#Hybern
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One-Shot: Shadows of Secrets
Summary:
Y/N Archeron, gifted with invisibility, secretly listens in on the Night Court’s plans against Hybern to prove her worth. When she goes missing during the battle, Azriel must find her amid the chaos, leading to a moment of vulnerability and a deepening bond between them.
Word Count: 2306
Warnings: None
The shadows were her refuge. Y/N Archeron, the youngest of the Archeron sisters, had been given the gift—or curse—of invisibility when she emerged from the Cauldron. While her sisters had received powers that they wore like armor, Y/N’s ability was more elusive, more secretive. She could vanish from sight, slip through the cracks, and listen to secrets meant to be kept hidden.
Growing up, Y/N often felt like the forgotten sister. Feyre, Nesta, and Elain were always busy, strong, and capable, while Y/N, being the youngest, was often overlooked. She had been too young to contribute meaningfully to the family’s struggles, and that feeling of uselessness had stayed with her. But tonight, she was determined to change that. The Night Court was planning their next move against Hybern, and she needed to know how she could help. This was her chance to prove herself.
Slipping into the war room undetected, she positioned herself in a corner, her body fading from view. The room was dimly lit, a large map spread across the table in the center. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood around it, their expressions grim as they discussed strategies and battle plans.
“We need to strike quickly and decisively,” Rhysand was saying, his voice filled with authority. “Hybern’s forces are on the move, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”
Cassian nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. “Our spies have confirmed their movements. We have a narrow window to catch them off guard.”
Azriel, silent and brooding, stood slightly apart from the others, his shadows whispering around him. As Y/N watched, she felt a strange connection to those shadows, as if they were aware of her presence.
Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he listened to the murmurs of his shadows. He knew someone was there, but he said nothing, continuing to discuss plans with Rhysand and Cassian. The meeting dragged on, with detailed discussions and strategic planning. Y/N strained to catch every word, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear.
Finally, Rhysand and Cassian concluded the meeting, their expressions resolute. “We’ll meet again tomorrow to finalize the details,” Rhysand said, rolling up the map. “Get some rest.”
As the others left the room, Azriel lingered, his shadows swirling more restlessly around him. Y/N remained invisible, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But as the door closed behind Rhysand and Cassian, Azriel spoke, his voice cold and commanding.
“Show yourself.”
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, but the shadows around her seemed to tighten, pulling her toward visibility. Slowly, she let her invisibility fade, revealing herself in the corner of the room.
Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”
She straightened, meeting his gaze with determination. “I wanted to help. I’ve been listening, learning. I want to fight with you against Hybern.”
Azriel’s expression hardened. “Spying on us isn’t the way to do that.”
“I wasn’t spying,” Y/N protested, her voice rising. “I was trying to understand how I can help.”
Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around her menacingly. “You could have been caught. You could have been killed. Do you understand how reckless that was?”
Y/N stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “I know the risks, Azriel. I’m not a child. I can handle myself.”
Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. “You should have come to us directly. Spying, even with good intentions, undermines trust.”
Y/N’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I didn’t want my sisters to know. They have enough to worry about.”
Azriel’s expression softened further, the shadows around him calming. “We all have our burdens, Y/N. But secrets like this can get you killed. You’re part of this court, and that means you don’t have to do this alone.”
Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “I want to prove myself, Azriel. I want to show that I can be useful, that I can fight.”
Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mix of respect and concern. “Then we’ll train you, get you ready for what’s to come. But no more secrets.”
Y/N nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. “No more secrets.”
Azriel stepped back, his expression thoughtful. “You have potential, Y/N. But you need to trust us. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Y/N said softly, meeting his gaze. “And I’ll prove it.”
As the night wore on, Y/N felt a strange sense of belonging. She was no longer the invisible sister, hiding in the shadows. She was part of the Night Court now, ready to fight alongside them.
And as Azriel’s shadows curled around her, whispering their secrets, she knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with them. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of training and preparation. Azriel took Y/N under his wing, teaching her the art of stealth and shadow manipulation. Their sessions were intense but rewarding, and Y/N quickly found herself improving. She learned how to move silently, how to blend into her surroundings, and how to use her invisibility to her advantage.
Azriel’s shadows became a constant presence, swirling around them as they trained. They seemed to take a liking to Y/N, often lingering near her even after their sessions ended. She found herself growing fond of the shadows, speaking to them in the same way Azriel did. They responded to her, their whispers soft and affectionate.
One evening, as they finished a particularly grueling training session, Azriel noticed the way his shadows were behaving around Y/N. They twined around her like playful tendrils, almost like puppies seeking attention. He watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity as Y/N spoke to them, her voice soft and soothing.
“You’ve got a way with them,” Azriel remarked, his eyes twinkling with admiration.
Y/N smiled, gently patting one of the shadows. “They’re easier to talk to than most people. They listen.”
Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “They do seem to have taken a liking to you. It’s not something they do often.”
As they walked back to the House of Wind, the bond between them grew stronger. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of quiet understanding. Y/N began to see a different side of Azriel—one that was gentle, kind, and fiercely protective. And Azriel found himself opening up to Y/N in ways he hadn’t with anyone else.
One day, Feyre found Azriel alone in the library, his shadows dancing around him as he read a report. She approached him quietly, her expression serious.
“Azriel, can we talk?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but firm.
Azriel looked up, nodding. “Of course, Feyre. What’s on your mind?”
Feyre took a seat across from him, her eyes searching his. “It’s about Y/N. I’ve noticed how close you two have become. And I’ve seen the way your shadows follow her.”
Azriel’s gaze softened. “She’s special, Feyre. She has a gift with the shadows, and she’s become quite skilled. But more than that, she’s determined to prove herself.”
Feyre nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve seen that. But she’s still my sister, Azriel. I worry about her, especially with the danger we’re facing.”
Azriel leaned forward, his voice earnest. “I understand your concern, Feyre. And I promise you, I’ll keep her safe. I care about her deeply. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Feyre’s eyes softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I know you will. Just... be careful. She’s been through so much already.”
Azriel nodded, a determined look in his eyes. “I will. You have my word.”
As the days passed, Y/N continued to train with Azriel, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. The shadows seemed to sense their connection, often wrapping around Y/N protectively. She could communicate with them effortlessly, and they responded to her with a loyalty that mirrored their bond with Azriel.
One evening, as they stood on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N turned to Azriel, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Azriel. For everything. I’ve never felt more capable, more... needed.”
Azriel smiled, his shadows swirling around them both. “You’ve always been capable, Y/N. You just needed the right opportunity to show it. And you’re more than needed—you’re invaluable.”
Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, and she reached out to take his hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Azriel’s gaze softened, and he squeezed her hand gently. “We’re a team, Y/N. And I’m proud to have you by my side.”
As they stood there, the bond between them stronger than ever, Y/N knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with Azriel and the Night Court. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.
And as the stars twinkled above, she felt a sense of peace and purpose. With Azriel by her side, she knew they could face anything—together.
The day of the battle with Hybern had arrived. The air was thick with tension as the Night Court prepared for the confrontation. Feyre had insisted that Y/N stay behind with Elain, away from the front lines. Despite Y/N’s protests, Feyre’s concern for her youngest sister’s safety had won out.
As the armies clashed and the battle raged, Feyre's thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. She trusted her sister's abilities, but the fear of losing her gnawed at her. When the battle finally ended, the field was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. As Feyre surveyed the battlefield, a sense of dread settled in her stomach.
“Where’s Y/N?” Feyre called out, her voice tinged with worry. She scanned the area, her heart pounding.
Elain, standing nearby, looked around with wide eyes. “She was with me... but then she disappeared. I thought she was just hiding.”
Panic surged through Feyre, and she immediately turned to Azriel, who was tending to some of the wounded. “Azriel, Y/N is missing. We need to find her.”
Azriel’s eyes widened, and without a word, his shadows sprang into action, darting out in all directions to search for her. His heart raced with worry, but he forced himself to stay calm, knowing that he needed to find her quickly.
“Where is she?” Azriel muttered to himself, his shadows stretching out further. “Find her. Find Y/N.”
The shadows darted through the forest, guided by their connection to Y/N. They led Azriel to a secluded spot, deep within the woods. As he approached, he saw the aftermath of a fierce battle. Hybern soldiers lay scattered, their lifeless bodies a testament to a brutal fight.
In the center of the carnage, Y/N sat on the ground, her knees drawn to her chest. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes wide with panic. Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of her distress.
“Y/N,” he called softly, approaching her with caution. “It’s me, Azriel. You’re safe now.”
Y/N’s eyes flicked up to him, her face pale and her hands trembling. “Azriel, I... I didn’t mean to...”
Azriel knelt beside her, his shadows wrapping around them both in a protective cocoon. “It’s okay, Y/N. You did what you had to do.”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I killed them, Azriel. I killed so many.”
Azriel gently took her hands in his, his touch grounding her. “You were defending yourself. Defending us. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”
Y/N’s breathing hitched, and she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Azriel’s heart ached for her, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re safe now. I’m here. Just breathe with me.”
He guided her through slow, deep breaths, his voice soothing and steady. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the panic in her eyes fading. She rested her head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“I couldn’t stay behind,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. “I needed to help.”
Azriel stroked her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I know, Y/N. And you did help. You’re incredibly brave.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and gratitude. “I just wanted to prove that I could make a difference.”
Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “You’ve proven that and more. But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re in this together.”
Y/N nodded, her grip on him tightening. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”
Azriel shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Just promise me you’ll let us know next time. We need you safe, Y/N.”
She managed a small smile in return. “I promise.”
As they sat there in the quiet forest, surrounded by the aftermath of battle, Azriel held Y/N close, his shadows enveloping them both. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready to face any challenge.
And as the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, they rose together, hand in hand, ready to return to their family and continue the fight for their home. In each other, they had found strength, trust, and a bond that would carry them through whatever lay ahead.
