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born-to-riot · 16 days

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I Know What You Need

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 7 (Free Day)

Summary: Amren comes up with an unorthodox solution to one of Nesta's problems....and by unorthodox I mean Amren and Varian invite Nesta to share their bed for the night.

[This all was inspired by a message I sent @acourtofladydeath that said: I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?]

Found on AO3

What I Want.

Chapter 1 of 2

Looking back, Nesta isn’t quite sure how she found herself in this situation. Well actually that’s a lie, she thinks. Nesta shifts her weight to her other leg and releases a sigh as she tightens her bun for what feels like the umpteenth time. She has been standing outside the door of Amren’s apartament in Velaris for Cauldron knows how long, afraid to knock.

In truth, Nesta knows exactly how she ended up accepting her mentor and friend’s shocking proposal. It does not necessarily erase the thin but ever-so-present shroud of guilt and mortification hovering about her.

“You’re here for a reason.” Nesta quietly reminds herself, keeping her blue-gray eyes locked on the unopened door in front of her.

In a thin, black robe, Nesta Archeron stands tall. Made ornate by the roses and thorns sewn into the neck line, the silk clings tightly to her skin. Amren had asked–or actually she more so demanded–that Nesta arrive here tonight dressed minimally, so she had. As she, Amren, and Varian have all gone over several times prior to tonight, the scene will start as soon as the tiny fae opens the door.

“It might help if I knock on it first.” Nesta murmurs to herself.

It's been six months since the end of the war with Hybern and to be honest, Nesta has not been in the best place with her mind, her friends, or with her power. She’s not even going to start on the whole weird connection she feels with Cassian. The male has been super frustrating as of late and honestly, all Nesta wants to do anytime he comes near her is punch him in the face. More pertinent to the present matter at hand, Nesta feels like she’s been swept into a world she wasn’t ready to understand and placed into a body that she doesn’t fully know. She wishes she could take this transition in stride like Feyre. Recently, even Elain is doing better than she is. But instead Nesta feels like she is shriveling down to a fragment of herself, cowering under the weight of the unknown, from the fear of what has already happened, and the terror of what is coming next.

But alas, Amren has offered a possible solution, albeit an unorthodox one, to address some of her problems and Nesta would be foolish to deny this opportunity as not only it is much better than bedding random males every night, but also she is hopeful that she will be able to feel whole again after tonight.

“Come on, Nesta,” she tells herself, “Still, she refuses to acknowledge that her hand is most definitely shaking as she slowly raises it in preparation to knock on the red-painted door that stands between her and something that she knows she will never be able to come back from.

Nesta has to remind herself to keep breathing when the door swings open in front of her, her hand still raised in front of the now empty space. Not even a millisecond later, Amren appears in the doorframe, clad in sheer white oversized button down shirt, which–if Nesta wasn’t too busy attempting to stop her jaw from literally dropping at the mesmerizing sight of Amren’s elaborate lingerie set peaking through the frame provided by the unbuttoned shirt–she’d put her money on it being Varians. She doesn’t spend too much time pondering that thought, however, as Nesta is also currently trying to remedy the usual image of the harem-pants-wearing and fear-inducing tiny gremlin of a fae with the ethereal vision in front of her currently.

Amren is intimidating enough on her own; however, the additional height of her thigh-high seven-inch platforms brings her just a couple inches shy of Nesta’s own height and the closeness of her ancient silver hues makes Nesta’s heart start racing even faster. As Amren clearly is taking her time in assessing Nesta, she takes her own time to try to decide if she wants to top or be topped by the little fae in front of her.

Nesta isn’t reluctant to admit that she has not ever spent much time thinking about Amren’s breasts other than the fact that they were small. Now though, as she sees them held in an overbust mesh black steel boned corset, she can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like in her palms. Nesta also hasn’t given too much thought to women before in regards to the matter of sexual preference. In her defense, when she was still human she was mostly surrounded with women that were either related to her or were members of the blasted ‘children of the blessed’. She supposes she will have to be thankful that the whole ‘being dunked in a magical cauldron against her will by an egomaniac’ ordeal has allowed her to explore a wider avenue of carnal opportunities than she ever could have imagined. At that line of thought her traitorous brain and heart work together to form an image of a certain large red-siphoned Illyrian male and Nesta quickly shuts that down. Tonight is not about him, she reassures herself, it's about her.

