Raven’s eyes widened by a fraction. Then he glanced down, as Esmeray took a step forward.

Raven’s jaw dropped for just a moment before it was quickly snapped shut. They both knew what it was that caught his attention.

The scent of pure starlight, a gift that should not occur to Esmeray naturally, that could only occur if the High lord had affected her with his power in some way.

Or in this case.

Put a child in her womb. Esmeray smiled sweetly as she looked upon the High lord's shocked face.

“Hello, my Lord. Do you remember me?” Esmeray asked in a delicate tone.

Raven didn’t reply as he took in a sharp, short breath. With a shaking hand that didn’t escape Esmeray’s notice, Raven gestured for Elain to leave with the words, “Elain, please see a room is made up, we have a guest.”

Elain nodded quickly, her eyes turning harsh when they landed on Raven.

Esmeray turned to Raven again to see that Lucien Vanserra was walking towards them. Raven turned and gave him a stern look that the Vanserra raised an eyebrow at.

Tamlin walked up to Lucien and put a hand on his shoulder before dipping into whisper words in his ear. Lucien’s eyes went wide. He looked over at Esmeray and she knew Tamlin told him who she really was.

But Raven didn’t seem to know. He just stared at her like she was some kind of horrific creature.

“Perhaps we should talk in a more private area.” Esmeray said.

“Perhaps we should.”

***

“You just couldn’t pull out!” Morrigan shouted as she threw her hands into the air.

Feyre leaned back in her chair. Staring into nothing. Feeling everything.

A child, her child, a baby, her baby. A stranger was pregnant with her baby, her Heir, the Court’s Heir. She was going to be a mother. The Court had an Heir. She had gotten someone pregnant.

It was so much. It was too much. She pulled at her hair before collapsing over the desk and putting her arms over her head.

Nesta was not nearly as angry as Feyre had thought she would be. She just seemed…. Disappointed.

Which was so much worse than anger.

“I’m sorry.” Feyre insisted, “I didn’t mean-”

“No one means to get someone pregnant, Feyre Archeron.” Nesta snapped. Feyre met her sister’s eyes, Nesta was a cold stone to her, a mask of indifference, but clear disapproval shining in the silver.

“I know I just…”

Elain has her head in her hands, whispering under her breath, “The one thing I don’t say, don’t get someone pregnant, I don’t say it and then she goes and does it.”

Feyre curled her hands into fists, “Do you think I wanted this?!”

Elain snapped, “Am I required to spell out every single you thing you cannot do for you not to do them! Do I also have to tell you not to murder people or can you figure that one out by yourself!”

“Alright!” Nesta clapped her hands, exchanging a harsh glare to both girls, “What’s done is done. There isn’t any going back now.”

Elain threw one leg over the other before huffing, “I’m just glad Tamlin told me that Esmeray was there, with the scent of the High lord all over her.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at the mention of the ‘scent of the High lord’. She shuddered thinking about how both her sister’s could… smell that.

She nearly gagged.

“How did Tamlin even know that?” Morrigan asked.

Elain’s eyes flashed and Feyre narrowed her own, Elain brushed off Mor saying, “He’s a Witch, they aren’t Fae, he can sense things we don’t.”

Mor glared and opened her mouth to argue further, but Nesta put a hand on her knee and the blonde sighed, “I’d like to know what happened exactly.”

Elain shrugged, “What is there to know? Feyre got a girl pregnant four months ago, she’s shown up tonight no doubt to bring it to light. Tamlin noticed, and told me so I could step in to make sure she didn’t make it into a scene. I called Feyre over in my mind and here we are.”

Feyre leaned back in her chair, nearly wincing as she recalled the sounds of her sister screaming and banging on her mental wards like she wished to kill her.

Morrigan sighed, leaning back in her chair and throwing an arm back around Nesta’s chair, “Where is she now?”

“Esmeray is in a guest room.” Elain replied, “Morning is coming quickly, she fell asleep after being taken there.”

Morrigan nodded, then her face twisted into a grimace, “She won’t like us.”

“What makes you say that? We’re great company.” Feyre snarked.

Morrigan hissed, “She won’t know what is going to happen to her or her child. We need to put her at ease, be kind.”

“We’re always kind.” Nesta sneered.

“Of course you are my love.” Morrigan raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

At that moment a polite knock echoed through the study. Feyre stood from her desk as a power that called to her own slithered past the gaps of the door. Nesta and Elain shared a look. Morrigan stood, with a final glance at Feyre. She headed for the door.

When she pulled it open, the group was faced with a servant, a girl with dark hair and a shadowed face. Behind her, she stood.

She looked just as beautiful in the soft early morning light. With her hair in a loose braid down the side of her shoulder. A dress of dark blue, sparkling in the light. Her violet eyes met Feyre, and the High lord could’ve sworn they darkened ever so slightly.

Feyre closed her eyes.

Raven opened his eyes. He cleared his throat and sat back down, kicking his legs over the desk, trying to appear casual. Nesta raised an eyebrow as she scrutinised the girl, Elain offered a tight-lipped smile. Morrigan dipped her head in respect.

With a quiet word, the servant left and Morrigan gestured for Esmeray to enter. She did. Light footsteps echoing through the room until Raven was certain they were reverberating in his very bones.

It was Morrigan who spoke, “Welcome, Lady Esmeray, to our humble abode.”

Elain nearly snickered, but bit her lip.

Esmeray gave the ghost of a smile before looking around the lavishly decorated office, “Humble indeed.”

Raven tossed his head to one side, “How did you sleep?”

“Very well, my Lord.” Esmeray replied. Her eyes followed Raven’s. Glowing slightly, power writhing underneath that gaze.

Esmeray smiled at him, Raven smiled back.

That smile quickly faded, when the mating bond snapped into place.

13 notes · View notes