#ACOTAR#A Court of Thorns and Roses#ACOTAR fanfiction#Azriel#Azriel x reader#Y/N Archeron#Night Court#Hybern#battle#shadowsinger#invisibility#sibling bonds#emotional support#angst#romance#fantasy#SJM fanfiction#Sarah J Maas#ACOTAR fandom#fanfiction#one-shot#character growth#fantasy romance#azriel fanfic
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High Lords and their kinks
a/n: this got so out of hand so quickly
Warnings: smut. just so much smut
Rhysand:
We all know he has a breeding kink, and with a smart mouth like that he definitely knows how to put it to good use on you
He has those lovely, deliciously sensitive, big illyrian wings at his back—practically a walking weak spot. And after all the teasing he puts you through with that cruel, silver-tipped tongue, you’re perfectly entitled to put him through his own set of trials
You cannot tell me he doesn’t get off on showing you off—at least a little. Whether it’s subtly matching jewellery pieces, having his scent marking your clothing, or having you astride his thigh before his court in the Hewn City, he delights in letting everyone know you’re one another’s.
Helion:
Is there anything I can actually add that isn’t obvious? He has a whole library at his fingertips, and knowing how much of the internet consists of porn in various forms, you cannot tell me there isn’t a secret alcove he has or even a whole other library (private, for your and his use only, of course) dedicated specifically for his personal interests.
He’s definitely familiar with sex toys, are you kidding me? He could go from cooking meals for you and letting you try on his golden snake armband, to having you gently spread apart for him on his bed, thighs pushed open, forearms bound at your back, eyes blindfolded as tears of pleasure spill down, a vibrator secured perfectly over your clit while he latches his mouth over your pretty nipples, keeping himself deep inside your dripping cunt.
And he’d use them outside the bedroom, too.
Sharing erotica that has heat spreading through your bodies—whether it’s reenacting scenes together, or being told to read a page aloud as he applies himself to you, it’s something both of you take pleasure in, finding equal enjoyment in the physical intimacy as well as the emotional side of getting to discover and share new experiences together.
Thesan:
Hear me out on this: threesomes.
We already know he has a male lover, so sharing you with someone else—someone he cares for and trusts—isn’t an issue. Quite the opposite.
Getting to watch as both his partners touch and explore one another, kiss and discover, or turn their sights on him—absolute heaven. Especially after a long day of work, dealing with High Lord business, then getting to just relax into his lovers’ arms? Utter perfection.
And it’s non-sexual too: waking up with a warm body pressed either side that’s been softened from sleep, sharing meals and nabbing pieces of food off each other’s plates, swapping clothes and sharing scents until they’re so thoroughly combined no one would remember what belongs to who since they all smell the same.
Kallias (and Viviane):
Temperature play.
Hot baths, a thick lather of bubbles looking like foam across the surface, heat soaking into your body until you’re sweating, all the while he’s running cool fingertips over your skin, so perfectly sensitive as he plays with you leisurely, brushing teasingly over your nipples, dipping between your thighs to press the cold pad of his digit flat to your clit.
I might be biased, but I feel like Kallias would also have some hints of a breeding kink.
Sinking into your warm, wet heat—how could he resist filling you up, hoping that you take to him, latch on and keep him tucked away inside.
Now, adding Viviane into the mix, things get so much messier.
Nights that would start off clean cut and strict would slowly devolve into sloppily grinding against one another, turned dumb and pliable by relentless pleasure. Kallias often finding himself rolling his hips to one of you, the other placed atop their mouth. When it’s not that way round, it’s him who’s lying on the bed, panting and fucked out while Viviane rides his cock, you keeping him docile and distracted beneath your cunt while your hands explore her breasts, cupping and thumbing across her nipples, mouthes latched together intimately.
Tarquin:
Oh boy, we’re touching on some monsterfucking here, no way around it. I mean, come on, his whole theme is to do with the sea, of course tentacles are going to come into play one way or another when he partially transforms.
Hundreds of small suction pads settling across your body, bath water lapping at the sides while you lean into him, panting with heat and need. It’s like having tiny mouths licking and suckling at the best spots across your skin, one placed deliberately over your clit while his fingers work you apart, then switching between using his mouth and his tentacles to tug and suck at your nipples, loving how you cry out for him.
I also think he’d absolutely love seeing you in lingerie—lovely pale green lace with creamy white frills, reminding him of sea foam. How you’ll sometimes adorn yourself in pearls, their pale shine complimenting the threads of your underwear, making him desperate to touch you, to at least feel you against him in some way.
Beron (+Eris, separately):
He is an utter control freak but in the best way (cannot believe I’m saying this—kind of struggling)
Anything from collars, to leashes, to chains, ropes, ties, even his belt, he knows how to use them on you, to wrap you up in such a way that he is in complete and utter control over your body, deciding how much pleasure to doll out that night. Going as far as to have a little bell attached to the collar, just to add that edge of humiliation.
Now, despite how dominating that might sound, he loves flipping you on your back, keeping your thighs spread apart even as you try to shut them when he spins you into overstimulation. And why wouldn’t he?
Using his mouth on you, reducing you to such a blabbering mess gives him ultimate control over you—who needs daemati abilities to shatter minds when you have heated fingertips and a mouth that knows how to put its harsh properties to use?
Eris—he knows his strengths, and plays to them.
While others might spend precious minutes going around, lighting every candle, he can do it with a fraction of a thought, filling your room with a soft glow, helping you settle into that mood.
It���s taken a bit, but you’ve managed to narrow down the selection of scents to a specific combination—reaching the point you’re no longer able to smell even a hint of vanilla without utterly soaking your underwear. Though maybe that had been part of a secret plan of his, to get you to associate a scent so powerfully with pleasure that you’d be at his mercy with little more than a candle to blame.
While he can be teasing, and a little mean at times, he enjoys slowly kissing his way down your body, murmuring how much he adores you, how he cherishes you, how he loves the way you thread your fingers through his hair. And you love hearing those whispered confessions from his lips, because it means he feels safe. Safe to speak with you, to trust in you, to allow himself to be comforted by you. He has someone to be with.
Tamlin:
Obviously, monsterfucking again
Probably in possession of a wicked power kink as well as in favour of some predator play. Getting to chase after you beneath a full moon—there’s something so ancient and ritualistic about the practice that just eases some tension in his beast’s bones. Catching up with you and clasping the nape of your gown in his jaws to raise you from the ground as you squirm helplessly, unable to do much against such a massive creature.
I do think that behind closed doors, he wouldn’t mind the power imbalance going in the opposite direction though… Being forced to just sit and wait patiently while you strip yourself of your clothes, teasingly tossing your underwear into his lap while you lay back on the bed, pleaded with how his fangs have subconsciously pushed from his upper lip, pupils dilated with ferocious hunger—needing to bed you.
Hybern:
Loves getting head
We’re in unfamiliar territory over here, but he knows his way around some nasty spells. Incantations that have you riding him desperately, aching for release after release, grinding tight against his hips so he touches those spots that have you sobbing.
Potions are also frequently incorporated—that make you need him with every part of your being with such an acute intensity he makes a mental note to lessen to liquid’s concentration next time.
He also like seeing you in different crowns, one time putting you in one made of bone, then ordering you to remove your dress without dislodging it—if it was nudged, he’d edge you until you were crying, but if it fell… Mother save you.
general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy
rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger
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Datura Pt 13
Content Warnings: Torture, Canon Typical Violence, Cursing
Author's Note: This is short and straight up angst I'm so sorry, but I promise the next chapter will be longer.
Masterlist/ Previous Chapter
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You can’t reach him.
It’s all you can think about; the cold, quiet emptiness in your head, in your chest, it’s all encompassing. You’re too far out of reach to warn him. Hybern is here and no one will have any idea, least of all your mate.
You thrash against the hands that hold you--Hybern had winnowed you out of the Mountain and right into the waiting arms of his soldiers, four of which now drag you inside a temple on the outskirts of Spring’s borders, the old building badly burnt, as if someone had recently set it on fire--throwing your weight around as best you can until you hit the floor. Amarantha is not around to punish you, you let your claws slip out of your nail beds so you can gouge them into the worn stones of the Temple floor, trying to slow your progress. There is no manipulating, no smooth talking your way out of whatever Hybern has planned for you, your only chance is to run.
“Bring her here,” Hybern orders. He sounds like an irritated father dealing with a toddler’s temper tantrum, his booming voice echoing off the domed ceiling.
There’s only one Priestess about, her blonde hair slipping out from underneath her soft blue hood, a circlet atop her pale face. She frowns when she sees you, as if you are the worst thing in the Temple, even though its battered walls are full of soldiers bearing Hybern’s sigil.
“No manners on this one, I see,” the priestess says.
Hybern frowns as he strokes a hand over his bearded chin. “Too much spirit in all the wrong places.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” You scream as one of the soldiers snags your ankle and drags you across the rough stones. It’s only then that you get a glimpse of an altar, old as time, the stones covered in dripping candle wax. Atop the cracked, ageless stones, a giant, black cauldron sits, green mist slipping from the top.
You freeze, claws still digging into the floor, momentarily keeping you in place. Not any cauldron, the Cauldron. Just like your dreams. As if it’s sentient, as if it can sense your unease, a voice from within the bottomless chamber whispers, “Come, come Daughter of the Void, come and see what I have in store for you.”
A shiver crawls its way up your spine and you throw yourself away from it as best you can. No one else seems to notice the voice, perhaps it is a message for you and you alone.
You poke at the bond again, making one last ditch attempt to reach your mate, but there is only cold, emptiness between the two of you. Despite all his promises, he’s too far away to save you.
“Stop this!” Hybern booms.
“Fuck you!” You shout back as you manage to free your ankle from a soldier’s grip and land a kick square in his nose. Blood splatters across your exposed leg as you twist, arms screaming in protest as you bring your knee into the next one’s groin.
Despite your best efforts, all Hybern has to do is reach out, and some great, invisible hand yanks you across the floor until you slam into the altar. When you try to stand, that hand holds you down with enough force to make the air leave your lungs in a terrible wheeze.
“Enough, daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter!” You snarl.
The priestess eyes you curiously, her pale blue eyes on your chest, where Rhys’s jacket no longer covers you, the too big sleeves sliding off your shoulders. She frowns as she steps closer. “Why is your chest glamored?”
Hybern’s power will not release you, even as he steps closer to get a better look.