Fortunately, there is something about Amren’s ancient aura combined with her ‘wiser than thou’ attitude that Nesta finds infuriating but at the same time inexplicably attractive. Amren lets out a purposefully audible sigh, shifting her weight onto her other leg and placing her black fingerless glove covered arms on her hip–barely visible past the rolled-up sleeves of Varian’s shirt. Still, the movement draws Nesta’s attention to the many rings on her finger–unsurprising–and the tiny fae’s manicure, her nails filed to such sharp tips they appeared to be claws. Not only that, but the movement adjusts the oversized shirt she was wearing over her lingerie set and now Nesta can’t stop the thrum of interest that rises inside of her as her eyes lock onto the bare skin of Amren’s pussy, which is on display through her crotchless mesh and lace panty.

“You’re late,” Amren’s voice shocks Nesta out of her self-induced stupor. She immediately lifts her gaze to meet the unimpressed one evident in the other’s charcoal-lined eyes.

She opens her mouth to speak–to try and come up with some sort of explanation for herself–yet she finds she is unable to do anything other than audibly choke on an inhale. Nesta closes her mouth, frustrated with herself. She is smart, she is beautiful, she is the eldest of her sisters and she will be Cauldron-damned if she lets herself get flustered by Amren of all people. Nesta straightens her posture and goes to speak again, intending to say something stupid about how ‘You’re lucky I came at all’ just so she could feel more in control of the situation. However, she gets interrupted again, this time though not by her own volition, but instead at the silent raising of Amren’s hand in a ‘stop’ motion. She feels a rise of anger filling her, absolutely furious at the audacity of Amren to just hold her hand up and expect Nesta to stop speaking. How dare she? A voice hisses inside of her, one that Nesta is not too sure is entirely her own, yet she is too caught up in her inexplicable rage to care.

“I don’t care for excuses, girl,” Amren interrupts her before Nesta even has a chance to voice her ire, rolling her eyes and stepping aside so that she can hold the door open– the action a clear invitation for Nesta to enter the premises. Nesta takes a deep breath, truly trying not to lose her cool at the elder for such a minor transgression and one that is just so quintessentially Amren. However, she nearly loses her composure again when her inner consciousness decides to remind her that ‘she does have a type.’ Nesta is fully aware that she apparently has a metaphorical hard-on for infuriatingly obnoxious assholes–the main culprit of this affliction being Cassian. However, usually, Amren is more of a smartass which keeps her away from the same category as the Ilyrian. Tonight, however, the ancient being seems to be cauldron-bent on trying to antagonize Nesta and for some forsaken reason the slight is turning her on.

Instead of falling victim to Amren’s goading, Nesta inhales the Velaris air one more time before taking a step past the threshold into Amren’s apartment. Upon her exhale, she finds herself in the same lackluster entryway she’s found herself in many times before. Amren, at least given what Nesta has observed so far in the time she’s known her, seems to prefer to save her decor for the deeper areas of the apartment–if she were to wager a guess, Nesta presumes the ancient creature would rather keep her jewels and valuables protected and hidden in contrast to Rhys and Feyre who display their wealth like a peacock does its feathers. Though, she supposes that is their right as the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Nevertheless, Nesta still takes the time to let her eyes trail across her immediate surroundings. She recognizes the same little alcove to her left that has two emerald green club chairs on either side of a small end table as well as the rest of the entryway, the area being sparse apart from another closed door and a painting of some books. Despite the fact that she’s seen this all before, Nesta feels the hairs on her arms start to raise as her gaze finally lands on the empty hallway in front of her; she wonders if the chill in the air is a foretaste of what is to come of tonight.

Before she has a chance to determine what side of the scale the omen leans toward, the sound of the door slamming behind her shocks Nesta back into the moment. She whips around to face Amren, who is leaning with her back against the now-shut front door, smirking up at her. While she internally reprimands her subconscious for allowing her to show her back to such a dangerous creature, Nesta would also be lying if she says she did not feel a sense of satisfaction curl within her once she realizes that even with Amren’s heels, Nesta is still taller than her. Of course, this satisfaction doesn’t last, the second Amren lets her grin fall off her face and takes a step forward, Nesta feels as if a veil has lifted from her view, revealing the ethereal being in front of her. Everyone in Prythian knows that Amren is an otherworldly creature, full of knowledge and power. Nesta regrets to think that she thought Amren would somehow become less than she once was after she lost her power in the Cauldron all those months ago.