The slide across the floor tore up the back of your thighs, your skin raw as you fight in vain to move away.
Shit shit shit.
Hybern crouches in front of you, and it’s only now you notice how armed his soldiers are behind him, swords in hand, ready to run you through if they think their king is in danger.
“Drop the glamor.”
“Eat shit!” You can’t move your hands, can’t kick out with your legs, and he’s not close enough to use your teeth, but that doesn’t stop you from spitting directly in his face.
In retaliation, that great power pinning you to the floor lifts you up, just to slam you back down, your head clacking against the altar so hard spots swim across your vision.
“Last chance to spare yourself,” Hybern warns.
You grit your teeth and snarl as many curses as you can think of and you're rewarded with an even more forceful drop, once, twice, and a third. You think you might have bitten your tongue, the coppery tang of blood heavy in your mouth, but the room spins so much you can’t be sure. But still, the glamor remains in place. You can hold it, you know you can, Rhys had prepared you more than you’d realized at the time. You hold onto that. Maybe Rhys cannot be here to physically save you, but all he’s taught you still remains at your disposal.
That power holding you lifts enough for you to finally, mercifully, take a full breath, only for it to shift into something else. What was once a crushing weight quickly morphs into a blasting wind, whipping back and forth over your exposed skin so hard and fast it tears the collar off your jacket. Hybern’s soldiers crouch back, holding onto the walls for support as that wind wraps itself around you like a serpent. Like phantom hands, the wind tears at the magic you’ve bound around yourself, as harsh and sharp as the twins attempt to get into your mind. It takes all your energy to keep the glamor up, to fight against it. You have no real knowledge how to throw out your own power as anything more than a shield, but you do know how to take. You let those phantom hands reach for you, your eyes falling shut, your attempts at pushing it away forgotten. You draw a breath, steadying yourself, willing yourself to open up to the fall.
“Come, come to me, Little Thief,” the Cauldron calls as your powers swim to the surface. “Come show me what you can steal.”
You are not helpless, you are not a mouse as Amarantha so likes to call you, you are a goddess caged in flesh, a storm housed within a body. This power can be yours as easily as it can be his. The thrashing of the wind stills for a moment, you can feel the ebb of it beneath your skin as it syncs to your heartbeat. You grab a tendril of it in your fingers, bending it to your will, and for a moment, for a moment all that terrible power belongs to you.
“Do you think me so feeble, daughter?” Hybern snarls and all of a sudden that power tears itself from your grip and lashes against you in earnest.
Your body jerks in its grip, the beating of it verging on pain now, your skin stinging. No matter how hard you try to grab it, it continues to slip through your fingers, leaving your only option to try and keep the glamor up at all costs. For maybe a minute or two you manage to fight it, pushing the wind away from the ink on your skin, but in the end, there is just too much of it. When the wind lets up and you hit the floor, the glamor is gone, and both your bargain marks are on full display.
“Night Court,” the priestess hisses.
Your heart drops into your stomach as Hybern studies the markings, his disdain palpable. Maybe you’re not so good at this after all.
“What deal did you make with that whore?” He hisses.
Your fangs slip out as your lips pull back in a snarl, “Stop calling him that!”
The priestess laughs, the sound shrill and irreverent in a space like this. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the bastard?”
“Ianthe,” Hybern warns and the priestess clamps her mouth shut. “Tell me what you’ve done, so I can undo it.”
Undo it. The words clang through you like an alarm bell and you push yourself upright, body screaming in protest until you’re flush against the altar. He can’t be serious. It could kill you! Worse, it could kill Rhys.
You instinctively clutch a hand over the flower inked into your chest.
“What did you bargain?” Hybern demands.
There are no thoughts in your head, no clever lies to save you, there is only the bubbling panic that something terrible is about to happen and you’re powerless to stop it, no matter what you’re made of.
“Please, don’t,” you whimper.
“What did you bargain?” Hybern shouts.
The Cauldron continues to whisper and hiss above your head, the strange mist turning the room eerie shades. Everything looks a little distorted and hazy.
“I vowed to kill Amarantha,” you stutter. Maybe the truth will save you, he did say he wanted her dead. “In exchange for some help and training.” No need to mention the moving into the Night Court with its High Lord thing.
“And?”
Together. A promise that there would be an after to look forward to, a future with no Amarantha, no Mountain, no pain. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. It’s not supposed to be like this! You never should have gotten out of bed, maybe if you had stayed in Rhys’s room, Hybern wouldn’t have found you at all. You’d still be with your mate, still working towards your freedom. It would be a cage, but you’d be together, as you promised. But now the ink on your palm is strangely cold, compared to the warmth that should be there.
“That’s all,” you lie and your reward is a backhanded slap across the face.
You grit your teeth; Amarantha has done worse to you, you can endure this.
“In the end, it doesn’t matter,” Hybern says, fixing the rumpled sleeves of his shirt. “If it kills Rhysand, I’m doing you a favor.”
“No!” It’s all you manage to get out before a stab of pain flairs beneath your skin. It’s subtle for a brief second, Hybern’s powers testing the strength of the marks, before it turns violent. Almost immediately, it begins to feel as if your palm and chest are tearing itself apart, splitting open. Black dots swirl across your vision, as the pain becomes white hot. At some point you begin screaming, for yourself, for the pain, for your mate.
“Stop! Please! NO!” The words jumble out of you in a rush. This can’t be happening! Dark mist seeps from your skin, claws and fangs tearing free from your hold on them as your body tries to fight him for you. The Temple rumbles and the Priestess starts muttering a prayer that makes the Cauldron bubble and hiss.
The room spins. Your body jerks, limbs twitching uncontrollably. “Stop!”
He’s going to kill you. All for his stupid war.
“Please,” you’re dimly aware that your claws are scratching at the flower on your chest, as if you can hold it in place, keep the bond from slipping through your fingers. Your tears burn as they slide down your cheeks. What will happen to your mating bond if he breaks this? The two are so tangled together, will it kill the both of you? “Please, stop!”
But Hybern pays your pleas no mind, powers holding you down as the pain becomes so unbearable you heave. Nothing Amarantha has done to you compares to this. This makes her look like a saint.
With one final, mind numbing crack, both bonds snap, the ink fading from your skin as you collapse against the floor. It’s cold, the rough stone biting into limbs that no longer feel connected to your body. The rise and fall of your chest feels like something has been carved from your body.
“I’m doing this for your own good, Y/N,” Hybern says.
You’ve ended up on your back, teary eyes staring through a hole in the ceiling, where the first glitter of stars shine through. “Rhys,” you whimper.
“It would only slow you down.” Hands slide under your shoulders and knees, calluses scraping against the open wounds the stones have made against your thighs. You don’t have the presence of mind to squirm, to fight, limbs still feeling like they’ve come disconnected from your body. “This is the only way for you to be free.”
Free. It’s such an empty word. You’re never really going to be free.
“Come, come, come,” beckons the Cauldron as it comes into view.
Hybern holds you over the rim, dark eyes impassive. “You will thank me for this one day.” And then he drops you in.
------
You’re drowning. Icy water tearing through your throat, pushing down your nose. Your arms won’t work, won’t let you flail back to the surface; legs unable to find a bottom. For something so outwardly small, there should be a bottom, but nothing ever rises to meet you. There are no walls to claw at, no bottom to push off of, there is only the icy water shoving its way inside your very being until it swallows you whole.
------
The world feels different when you come to, surrounded by a puddle of icy water on the floor like the Cauldron had been tipped over to dump your body out. You might be tempted to ask if you were dead, were it not for the pair of boots tapping against the stones in front of your head impatiently. Hard to imagine Hybern would be waiting for you in the afterlife.
It hurts to breathe, like there are shards of ice in your lungs and throat as you cough up some inky, black water onto the King’s boots. He doesn’t flinch away, even as you hurl your guts out.
“Are you done?” He asks.
You glance up at him through the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face. “Fuck you!” Your voice is different, a booming echo that sounds like it’s being screamed inside a cavern. The walls shake when you speak. Stranger still, it is not a single set of fangs you feel scrape past your lips when you snarl, but a whole set of jagged teeth. When you raise your hands to poke at them, your skin is once again an empty, black void, contained within the shape of your body. Your claws are shrouded in a black mist that drifts from your depthless skin.
“What did you do to me?”
Hybern crouches as and grabs the chain that still dangles from your throat, but when he gives it a pull, it feels as if it has become attached to your skin! There is no room between the collar and your throat, as if it had fused to your body, the tug the same tingling sensation you’d get if someone had pulled on your hair.
“You should show me your thanks,” he snarls. “I’ve freed you from the restrictions your uncle put on you as a child.”
You wince as he yanks you to your feet, limbs a little longer now than they used to be. Everything feels sharper. The pounding of the soldiers’ hearts are a drum beat in your ears. Their every breath feels like a scream. Your eyes burn under the faint candlelight, as if they’re not made to be in anything other than pure darkness.
“And now,” he snarls, pulling you close. “You’ll do as I say.”
You have every intention to get your hands on his chest and shove him, to fight back against the harsh hold he keeps on you, but you can’t. Your body stills, mid snarl, like it’s frozen.
Hybern grins as he watches your confusion, callused hand reaching out to brush your cheek. “Do you understand why those bargains couldn’t be there now?”
“What did you do?” You hiss.
He tugs the collar, earning another hiss of pain. “Ianthe used some spells for me, while you were under. Since I touched you last, the collar fused my will to you. If those bonds were still forged, well, you might have only answered to Rhysand.”
Your mind spins, body trembling. What has he done?
“I think you need a demonstration,” he says, turning to glance at his men, then back at you. “Kill them.”
Warmth emanates from the collar in a steady thrum, prompting you forward, whispering like the Cauldron had before you had been dumped in. No matter how hard you try to escape it, the collar only allows you to move in the way you’re ordered too. Despite all your protests, your claw tipped hand raises from your side, dark mist dripping from your fingers.
No. No. No! This is a bad dream.
And yet, you can’t even force your eyes shut, to look away from the carnage your body creates when that black mist gets directed at the line of terrified soldiers pressed against the wall. One moment there’s twenty men gaping at you, the next, there’s nothing but a fine mist of blood splattered against the Temple’s wall.