“This is your last chance to back out girl,” Amren says seriously, pure silver locked on gray blue, gazing into her eyes so directly Nesta almost feels as if Amren is able to see through her. Nesta is still trying to take in the sight of Amren’s silky black hair framing her sharp jaw-line, her small but supple tits barely visible but clearly evident, her tiny waist and lean muscle both obvious through the mesh and fit of her corset, the color a great contrast against her tanned skin. However, as Nesta eyes Amren’s freshly shaven cunt–the pattern of the lace on her crotchless panties perfectly framing her vulva–she feels her temperature rise with a combination of both desire and ire. Nesta doesn’t give a shit if Amren currently looks like some sort of goddess, how dare she question her surety.

“I know what I want,” Nesta narrows her eyes into a glare and straightens her posture, refusing to look away from Amren’s unusually sober stare. She understands that Amren is just concerned, but she wishes everyone would stop being so careful around her. She used to be able to rely on Amren to be the only one in her sister’s stupid fucking Inner Circle who was willing to be up-front with her.

“It's not a question of what you want, this is a matter of what you need, girl,” Amren stalks closer to her, her eyes somehow still bright and predatory despite the dimness of the room.

“There is nothing weak about having second thoughts,” she purrs, starting to circle around Nesta as she comes even closer, like a predator and its prey.

“Amren,” she snaps, frustratedly, tired of her friend’s game. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be, Nesta bemoans the fact that it seems like the tiny fae truly derives some sick sense of pleasure from making everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be.

“Patience child,” she shivers at the sound of Amren’s tongue clicking right behind her, the ancient one’s voice sounding displeased. Before Nesta can even process why the disappointment in Amren’s tone causes her heart to jolt, the press of two dangerously sharp nail tips against the back of her neck pause all of her racing thoughts. She fights the urge to flinch as the nails start to slowly drag down the remainder of her exposed spine, pressing into each vertebrae it passes.

“Don’t make a mistake. Just because I allow you to play a dominant role tonight,” the female hisses, her breath warm against Nesta’s ear, the two dangerously sharp tips of Amren’s nails focusing on the vertebrae that sits right above the collar of Nesta’s robe, she continues, “doesn’t mean I’m not still willing to put you in your place.”

The words send a shiver of delight through Nesta, the tickle of Amren’s breath against her ear sends tendrils of electricity that spread throughout her whole body. She can feel the tingles reverberate in her chest and down her arms, until they land, pooling in her breasts. Nesta’s breath hitches and she as the indent of Amren’s nails start to shift, her nipples hardening at the drag of the claw-like sensation against the side of her throat. She doesn’t even realize that her eyes are closed until Amren releases the grip on her neck, Nesta opening her eyes to find the other in front of her with a distinctly pleased grin painting her sharp faerie features.

“Understand?” Amren asks expectantly, slowly moving her jewel covered hand to the flimsy piece of string that is holding Nesta’s robe together, causing the more modest of the two to blush. Nesta feels a piece of her strange newly awakened inner soul start to fight at the idea of conceding to anyone. However, she notes the tantalizingly slow speed of Amren’s outstretched hand and appreciates the fact that she is purposefully giving her plenty of opportunity to reject the advance if Nesta was to wish it so.

“Hmm?” Amren urges Nesta gently to respond, pausing her hand once it reaches its destination, tangling itself loosely in the string. As Nesta eyes Amren, she can’t help but think that this is probably the most considerate Amren will ever be of her wishes. Still, she looks at the hunger evident in Amren’s eyes, thinks about the heat filling her own body, and she knows she can’t put this off any longer. She thinks over the last couple months of angst and seclusion, about how she can barely stand to look at herself in the mirror, the flames in her eyes not feeling like her own. It’s time she takes the next step for herself. Nesta knows what she wants–no, she knows what she needs to do now.

“Yes Mistress, I understand,” Nesta replies, inclining her head as a sign of acceptance of Amren’s authority.

“Good girl” Nesta doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that the older’s praise gives her such a clear sense of security. However, it seems she doesn’t have much time to ponder on it further. With one swift movement Amren has rid Nesta’s robe of the tie keeping it together, the fabric falling open to reveal her bare skin underneath.

“What a treat,” a devilish smirk plasters itself onto Amren’s face as the female eyes her up and down. She has to admit that this, revealing her naked body to her friend, is one of the parts of tonight that she has been most nervous for. Now though, Nesta can only find it in herself to feel pleased as she watches Amren hungrily take in her bare body, her unyielding silver stare seeming to pause on her ample breasts and what’s visible of her cunt.

“You look absolutely delightful, he won’t be able to control himself,” Amren notes before turning on her heel and heading down the long hallway. Nesta is flattered and somewhat surprised that Amren said so– assuming the ‘he’ in question is Varian– Nesta’s body being a much different build than Amren’s. Nesta has been so caught up in Amren she almost is sorry to say that she might have forgotten about Varian, which is insane because Amren is quite literally letting Nesta fuck her boyfriend to help her feel normal in this new body of hers and to help her gain control of the great power that has been set loose inside her.

“Come on, girl,” Nesta will admit she barely registers the words that are coming out of Amren’s mouth, her eyes a little busy admiring the other’s well-defined ass. She supposes it makes sense, Amren is strong not only due to her position as Rhysand’s Second in Command, but also just through reputation alone. It would make sense that Amren’s glutes would reflect such strength, which Nesta once again feels bad for presuming that someone so small wouldn’t be able to have a wonderful ass.

“I won’t be happy if I have to repeat myself,” Amren notes, turning back to look at Nesta over her shoulder, raising a brow. Nesta quickly launches herself into motion, following the other female. As Amren comes to stop in front of one of the doors further down the way, Nesta wonders what lies behind it.

“Let the festivities begin,” Amren quips, opening the door in front of her and stepping inside. Nesta gulps as she follows behind her, not having a chance to see anything other than a dark room and the white of the shirt on Amren’s back before the other motions to her in a request to close the door behind her. Nesta turns quickly then, somehow hoping that the faster she moves the more it will lessen her nerves. As soon as she closes the door she notes that the lighting in the room dims significantly. She takes a second to inhale and exhale, clearing her mind of all of her worries, before finally deciding that she is truly ready to begin..

“What now?” Nesta asks, turning around in search of Amren.

“Strip” Amren orders, taking the moment to also shed herself of the oversized shirt she had been wearing over her lingerie.

Nesta takes a moment to assess her surroundings, noting that they seem to be in a walk-in closet. The only light in the room is provided by the flames of various candles throughout the many presumably empty shelves in the room, Nesta admits she hasn’t given the shelves too much attention as she is much more interested in the main focus of the room: a large ostentatious full length mirror. The mirror is absolutely gorgeous and is framed by two hanging lanterns so that whoever stands in front of it will be able to see themselves in lovely detail. So much detail that Nesta finds her nerves creeping up on her again, but she looks at Amren–waiting patiently next to the mirror for her– and slips the sleeves of her robe off her shoulders. The already-opened garment easily slides down the rest of her body and gathers in a puddle at her feet.

“Good girl,” Amren purrs, “now come over here and stand in front of this mirror for me, yeah?”

Nesta nods, trying to keep her eyes on Amren female instead of looking back at her own reflection. The air in the room chills against her now bare skin, Nesta feels the hair on her arms stand as she lessens the distance between herself and her destination. Although, as Nesta takes another step, she realizes that she is not exactly sure if the goosebumps are solely due to the cold.

“Tell me what you see, girl,” Amren orders her, Nesta finally arriving at a standstill. She hesitates to adhere to the ancient one’s wishes, biting her lip and taking note of the fact that she finds some form of comfort in the familiar face of her friend. It is not like she is a virgin. Nesta is guilty of having taken many random fae males back to her apartment over the course of the past six months. Despite the frequency of the occurrences, Nesta finds it hard to remember anything apart from going through the expected motions. She brings the male of choice to her bed, they fuck, the male goes home, and once again she is left feeling trapped in some suspension of reality–stuck in a time that is between the past and the present, no hope for a future.

But tonight, in this moment, in this closet, there is no denying the vulnerability that seeps through her every pore. In the candlelight Amren’s silver eyes look radiant, luminous like they were before she sacrificed herself, her power, for them all. Nesta is as guilty as the rest of the inner circle in that they all are waiting for the moment Amren breaks, that she lashes out at one of the others in jealousy, that she can’t take it anymore. But now, Amren stands in front of her more alluring than Nesta has ever found her before. The tiny fae is still leaning against the mirror frame, waiting patiently for Nesta to follow her orders. Nesta looks her up and down, once again admiring Amrens' lingerie–the combination of her heels, corset, fingerless gloves, and crotchless lace mesh panties all working well together to bring attention to her toned legs. Nesta finds herself overcome with jealousy too, that Amren could walk around her own house showing off her cunt so freely. However, she does appreciate Amren’s uncharacteristic show of patience and so Nesta nods at the elder before adhering to her wishes. She turns slightly to face herself in the mirror.