Nausea rolls in your gut, but you can’t even bend over to vomit.
“Was that so hard?”
This can’t be real. It can’t. You need to wake up.
Hybern tugs on your collar, demanding you look at him. “Was that so hard, daughter?”
You open your mouth to protest, but that same warm thrum from the collar stops the words in your throat. No matter how hard you try, you can’t raise your hands to try and pull it off your skin; if there’s a way to fight it, your body refuses to let you try and find it. When the collar, imbued with whatever spells they’d put into it while you were inside the Cauldron, doesn’t will it, your body will not push back against it. You can’t even cry as you want, all the emotions trapped within your body as if you’re inside your own walking tomb.
And Hybern, the man who’s supposed to be your father, laughs when you don’t answer. Laughs that he’s stolen your agency, your powers, you’re life for his own agendas.
“The Cauldron will need time to recharge before we get to the Wall,” Ianthe muses.
“We won’t need it to get through the Wall,” he returns. “Y/N will do all the work for us.”
She frowns as she takes you in. “What of Amarantha?”
Hybern tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he leans in, breath hot and unpleasant against your, now sensitive, skin. “For fighting me,” he hisses, “you’re going to go back Under the Mountain and kill all of them.”
------------------------------------------------
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#rhysand x reader#Rhys x reader#rhysand x reader angst#Rhys x reader fluff#Rhys x reader smut#Rhys x reader series#rhysand acotar#acotar fic#acotar smut#datura series#my fanfic#my writing#hybern#UTM!rhys#UTM!Rhys x reader
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I always forget about the part in ACOWAR where we find out from Eris that Tamlin literally dragged Beron out by his neck to fight in the final battle against Hybern.
The things I would do to get a bonus scene from SJM of that whole ordeal going down.
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Hello! Can you please write a story where Helion finds his mate on the battlefield? Thank you! ( I love your stories!❤❤❤)
OF COURSE! This was so, SOOOO beautiful to write and I really, really hope you like it! <3
A Fated War (Helion x Reader)
Summary// The battlefield was nothing but bodies littered on the ground, the sky an angry red as Hybern and Pyrthian soldiers fought for their lives. Helion had already been in one war and hoped he would never have to endure it again. Nothing good ever came from war…until he saw you.
(Anon request about Helion finding his mate on the battlefield and with it being the summer solstice you know I had to deliver! I hope you guys enjoy!)
WARNINGS: Blood, death, violence, reader is kidnapped, but other than that we get some fluff
Helion could taste copper on his tongue as he slashed through yet another Hybern soldier, his once clean armor now streaked with mud and bodily fluids of those who had tried to kill him. The sun was now low in the sky but the fighting was continuing on, cries of both pain and triumph rattling his skull.
He had lost track of his friends and other High Lords long ago, too hell-bent on stopping the King and his mindless men from invading their lands. His muscles were aching as he once again landed another hit, sweat dripping down his forehead as he risked a look around.
The good news was that he could see that their side still had much more people than Hybern’s. He took note of the different colors of flags flying in the blood-red sky, how humans and fae fought together, and he felt a small glimmer of hope rise in his chest.
It was still early in the war but he knew they could win, that they would win.
As he heard footsteps approach from behind he turned around, raising his sword high in the sky, before a loud horn rang out three times. The Hybern soldier stopped in his tracks, still several feet away from him, and locked eyes with the High Lord of Day.
“Your master is calling.” Helion snarled, his onyx hair sticking to his forehead. “I would run along before I rethink the decision to spare you.”
The unnamed man frowned, wanting to say something, before turning on his heel and winnowing away. Helion lowered his weapon and breathed, grateful that the bloodshed was over for the night. He as well as the others started to trek back to their respective camps for the night, knowing they would have to repeat this all over in the morning.
It was a quiet walk back to his tent but before he could fully entire the camp he heard a voice cry out in the woods beside them, his head turning before he could stop it.
“No, stop!” The voice screamed, a sharp shriek following immediately. “Help, please! Anybody!”
His feet changed direction in seconds, the sandals on his feet digging into the soft earth as he gripped his weapon tightly. It was almost dusk and he was losing visibility so he had to be quick, skidding to a stop to listen again.
“Help!”
To the left.
“No one is coming for you, girl.” A deeper voice taunted, Helion’s speed increasing as his face tightened in anger. “Scream all you want…you’re nothing to these people.”
“Please don’t hurt me…” The soft voice pleaded, voice wabbling, as he grew nearer. Helion’s eyes darted around for any sign of life before he caught the glint of a blade, his eyes focusing on a tall man standing above someone kneeling. He could almost smell their fear, and the man’s sadistic pleasure, as he slowed his steps.
The voice made something in him stir, a certain kind of protectiveness that was foreign. He moved quietly behind a tree and peered out, now able to see much more clearly.
“Keep screaming for me.” The man smirked, his leather armor filling in another puzzle piece for Helion. He was a Hybern soldier. “I want you to know just how helpless you are. Leave you here for your camp to find, not that anyone would bother looking in the first place.”
A soft sob came from the person kneeling, who he assumed was a girl given her clothes and smell. She was dressed in healer’s robes and Helion could just barely make out the color of the Dawn Court’s sigil on the back.
Before the Hybern soldier could even raise his blade Helion cleared his throat, stepping out of the darkness and into the last rays of the sun. Both of them turned to him, one seeing salvation while the other saw damnation.
“Helion…” The man gasped, stepping back in fear. His knife clattered to the ground as his eyes grew wide.
“I see my reputation proceeds me.” Helion smiled though it did not reach his eyes. “And I see yours does as well.”
“Please, spare me. I didn’t mean-”
“Didn’t mean to tie up this woman? Didn’t mean to beat her? Or threaten her life?” He asked, stepping in front of the shaken girl. “I know your kind, your type. I could smell your pleasure all the way from my camp.”
“She’s a nothing, a nobody, I just thought-” But before he could finish his sentence Helion had stepped forward and ended his life with a single blow, his heart thrumming in satisfaction as the man dropped to the floor.
He stared at the soldier for a moment, making sure he was dead, before turning to the girl. She had her head lowered, her entire body shaking as he crouched down and undid her binds. She brought her wrists to her chest and rubbed them, slowly standing with the High Lord.
“Thank you, Lord Helion.” She murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. “I owe you my life.”
“A name is all I would like.” He said softly, her scent the most lovely thing he had encountered in a long, long time. That strange urge to protect surged forward violently, his mind screaming for him to scoop her up and carry him back to his tent. “If you’re okay with that.”
She chewed on her lip for a minute while debating. He stood still, waiting patiently before she took a deep breath and held out her hand for him to take. Her head raised, beautiful eyes boring into his amber ones as she smiled softly and said,
“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”
The very breath in his lungs seemed to vanish as he touched her hand, sparks of daylight running up his arm and directly into his heart as your own eyes widened. His fingers tightened around your own before you could pull away in shock, inadvertently pulling you as well until your chest bumped against his own.
“I-You’re-” She fumbled, mouth agape, as Helion just blinked in amazement.
“My mate.” He whispered. “You’re my mate, my life.”
Helion watched a million emotions go across her face, her eyes scanning his own as if they were searching for an explanation. He would be too if he didn’t feel as high as he did now, his very soul soaring above the clouds as he bent down and pressed his forehead against her own.
And although she had every right to pull away, to want some distance to try and process, she couldn’t stop from closing her eyes and relishing in his touch, his scent, his bond with her. The forest turned a brilliant shade of pink and purple for the last few seconds of daylight, casting their bodies in an ethereal glow as the war created something heavenly.
#helion x reader#acotar fic#acotar reader#helion acotar#helion spell cleaver#helion#acotar#acotar imagine#acotar fic reader#acotar imagine reader#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acosf#hybern
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“Together, my mate and the High Lord of Day unleashed themselves upon Hybern.”
Feyre and Rhys feat. Azriel - A Court of Thorns and Roses
Artist: @joannahadzhart for @readingportal
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A Court of Thorns and Roses Locations
⤷ HYBERN
For @labellefleur-sauvage
#acotarlocations#hybern moodboard#hybern#hybern acotar#feysand#pro feysand#feyre archeron#rhysand#acomaf#a court of mist and fury#acowar#a court of wings and ruin#acosf#a court of silver flames#acotar moodboard#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#sjm
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I would honestly start malfunctioning if you wrote anything about Beron, if you're inclined to do so
His mother left him naught but his name before death touched her. Ciarán she called him, her voice sweet and breaking as flames touched her feet. Too young to understand he tried to climb into the fire after her, chubby hands reaching for the stake, for his máma. He could never recall who saved him, whose hands pulled him away, only that they never covered his eyes. And so he saw life leave her, the end of the only love he would ever know.
Kindness only went so far for children of the wicked.
***
He was made of peat and ash and the bitter poison of the maldaire tree. His skin, with the rings of the stump etched into it, was cursed they said. How could he be anything but when his mother birthed him under the bad magic on a night where the black moon sucked all light from the winter sky?
There was a time he sought their approval, strained to stand under the judgement of their stares, the Atlas of the Corrib people. At five and fifty, still a young lad, he slayed Bean Rí na Dorchadas, ripped her head off with his teeth, felt the oily taste of death stain his tongue. He thought acceptance might fall his way, shine on him like the warm love of a mother. For he stood, a warrior like they had not seen since the early days- the Cú of the Western Clann they called him.
But when those of greater title but lesser claim had feasts thrown in their honour, prayers sent to the Mother in their name as he languished in the filth and grime of the night like a dog, discarded and leashed to those who had never loved him he turned his eyes to the sky and howled.
If he was cursed, let them be damned.
***
And so with the moon lingering high above, he descended on his clann.
In turns of fang and claw and wing he murdered the people of Corrib, using the bones of the druids to cast the old magic his mother had known so well, so his name might be forgotten to all but the willow tree.
In the time to come it became known as Oíche Ghealach na Fuile.
The Night of the Blood Moon in a tongue not yet spoken.