“I see myself,” Nesta answers the question without a thought. She spies Amren frowning at her response from the corner of her eye and Nesta struggles not to do the same. Respecting the process is hard when the process is asking her what she sees in a mirror, what the fuck else is she supposed to see other than her reflection?

“Try again,” Amren says, clearly displeased. This time, Nesta doesn’t bother to hide her frown. She doesn’t know why she's trying to be polite when she’s here naked in front of Amren. Still, she swallows as she takes note of Amren’s figure entering the mirror’s field of vision, the ancient creature clearly assessing her.

“I don’t know its a fucking mirror, Amren, what else am I supposed to see?” Nesta snaps. She has never been one to hold herself back before, she doesn’t know why she should stop now. Maybe if Nesta demands some answers from Amren, then their night can get started faster.

“I will give you one warning to keep your temper in check, girl,” Amren hisses, the flickering candlelight bouncing off her naturally tanned skin as she approaches Nesta, her figure becoming larger as she gets closer to Nesta.

“You know what you signed up for, I don’t like brats,” Amren comes to a stop just slightly behind her, Nesta is able to see her claw-like nails rhythmically tapping impatiently upon her cocked hip.

Nesta closes her eyes with a sigh. She does know what she signed up for, and if anyone knows how to deal with being shoved inside a different form it's Amren. She inhales and tries to clear her mind of all her inhibitions, she knows that in order for this to work she needs to step into it fully rather than keeping one metaphorical foot out the door. Nesta opens her eyes, looking straight into their gray-blue reflection as she decides she’s ready to try again.

“I see…” Nesta trails off, her throat suddenly dry as the mirror confronts her with a bare body, the body that she knows is supposed to belong to her, the body that looks almost the same as it always has, the body that no longer feels like her own. A stranger.

“You see…?” Amren urges her to continue. The heat radiating from her breath tickles against Nesta’s ear, causing her nipples to tingle slightly. She pushes that thought aside though because she remembers Amren has asked her a question..

“I see….myself?” she replies less sure than before, watching her own shoulders hike up in the mirror, noting that her breasts bounce slightly with the motion. Despite the fact that she utters the same response as before, anyone who has two eyes and two working ears would be able to tell that Nesta’s tone is completely different than it was before. She stares at her reflection in the mirror.

Nesta knows this body, she recognizes her fair skin, she recognizes her golden-brown hair–still tied up in a bun, and she recognizes her sharp jawline. Her ears are definitely different but oddly enough it doesn’t bother her, she supposes it suits her face and she still has her same long neck. As she lets her eyes trail down her reflection further she can see her arms are more toned than before. Her breasts are a tad bit bigger than when she was human too–which she chalks up to the amazing food in Prythian. In her opinion, there is nothing particularly remarkable about her stomach or legs, they are the same size and length as before. Nesta is familiar with this body, so she doesn’t know why she feels so out of place in front of this mirror.

Nesta can’t help but let her eyes focus on her least favorite part of herself: her cunt. It's not like she’s had a lot of others to compare hers to before, but she has always felt like hers was rather ugly. Nesta lets her eyes glance slightly to the right to take a peek at Amren’s cunt where it's peeking through her crotchless panties in the mirror. The ancient fae’s pussy was free of all pubic hair, her vulva looking smooth. Based on the fact that Nesta doesn’t see any signs of Amren's inner labia, she assumes that Amren is one of those lucky bitches with shorter ones. Nesta glances back to her own, her own pubic region is covered in hair in addition to her inner labia hanging down to where they are visible in her reflection.

“Good enough,” Amren, thankfully, interrupts her negative spiral of thoughts. Nesta is also grateful that Amren accepts her answer, probably able to sense the change in Nesta’s energy.

“On your knees!” Nesta didn’t even notice Amren move before she felt a distinct boot-like pressure on the backs of her knees, causing them to buckle. Before she even has a chance to be upset about this turn of events, she feels Amren’s hand grip the back of her neck, focusing Nesta’s attention back on both of their reflections in the mirror.