***
For centuries he goes nameless, lives in the shadows, lurks on the edges of nightmares, waiting. But as surely as the dawn enters from the east his moment comes and he carves a title for himself, a costly one paid for in souls and terror.
King of Hybern.
The death bells toll once more.
***
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I’m convinced if SJM wrote The King of Hybern saying “you don’t know my story” this weird ass fandom would all try to fucking defend him😭
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A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 7 - A Tale of Time
" Thousands of years ago, before there was Prythian with its faes or the humans with their concept of time, even before the original death creatures who haunted our legends ever existed. Before the veil between the worlds fell in place and the universes started to build on top of each other, there were only two brothers, two geminis, two separate faces of the same coin, two sharp ends of the same blade. They were made by a Higher Power, an androginous specter of dust floating alone into the void, overlooking his kingdom of nothing. They were treated as his children. The two of them played together, ate at the same table, wore clothes made by the same hand, but they grew bored of the emptyness surrounding them. Always icy and friendless. So they asked their parent figure to make new beings around them.
Because this High Deity loved his children so much, he indulged them and made several other creatures. But before he began his creation, he asked each one of them what kind of friends they'd like to have around them. That's when he realised the dramatic difference between his kids and the terrible mistake he'd made.
The boy was the first one to be molded out of clay, but because his parent was in a negative state of mind, stroke by sadness, loneliness and surrounded by darkness, the child came out... hollow. His skin was olive and his hair and eyes were made with the most abysal black, so black that sometimes smoke seemed to dance around them. His beauty was ravishing, poisoning, unforgettable, like a dark temptation creeping inside your mind. That's one of the reasons he had many wives after he grew older. But his personality was sour, his gaze was ominous and his mouth was mean. A hyena in disguise.
Because he missed his son's love and warmth, he sculpted out of marble a daughter. His pride. His power. She came out at the opposite end of her brother. The Deity just came out of his depression, so the girl was carved with love, hapiness and light. She was as beautiful as her brother, but she held a golden crown of blonde locks around her heart-shaped face and her eyes were full of patience and kindness. A smile was always decorating her full mouth. The Joy of the Void, her parent used to call her.
No doubt who was the favorite child.
To the Deity's luck, he made them powerless. Immortal, but no magic to pass through their veins. So, when they asked to have their own pantheons, their preferences came through.
The son wanted a black castle, shielded by obsidian mountains and surrounded by bottomless rivers, so no one could disturb him. He wanted the power to make his own servants and people, shaped to match his wicked soul. So his parent, aware of his mistake and willing to make things right, gave him a tiny bit of magic.
Big fucking mistake. Those were the first deities ever created to rule over the underworld, Hel, as the boy liked to call his new home.
The daughter didn't need any magic to change things in her favour, but wanted her parent close as she made her choices. She learned the art of spellcraft throught plants and books and incantations from the Deity's whispers. She learned how to properly draw a sigil and how to infuse it with her intentions. She showed her friends what she learned and teached them how to use this magic for good.
Those were the first Gods to rule over the kingdom in the sky, Elysium.
But one particular night, after the son grew power hungry, he asked to have a meeting with his sister and told her his plans: to murder the Higher Deity, their parent and steal his power for themselves.
The woman was shocked and denied giving him any support on his idea, trying to convince him it was the wrong path to choose. She even wanted to show him how to gain his own power through his own work, through their own beings. They were a direct bloodline to this Primordial Deity, the magic was in them, they just needed to know how to access it.
Good thing she didn't get to.
They argued and fought each other and by mistake, with the minuscule power his Father gave him, the man blinded his sister.
With their brotherly relationship wasted, they both went to their palaces.
The woman tried to regain her vision with her spells. The other deities tried to help her, but that was raw magic, her Father's magic. It couldn't be broken. Knowing what her brother wanted to do next and knowing there was no way she could stop him, she created a protection spell for her father and drew the mark under his bed.
She never had the chance to alert him of what his son wanted to do. As he came back from his latest creation, a poisoned arrow, imprinted with that tiny specle of power he gave his son, pierced his heart.
With a last beat, his heart exploded, shattering into an infinite of pieces who grew and created universes.
He knew what his son's plans were. He had eyes and ears everywhere, so before the man came and collected his powers, he transfered as much as he could into his crying daughter, then urged her to hide. Before she left, he handled her his latent creation: humankind.
After this, the battle over this artwork started. The dark forces wanted manking as their slaves, another conquest to his territory, while the daughter tried to save and protect them.
They fought long and bloody battles, they created several armies with different powers, they crushed the ballance in the human world. Until the daughter sigilled the dark forces below, in their dark terittory, using her own blood. Everything with a cost: she sealed herself as well, in the skyes. This was the only way the humans were never to be touched by their evil power.
To thank her, the people called her " The Mother of us all ", the protector of their kind, " The Joy of the Void " , " The Banisher of Ghosts " .
But years passed, the veil started to crumple and with a mistake, Prythian came to life. The Cauldron was spilled and with its spilling, negative energy floated like mist inside the world and people and faes began to be corrupted by the dark forces. Peace was gone. As humans were slaughtered and brought to slavery, they gave the King of the Hel a name, " The Destroyer of Peace ", " The Butcher of Life " , but only one remained sealed into our minds, burned with fear inside our very core. " The Devourer of Worlds ".
Because her powers couldn't have a direct effect on our race, she tried to help them and gave them the knowledge of The Wall and how to be created and a promise. She prayed for them and that prayer was sent. You are that prayer, Cyan, " Prayer of the Lost " , " The Vespertus " , the tale of salvation, the sword of revenge.
She promised that she'll send her first daughter to bring peace to our world. To kill the evil. To restore balance. A Vespertus, a Mother's Sacrifice for her mistakes.
So she sent several families to wait for your coming. A burning star across the skyes. But The Devourer found out and sent creatures to kill them. We are one of those families, Cyan, one of The Benefactors. We've been waiting for you for thousands of years. Many like you came through the dessert where I found you, but none of them were you: The prayer.
This is why Shum kept saying all of those hateful things. He lost his hope. I'm afraid the darkness might got to his head, but he made peace with you.
You are our hope, girl. And I am here to guide you to the next point. We need to find you your next guardians. "
Standing there, listening to their story, I felt overwhelmed with contempt. I wasn't used to the idea of being the one. My whole life I was a second choice, a side character in someone else's story. I felt displaced and unsure, despite of my dreams of finally being chosen for something great. These people threw a handfull of great compliments: the saviour, the prayer, the first daughter of the Mother.
Silently, I denied each and every one of these titles. I wasn't worthy of them. At least not right now when the only thing I did was cry myself to sleep and attempt to kill myself in the process of hopelessly trying to find a way back home.
Cynthia mentioned that I was some sort of legend long forgotten, deleted even from the oldest of oracles, erased from scriptures and sculptures. " The Benefactors ", as they were called, had gone great lenghts to hide me from prying eyes and evil spirits that might seek me out to kill me. Cynthia also stated that her mental health started to diminish after the Mother herself sent her dreams and premonitions of me. That's how Niven found me in that deserted field. That's why Cynthia never left the safety of the farm.
The stove didn't produce as much heat as I felt in the air around. Maybe the news turned my hypothalamus all the way up, messing with my thermoregulation. My cheeks were burning so hard that I could feel them with my tongue from the inside. They were probably as red as they were hot.
A part of my fervent refusal was also the fact that I didn't recall such plotlines in the conflict of the other books. I was aware of the Mother being real, so was the Cauldron and its spilling and the formation of Prythian, but a daughter was never mentioned, The Devourer of Worlds was also new. How much did everything change with my coming?
Suddenly, that ominous voice that haunts my dreams chants again in the back of my head, his only condition before he pushed me here: ' you'll change the course of events '. Although I tried my best to not interfere with anything in what was going to unfold, maybe my mere landing here was itself an interference. Or maybe the fact that Eris saw me in Thaibar. That's why things had changed so drastically.
I open my mouth to tell them about that creature, the unsummoned one, but the words feel heavy in my throat, burning like hot coal between my vocal cords. I swallow them, feeling every letter like a bunch of unchewed food forced down my esophagus. I tried again. Every word I thought about was blurry, the vocals kept mixing, like I suffered from dyslexia. My mouth felt smeread with pitch, impossible to get it to open and form the sentence.
That son of a bitch bewitched me so I couldn't expose him.
That's why only Nimue's potion had managed to bring up some of my memories.
After their speech was over, eight pair of eyes followed me with expectation. Not once had I moved my body from that wooden chair. The cotton robe hanged heavily over my shoulders, black as a raven's feathers. I looked like I was taking part in a funeral, not a family gathering.
Honestly, I didn't know how to react. If I smiled, it would seemed sadistic and distasteful for the context, I was running out of tears and depression. I used them all in the beginning, while grieving my old life which, apparently, wasn't any better than this. I couldn't even be completely shocked, I would be a hypocrite. I always hoped to be more than a secondary character, even if it suited me quite well to be a healer. I was good at it. After all, that's what I was preparing to do for several years now, in my previous life. I was confident in my abilities and the classes with Nimue only helped me develop further on the practical side.
But to hear that I, a mortal doctor, can save them from a so-called '' Devourer of Wolds '', well, excuse me if I want the chance to refuse or to rethink my life decisions or if I need a second to properly shit my pants. I wasn't able to put myself in opposition with a damned God, not when he could snap my neck with a flick of his fingers.
There were two major aspects to consider. First of all, I was human, my life spawn was of maximum seventy years, I had fragile bones, my hearing was not as developed and I was not fast. I bruised easily, I was sensitive and the only weapon I truly owned was my sarcasm, which could also be used against me. The only formidable thing I did was fell from the sky and somehow manage to not fracture my pelvis. Very weird, I must admit, but even this made me question a lot of aspects. Starting with the fact that every time I tried to end my line of life here and hoped to restart back in my other universe, something, someone, seemed to hold my head over the water, forcing me to stay alive. Mockingly enough, every time I tried to swallow Nimue's death poisons, I seemed immune. Other than a terrible stomach ache and dizziness, I felt numb. Every time I tried to slit my veins near the river where I was washing clothes with Cynthia, the knife got blunt on the way, magically. Not even the dagger I stole in my dreams didn't do the job, my skin growing thicker every time I put the cold blade on my wrist.
However, if I ever cut myself by mistake with something sharp while preparing our dinner, I would bleed. If I ever hit myself by mistake, it hurt like hell and the next day I would have a pretty nasty bruise.
Secondly, as I mentioned, I was just a doctor. My skills went as far as my mind could process the information in books. I couldn't fight in the front lines in any form. I had to master the art of healing before going further and starting combat lessons. And I needed a master. I didn't know how to use swords, I didn't know anything about close combat, I didn't know how to use a bow and I lacked strategic logic. I didn't feel magic running through my veins, neither electricity pinching my fingertips. I couldn't cast spells like Nimue did with me and Aoife while we ran from the town, I wasn't telepathic or a necromancer.
The only time something had reacted to me was between those black diamond mountains, when a bolt of electricity shocked my muscles, charging my core. But that could very easily be from the oasis itself and not from me. That place seemed spiritualy loaded, full of religious symbolism, sacre to the animals that live in that place. I remembered the stag: glorious and tenacious, trying to guide me out.
In my previous life, I read tarot cards and loved to use crystals. My intuition was fairly developed and everyone for whom I did a reading for said that my facts about them were true and that what I predicted happened in the next days. Could this classify me as a witch? Doubtfully. Was I a fraud? It depended on how you wanted to look at the matter. I also liked to curse the shit out of people and situations when they pissed me off.
The weekend after our ' family ' talk, I remained as silent as a tomb stone. Kallus and the rest didn't push me either, leaving the decision to be made only by myself: would I step in the game or would I choose to step out of it. The only problem here was that eventually, even if I was passive, everything would come after me. Destiny doesn't forgive anyone, after all. If I was pulled here to achieve something, things would start to happen in that favour, forcing me to go with that flow. So this decision makind bullshit was just a facade, a placebo, to make me feel less burdened. I very much knew what the outcome would be.
I remained locked in my head, turning the situation upside down, thinking at every possible end. I didn't get the courage to ask if I would die in the process. I wanted that, after all. Might as well have a saying in my life, fight a little. I already changed the course of events.
I received sympathetic looks from everyone those few days of silence, shy smiles, encouraging touches. Maybe I was getting them before too and only now I was aware of them. It was clear they knew more than they told me.
I went outside several nights, when I was sure everyone slept soundly. I had only one companion, Misty, who now was my cat, following me nearly anywhere, admiring me throughout the day exactly as my Icarus used to do. She wasn't a cat that liked physical love. I wasn't a touch starved person either. But I appreciated her omnipresence, the way I felt a little more protected with her near me. Misty made my loneliness more bearable. There was no pity and expectation in her yellow eyes, only patience and adoration.
At this point I wasn't even mourning my fate anymore. I needed guidance. Find the guardians, this was the next step on their list. I looked at the moon for a long time, waiting for an advice from her, a call, anything to enlighten my mind. It is easy to imagine that I received nothing, only dead silence. Maybe that was what I needed after all.
I started my next day with a little more energy. I made notes from the books collected from Nimue during my aprenticeship. I found something interesting: a potion able to make you imperceptible to faes. They couldn't sense your intentions, nor smell you emotions or read your thoughts. You were somehow immune, indetectable. As a spark bloomed inside my chest, I felt like I was going to use this piece of information. I took it as a sign.
After feeding the animals around the farm, I went to the stables. The mare I healed was waiting for me, hapilly snickering at me. She had grown beautifully, forming an impressive mass of muscles under her now shiny hair. Misty followed me, perching herself on the hay. I rested my head on the mare's muzzle and prayed for the same sign. That's when it truly hit me.
These people had been waiting for me for so many years to help them. They warmly welcomed me into the privacy of their home, fed me, disguised me, gave me a job, protected me and helped me learn their way of life. I would be selfish to not return the favor. Just the way I did with the horse in front of me. And although I didn't expect anything in return, they didn't either, they left me a chance to decide.
I gritted my teeth. I was wasting precious time if I didn't start working for what I came here to do. Instead of wasting my life as I unsuccessfully tried to do several times, might as well put it to good use. Fight and die, if that's what I wanted anyway. Maybe this is the only way to get back home, fulfilling my goal here.
Aoife had stayed with us. I secretly called Nimue to come and perform the curettage procedure without anyone in the family finding out. I paid. Nimue didn't refuse my money. After that, I announced my decision: I was going to do my best and help them.
Today was the fourth day we went to that castle, placed in the heart of Hybern's territory. Of course, Nimue refused to send me into the wolf's mouth, but there was no other way to find what we were looking for: the prison. Kallus mentioned that the person we must find is locked up in a cell.
When I asked more about this matter he explained that we were trying to find a woman, a fae, to be more specific, old enough to be present at the creation of Prythian and downfall of several kingdoms. She used to be a part of a long eradicated race of blood thirsty warriors, a beloved and respected leader amongst her kind. But all her titles have no use now that they're all gone and she's the only one standing.
I can't even imagine what lays inside her soul. If she has one anymore, now that she's been locked for hundreds of years in Hybern's prison, subjugated to God knows what treatment they gave her. I bet it wasn't lovely. We don't know what torment she had to endure, physical and mental, if there is still some fight in her left, some will to live on or if the woman is even breathing anymore. All we knew is that she was the next step.
Nimue instructed us about what behaviours we should have inside the palace, about the dress code and what should or shouldn't be done. She even made a map of the rooms she visited during her service for the King.
It was the only map of Hybern's castle to ever exist as well.
Aoife helped Niven and I to sneak inside and choose our work. She stole two pairs of servant clothes and wrote false names inside the ' Working Register of Slaves '. The book held a pretty name. It made my blood boil. Also, we couldn't be seen together, if one of us was ever caught. the other will be put in danger as well. So we separated: I was working as a general maid, cleaning, serving the meals, become a prostitute over night, made into a human chair for fae feet if there was necessary. It was one of the most shamefull jobs I have ever had in my entire life. It wiped out every ounce of my decency and ego. It was... pathetic to say the least. But we had to do what we had to do in order to get our hands on the map.
Now I started to see why mortals despised this creatures.
Niven became a chambermaid, cleaning the rooms after orgies, throwing their bed potty, ironing their clothes. It was disgusting as well. Lucky she never ran into one of their sex parties, otherwise she would have been forced to join.
They were so satisfied to put us in dangerous and embarrassing positions.
We were also surprised to hear Aoife's wish to join our cause. I wasn't. I felt her need for revenge, I saw that spark inside her eyes die the day she killed her child, how her youth has been stolen from her, how she needed to repay the struggle they put her through. Also, she worked in the kitchen. This way we had a large part of the castle covered.
After a few days of training with Niven to ride a horse, I started to get the basics. I still wasn't good at it, but I could manage if I ever needed that piece of information. However, she expressly requested that we both go on the same horse, considering I wasn't fully ready to do it on my own.
We travelled like this for the next few days: me behind Niven, Kallus on his own stallion and Nimue on her mare. On the bridge that separated the surrounding land from the center of Hybern's castle we were asked to present our entry tickets each time we passed the gates. We were noted on a book covered in leather by our names, our entry and exit data. I was in a state of anguish every time I crossed the stone bridge and looked down at the abyss waiting below. Not to mention the fresh smell of rotting corpses that rises like steam on warmer days. Even if we were separated by a bunch of meters from an imminent death, we could see what happened with the ones that had mean intentions. Mounds of lifeless bodies and bones laid on the ground beneath, shredded by starved animals.
All around the high stone walls marched entire troups of black knights, following every movement made both inside and outside. Archers, swordsmen and other types of regiments patrolled at well-established intervals of time. No delay. Even down here, guarding the huge, black iron gates there were at least ten of them watching vigilently. Some of them owned an unseen type of dogs, beasts as large as a horse, with cruel eyes and layeres and layeres of sharp fangs. Their fur was so black that not even the light didn't shine on it. They looked like they were dragged from Hell.
Good luck with the potion I found. I dosed it carefully, so that some part of our human perfume to still be smelled, so that our fear could still be distinguishable. But out thoughts were impenetrable,
The obsidian palace, with tall and sharp towers, held a sinister aura around. It was guarded by circular streets and wide town squares with many decorated stalls, rich in vegetable, fruits, silk or velvet. You could find so many things here. Fae kids played loudly outside their homes, adults chatted vigorously, dressed in so much gold, with perfectly tailored clothes. They seemed to have no worry in this world. They walked proudly, with their sharp features held high, pale as paper, as if they owned everything and everyone.
I felt a strange emotion every time I passed these places.
Behind this perfect portait, if you looked closely, you could see the blood of the mortal servants it was all built on. They were starved in a corner, waiting for the kids playtime to be over so they could take them back inside, they were following a few steps behind the fae couples, with their eyes glued on the ground and their head lowered. They were working their asses off for a few golden coins, sweeping the streets, watering the trees and flowers, wiping the windows of their shops, arranging merchandise on the shelves.
It disgusted me every time. Waves and waves of hate fueled my desire to help these people to be free from their slavery. I wanted the faes to suffer as much as the humans. Those creatures came out of their luxurious houses, built in the same gothic style as the castle: gray brick walls, beaten with black, shiny stones. Even the pointed roofs towered menacingly. Everywhere laid a blancket of numbness, of uncertainty and falsity.
Now I could clearly see why no one liked them in the books. They were thirsty for power, ready to crush and steal any shred of gold, every high position in the court. Despite their dazzling beauty, they had a dirty and poisoned soul.
Every morning I bit my tongue, refraining from any spiteful comment, averting my eyes from any suffering human that was asking for help. Niven was right to not interfere that day in Thaibar, when that old man was beaten to death by Hybern's knights. I needed to help them in another way.
Slowly, we parted our ways. Kallus walked towards the small church meant for humans. A barelly allowed luxury. Nimue followed us all the way to the palace, then she nodded her farewell with a glassy fear in her violet eyes. Between the cold and bare walls, covered with tapestries embed with jewels and silver thread, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I looked at Niven briefly, searching for a glimmer of hope or courage in her, but she was as deserted as I was. Her hostility towards the fae race was burning wilder than mine and this rage was sucking the life out of her. The massive chandelier hung like a dusty weapon of justice above our heads, ready to sever them if needed. We didn't even look at each other before leaving the main hall, joining the other servants.
It was the fourth day of listening behind closed doors, staring intently at paintings and letters, lingering longer when pouring tea, hoping that one of this dumb faes would spill some precious informations. It was in vain, I was looking in the wrong direction. My action were limited anyway. At every corner of the corridors was an armed sentry. They didn't allow you too much, not even to turn your head to stare at a gorgeous necklace on some lady's neck or a splendid tailored dress.
I knew these hallways as my own palm, looking at Nimue's sketches hours and hours, studying them in case anything bad happens. I knew the print on the carpets that covered the black and white marble, I knew when the corridors splited and how many doors were on each side of the wall. I also knew what type of mosaic was on the ceiling depending on the windows I passed. I was really damn motivated to do my job well.
I watered flowers, I refrained myseld from spitting in their food, I carried trays and filled glasses with fae wine, I accepted every ' innocent ' indecent touch from the guests who got drunk at the courtyard celebrations and prayed everytime that things would not escalate. You couldn't say no. You kept you mouth shut and took it like a good slut. I was lucky enough to not be their type. But even my luck could run out at any moment.
We all knew where to find the map of Hybern, but none of us was ready to say it. I had to go in Draegan's chambers. In essence, anyone could go fetch it, but I was the one with a death wish. They had to live, my fate was unknown anyway.
Altough the most important thing now was finding the prison, something else was on my mind. Where was Eris? I hadn't seen him since I came inside the palace. Neither Draegan was to be found. This made me wonder if they knew something about me, if they saw me on the sky that night, if they were aware of any anomaly. Maybe they were on a hunting trip, just like all masculine fae liked to do in the books or in movies. Or maybe they were discovering new ways to torture humans. The most persistent question was still the same: What business did Eris have with Hybern? Were they trying to sign another treaty? Maybe his father forced him to come here... If the Autumn Court is planning to betray everyone from the inside, the odds are against Prythian and the Mortal Lands. Was I able to get in time to them and tell them about this matter? Would they believe me? It's not like they couldn't test me by getting inside my head.
I place my cotton veil over my nose and mentally prepare to another risk. Aoife explained to us that the uniform here was very misogynistic. We were not allowed to show our faces, so we wouldn't tempt anyone with our beauty. Our hair must be tied and hidden under a scarf and also, we were covered from our necks to our toes in a black dress, with a red apron attached to our waist. Even our palms were covered with thick, abrasive gloves. Just in case we were clumsy and dropped the silverware on the floor. So toughtful for them.
I don't look at the servants who pass by me and neither do they. We weren't allowed to make eye contact. I sneak into the servants corridors. In the few days we stayed here, three royal tasters died after it turned out that the food for the guests was poisoned. All of them were humans. Three wasted lives. The kitchen team continued to change and those who had left somehow disappeared without a trace. Everyone knew what happened to them.
The palace seemed to be charmed: every peeling painting followed you on the hallway, even the ones with a sunny meadow on it, every hole in the wall was like an ear thirsty for gossip, every creacking floor was a voice accusing you of something you didn't do. The knights who prowled every corner or lined the length of the main hall seemed an empty shell, no body underneath, only an evil spirit. No wonder you could never truly see their eyes: the mirror of the soul. I was afraid to even approach the gloriously exposed armor used by an old fae they worshipped, carved from glittering gold and rubies as red as the blood of fallen enemies. Even if it was empty, I expected it to move at any moment.
Shielded by the darkness of the servants passages, a wave of courage guided my feet towards what I knew was only doom: Draegan's north wing. I grab a set of fresh sheets from the laundry room. Although he didn't visit his rooms lately, the bed had to be changed daily. It was the perfect cover.
Even if I didn't know what was the path to his chambers, I followed the ' N ' carved in the stone walls. The entire North part of the castle was claimed by him after his father's death. I step as quietly as possible on the jagged slabs of the tiny corridors and get a candle on the way. The halls were not as luxurious as the ones Faes used. They had rounded and really low ceilings and in some regions you had to lean forward to pass. The torches were so rare, that most of the way you were spending it in total obscurity. There were no mice yet, but among the dusty stones appeared roots, mold and some herbs that thrived in humidity.
Someone coughs behind me and I turn, holding the candle like my life depended on it. There goes my crumb of barely gathered courage. I squint my eyes, cursing my bad vision, but I don't see anyone. The last light was more than twenty meters behind. The feeling that I was going to be caught was suffocating. I remember living with the very same sensation in my former relationship, with the fear that my parents would catch me and punish me. I let out a cold breath, still searching the hungry darkness. I turn and quicken my pace, following the carvings. I was alone in this area. Very few servants wanted to clean this wing. Nobody was crazy enough to find a workspace in the lion's den.
The doors line on both walls, some of them required me to go up a few stairs, others to go down. I listen, biting the dry skin of my lips. Nothing. I don't know if my torch was shaking so bad between my fingers because I was afraid or because the cold chilled my poorly protected soles. I clench the other fist, bracing myself on the ground. I move to another door, located lower than the previous one and listen again. Feminine voices gossiped on the other side. Someone pours tea, another one cuts something on his plate. I stick my cheek closer to the wet door. I couldn't decipher the topic of conversation, they were too careful of the ears in the walls. Clever.
Fuck me life decision.
I walk further and stop at another door: someone is clapping, lots of applause actually, pause, a moan, another woman moans louder. '' You liked that, you dirty whore? '' A harsh voice makes me startle and I take a few steps back, '' We should bring a servant. I'd be so horny to watch a human eat you out. '' .
That's my sign to get the fuck out. On my tiptoes, I run for a distance of a few doors without looking back. The candle was already extinguished from the suddem movement. I forgot that in the North wing Draegan allowed his escorts and his narrow circle to live. The only time luck hits me is when I notice a sign with a crown carved on several doors. I don't even think twice before sticking my head inside.
' Well done!... ' I whisper to myself.
I look back, noticing the superbly maintained tapestry. The door completely disappeared in the drawing, revealing a gorgeous tree with ruby and quartz flowers, woven on an azure background. All around, a crossed mosaic frames the tree. It was one of the most spectacular things seen in the palace.
I spin on my heels, facing the immensity of the room. Abandoned, the bedroom seemed deadly silent, like it was inquiring me of my presence here. There were no splashing sounds in the bathroom, the wide, arched balconies were open, leaving the orange curtains to flow in the cold wind. The huge, wooden carved bed had a canopy over it made of flowy, white veil. Above, there was a carefully painted portait of the last King: shoulder-length black hair framing a pale, rubber like skin, angry, black eyes. He seemed quite young, maybe around his forties. Next to it, almost sketched rather than painted, was a smaller drawing of Draegan: a faithful image of his father, but with gentler features.
I leave the sheets aside and take a few steps forwad. This chamber alone was as big as Kallus's entire house. High ceilings with different faces carved in white marble. Several thick wooden stools lay scattered, covered in red velvet.
I move towards the curved nightstands. Nothing, just a few letters from his mistresses, a ruby ring that I slip inside my bra, a letter knife and a golden comb. I crawl on my knees on the balcony, trying to not make my head visible from the outside yard. I quickly flip through the religious books on the short table. In none of them did he mention any shooting star, not the two brothers: the Devourer or the Mother and neither was the Prayer of the Lost. There were mentioned reforms of the human lands, of the farthest continent, Pryrhian and Hybern. How the oceans were created, on the next page was a chart with several deities and what they brought to the world as gifts. The Benefactors really eradicated any notion of a fallen star. If that was true, in the end.
In my world, there was this saying: Believe and don't search.
I move to the bathroom from which I steal a platinum hairpin with jade and agate flowers. I always loved to collect semi-precious crystals, charging them, cleaning them with smoke and fire, then use them in my tarot readings.
After I finish, I move to the last door in the room. Here, my luck ran out: it was locked. I turn the brass globe left and right, hoping to hear a click, but I spent my energy in vain.
'' Shit. " I mutter, cursing in my mother language and refrain myself from hitting the door with my leg.
The key might as well be with him, around his neck or in his pockets, or maybe he hid it in this room, in this fucking huge room. I put my fingers on my temples and concentrate on the dust particles swirling in the setting sun. A gorgeous orange pours through the thin curtains, bringing an air of melancholy.
I turn my back on the scene. A familiar pain settles in my lungs and I breathe through my mouth, forcing the stress out of my system. I focus my attention on the lock, carefully drawing the key in my head, my salvation, made of shiny metal as precious as the items I stole from the room. I visualize the gesture, how Draegan turns the key in the lock, opening the door and revealing the antechamber, an office. I feel filled with peace and hope. I try my best to manifest, everything is going the way I want. I open my eyes and swear again. The door was just as closed as it was a few minutes ago.
'' I'm losing my mind. ''
I raise my palms and wipe them on my skirt, then point them on the lock. I keep my muscles contracted, then twist my hands, imagining how waves of magic come out of my fingers and open the door. Nothing happens.
Maybe the gloves were the problem.
I put them away and try again. I imitate the movements I saw in movies like Marvel and several other series. Nothing. I curse once more, a string of unorthodox words swirling in my mouth. I take another breath in my lungs and raise my hands, close my eyes, feel the warmth on the surface of my skin. I picture the type of power the author used to describe for Rhysand and his brothers. I imagine it working in my favour, not against me, then contort my forearms and let the energy flow.
'' For fuck's sake, I'm going to punch someone. ''
I had no powers. Not even the smallest shred of energy, of magic to come and spark like a firecracker on my fingertips. I didn't feel any ancient whispers cursing through my veins. I actually felt dumb. I came this far, worked up the small amount of courage to reach this wing. Maybe I really wasn't the person these people were looking for. Maybe it was a mistake. I hadn't even asked what happened with the ones before me. Is not like I didn't knew, if they survived, I wouldn't be here.
I swear again and hit the door. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I watch the floor. The key, a rusty contorted metal, laying in front of my eyes.
'' So my powers have a delayed effect or it needed a little kick to start showing? '' I ask myself and grab the cold metal.
The door opens with a heavy sound, as if it had been closed and opened too many times. I put the gloves back on my fingers and erase any prints from the key. I was finally inside Draegan's office. Or the dead King's office.
Three out of four walls were covered with shelves upon shelves of perfectly maintained books. It smelled like leather and ink inside. As much as I hated Draegan, he kept his scripts in impeccable condition: leather spines, exceptional handwork, fresh strings, not eaten by moths. In the middle of the room was a big desk, full of paperwork and a majestic chair, made of black wood covered in red and maroon velvet. On the empty wall was an extinguished fireplace, cleaned of embers, with two elegant red armchairs placed in front of it.
I rush to the office and search through all the drawers: documents about inheritance, letters from allies from another courts and continets I have never heard of, maps of oceans and lands, registers with numbers and series of soldiers in the army, who died, who was injured and who was still alive, able to fight. I look at the amount of people at the end, where they had summed up all the resources: more than half of their force was destroyed and most of the kingdom's treasury was empty. I look deeper, but all I can find are a few notebooks full of sketches and papers stamped with the initials A.F.. It came from Prythian. I couldn't calculate the beautifully outlined dates at the bottom of the page, because I had no idea of the time I fell in.
This story must've happened over a long period of time given the stacks of sheets stamped with those initials. I twist my mind in all directions, hoping that some clue would appear out of nowhere. I had a vague idea, but the ' F ' initial was making me feel unsure: Amarantha. There's details of her status in the court of Hybern, about her work as a general, about her sister Clythia and her relationship with Jurian. She talks about her suspicions and about the revenge. There is a list of ships and the routes they followed to reach Prythian, what they transported and to whom, the payments form each High Lord. A detailed description of a treaty, how she searched for a mistake inside it to cancel it. Then, at the end, a terrifyingly large number: ' MORTALS '.
I wet my lips, feeling a drop of cold sweat falling on my neck. This woman killed almost two thousand slaves. The ones she refused to set free or tried to fight her.
Amarantha talks about her strong ties with the Spring Lord, Tamlin's father, and how they shared ' their honest opinions about what to do with the increasing numbers of the lesser creatures and their despise for the human race '.
My knees start to shake and I have to sit down on the carpet for a few moments to regain my balance. How can you hold such hate towards someone that didn't wrong you?
On other pages she writes in great details about a recipe stolen from the King and how she used it to take the powers of every High Lord, about how she managed to build her kingdom from Under the Mountain. Rhysand is mentioned as well, how she took him as punishment for his father's actions, the sexual abuse and how she gouged out the eye of the Spring Court emissary. On the last pages, there are payments for a ball and a list of guests. There was also written the fate expecting everyone.
The woman was totally out of her mind, power hungry, evil and bloodthirsty.
I close the registers. It's enough for me. There is so much death in this world, so much torture, so many irregularities, too much people with power. And nobody does anything to stop it, to prevent it from happening again. I had a strange feeling that the history was about to repeat itself. Another five hundred years of torture, of human genocide and slavery.
Was I here to stop this? How the fuck could I put up with faes, with whole courts and kingdoms?
My ears rang loudly. With trembling hands I arrange everything the way I found it. I pick up a scroll tied with a velvet ribbon and open it. My head was spinning and my hear was pumping fear in my body with each beat: fear of getting caught, fear of enduring torture, fear of punishment, fear of pain.
I hug the paper to my chest. A very detailed map of Hybern. I found it. I close the door behind me in a hurry and push the lock back in the space it felt out of.
Hot lava bubbles in my stomach when I hear heavy footsteps approaching. What were the odds for Draegan to come right fucking now?
I blink. Torture, torture, torture.
'' Oh... What is it that you're looking for here... human? '' A masculine voice rings from behind me, warm like a hot day of summer.
I feel my body temperature ranging from hot to cold in the spawn of seconds. I keep my back to the fae, curled up on top of the white sheets that I had to put on the bed. I count in my mind: one second, two, three... five... seven. My breathing doesn't calm down and droplets of sweat fall from my forehead on the ground beneath.
'' I'm not going to hurt you. '' His tone is cunning, hardening with a few octaves. He comes closer and I can smell fiery embers all around me.
'' I... I'm changing the sheets, sir. '' My voice sounds like I was strangled, held by my throat by invisible hands.
'' Where? Inside the office? '' I can feel the words leaving his smiling lips.
Fuck. Shit. '' No, I was also cleaning the dust. ''
'' If that's so, you're doing a poor job. There's some of it flying everywhere. '' He notices, a trace of humor laced between his sentence. '' Turn around. ''
I exhale and do as I am told, but keep my eyes on the ground.
A few moments pass before he speaks again, '' I remember you. We met in Thaibar, in the market. ''
Double fuck. I look at his perfectly polished black boots, then at his tailored emerald pants.
'' Look at me. ''
'' I'm not allowed to. '' I excuse myself, trying to find a way out of this conversation.
'' I allow it. Come on. ''
Slowly, I rise my head. Why was everyone so tall around this place?
A sense of calmness passes thourgh me as I finally see who I was talking to: Eris Vanserra, proudly staying right in front of me. I might have been a little overwhelmed by his beauty, because I don't hear the next few words that come out of his thin, pink mouth.
Now that I was getting a closer look at one of the most controversial characters from the series, I was a little bewitched. Eris had no equivalent in the human world. His face was royal, high cheekbones, strong nose, cold, amber eyes. He was well built as well, tall and rather thin, with graceful amount of muscles to stretch his gold and green tunic.
'' You might be wrong, sir. '' I defend myself, knowing damned well that we made eye contact in Thaibar.
He laughs, unamused, showing a pair of white teeth. '' I doubt my eyes deceive me so bad. What do you hide there? ''
I frown and turn my head to see the map on the floor, '' I have no idea. ''
'' Liar. '' Eris whispers, knowing that he caught me red handed. He inhales and I thank god for the potion, because he can't feel the mixture of emotions driving me crazy right now. '' What are you looking for in King's Draegan chambers? Sex? ''
I open my mouth, then close it. '' No. I was just about to leave. ''
'' Without your scroll? '' He give me a cheeky smile, then grabs the paper from the ground. '' A map. Feeling patriotic? ''
No, just a little chaotic.
Eris circles me like a lion would with it's prey. I straighten my back, following the map held by his long fingers.
'' I'll give it to you, don't worry. But only if you tell me why do you need it so badly that you put yourself in such danger. ''
'' I need it. '' I admit. '' Can you please give it back. ''
'' I thought it wasn't yours. Why do you need it? ''
'' I changed my mind. ''
His smile falters when he hears something I don't. His eyes catch mine and I see something pass behind them. '' Get under the bed. I'll conceal your scent. ''
'' I need the map. '' I press, coming closer to him.
'' Fuck the map. '' He rasps, catching my arm in his large palm, then guides me to the bed. '' I'm trying to save you mortal ass. Do as your told and I'll find you and return it after. ''
My eyes search his whole face for a sign of betrayal, but his features are serious and fairly worried. I know I was going to regret this, but I lay low and push myself under. Eris hides the map inside his jacket and winks at me before the door opens and he regains his composure.
'' Eris, I'm glad you arrived. '' Draegan steps in and pats the redhead's shoulder in greetings. '' I have news for you: tonight we're dining with one of our old friends: a winged emissary from the Night Court. ''
!! Chapter is not edited. !!
#azriel#amren#acotar#azriel headcanons#azriel x reader#acotar x reader#rhysand x feyre#rhysand#feyre#nesta#cassian x nesta#hybern#king of hybern#acotar imagine#ao3#wattpad#ACourtofFallenHeroes#acomaf#acowar#amarantha#tamlin#spring court#prythian
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What's exactly going on in Hybern? They lost their king. Almost all their army.
Was it completely destroyed ?
I have a feeling we will meet a villain that deals with koschei.
The cauldron was corrupted to create evil things etc. The mother or urd made it. As we find out in hofas the asteri daglan corrupted it..
Which I believe the king of Hybern was an asteri. Even his family too or mixture of fae and asteri.
I still believe it will come back into play.
Mor is investigating Valhallan. Anyways what if all those other countries are working together to take over prythinan.
I believe Nesta stole the powers of an asteri. The darkness it created. The mother or urd saved her because Nesta could have become corrupted.
I still believe Elain awoke the mother. When she was made. She had other gifts. Many theories say she's a vessel of urd.
Coming back to this. I have a feeling the last books will take us to the beginning. Where it all started.
Remember erawan and Maeve didn't really show up till later. And than they were revealed to be a villain. Well Maeve.
Makes you wonder who is going to be the villain. The surprise one.
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just realized why SJM named it Prythian and Hybern.
Prydain is the Welsh name for Great Britian and it comes from her favorite series, Lloyd Alexander's "The Chronicles of Prydain". she even named her son, Taran, after the series' protagonist. the fifth book is called "The High King" btw. there's also a cauldron in this series, but it's corrupted and seems to be used to raise an army of the dead. (Fun fact: Disney's The Black Cauldron is loosely based on the series too, which is also the name of the second book.) AND THE NAME GWYDION IS THERE TOO, but that's just part of Welsh folklore in general.
as for Hybern, one of the older names for Ireland was straight up Hibernia.💀
I’m going insane.
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If the ACOTAR series happens I am on my knees so desperately BEGGING for the following;
A Battle of the Bastards-esque close-up scene in slow motion of Cassian fighting in the first big battle against Hybern.
Classical music playing, broad muscles moving with fluid grace, the Lord of Bloodshed in his element taking down enemy soldiers like it’s a dance and the battlefield is his ballroom.
#acotar#acowar#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#Cassian#lord of bloodshed#hybern#acotar series#acotar show
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I won't tell you why I need it. You'll find out in May (or later)
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No but for real what is Sarah J Maas' beef with Ireland?!
Avalllen and Hybern are clearly modeled after it even just based on the fae names (Ruhn, Seamus etc). Fully just calling it out as backwards, barren country 🤣 I need to know what we did to her to deserve this!!
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But seriously though, Hybern and Amarantha were and are NOTHING compared to the Asteri.
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