“First, we’re taking care of this pesky bun,” Nesta gasps as Amren roughly snaps the hairband she was using, yanking it out of her hair. Nesta can’t even appreciate the tickle of her golden-brown hair falling upon her shoulders, she gasps out a moan as Amren adjusts her grip to include the back of her hair, yanking it back roughly.

“Then,” she uses one of her nails to bring Nesta’s head up to face her. From this position, Nesta has a really good perspective of Amren's vulva, her dark inner labia symmetrically framed by the beautiful lace of her panties. She guesses she understands now why Amren and Varian spend so much of their time in the bedroom, if Nesta had a partner who looked like that she wouldn’t be able to stay off of them.

“Listen to me,” Amren continues to speak, adding pressure to her grip on the back of Nesta’s neck, moving the other hand–finger still on her jaw–down to rest upon the column of her now exposed throat, “you are never going to get over this malaise of yours if you don’t acknowledge that you are more now.”

Nesta isn’t exactly sure how she’s supposed to be paying attention to anything other than the feel of Amren’s finger, the sharp edge now tracing down the line of her throat–now that Nesta can actually feel the edges of Amren’s nails, she knows that if Amren wanted she could slice through the skin of her neck with one flick of her finger. Still, Nesta tries to ignore the trail of electricity that seems to be shooting out of wherever her skin makes contact with Amren’s and instead tries to focus on the conversation that she is supposed to be participating in.

“No, I know…,” Nesta starts, the sudden absence of Amren’s grip startles her, “I know-”, she tries to continue, tracking Amren’s reflection in the mirror, the tiny fae keeping her one finger anchored in its position on Nesta’s neck while swerving behind her so that she is now standing behind Nesta’s left side. “I know that I’m… different,” Nesta finishes, trying not to flinch away from the sudden softness of Amren’s knuckle circling the area of skin around the indentation left behind by the sharp edge of her nail.

“Different isn’t the same as bad, child,” Nesta doesn’t know why the use of the term ‘child’ suddenly bothers her, Amren is so old that it makes perfect sense why she would view all their friends as such. Yet, for some reason, the term strikes an odd cord within her, leaving behind a slight residue of ire. She doesn’t think she is in the place to complain about it now, though. Especially as she both witnesses Amren’s reflection and feels the fae move behind her, now straddling her left calf and hooking her chin over the back of Nesta’s shoulder. Her nipples harden immediately, the combination of Amren’s breath ghosting over her shoulder—breezing past the side of her neck—and of the warmth against her completely nude back transforms Nesta’s body into an oversensitive vessel.

“I remember when I first saw you, and these,” Amren starts, her arms reaching out from behind Nesta, her tanned hands—peeking out from fingerless gloves—now taking a hold of Nesta’s breasts, “these for sure are different.”

Nesta bites back a moan as she makes eye contact with Amren through the mirror, the other fae having an almost feral grin on her face as she begins massaging Nesta’s breasts. Despite the fact that Amren’s hands are small—not able to encompass the entirety of Nesta’s rather large breasts—she makes up for it with her vigor. Amren starts rolling Nesta’s nipples between her index finger and thumb in combination with the rhythmic pressing of her other fingers, each one making contact with a pressure point Nesta didn’t even know was there..

“Mhmm” Nesta moans a response, unable to hold back the effect of the pleasure arising from Amren’s kneading. It feels like there is fire inside her, each roll of Amren’s fingers on her nipples causes a ripple like sensation shooting straight to her cunt, leaving a pathway of sensitivity leading straight to her steadily heating core.

“And this,” Amren says lowly, nibbling at Nesta’s left ear as she releases her grip on her right breast. Both silver and gray-blue eyes track Amren’s hand through the mirror–watching as it disappears behind Nesta’s back briefly.

Nesta loses track of the room around her as she feels two of the pads of Amren’s fingers press ever-so-lightly against her spine between her shoulder-blades. This teasingly light touch combines with a particularly well timed squeeze of her left breast, triggering another round of the spark-like sensation inside her. Nesta tilts her head back to the right almost subconsciously, her body submitting to Amren and readily exposing her neck. She ignores the inner rage that emerges from that same deep place as before, especially when she feels Amren’s fingers start to trail their teasingly-light touch down her spine–the fae seemingly enjoying the feel of the dips and ridges between her vertebrae as she makes her way down.

“This is your greatest error,” Amren ghosts the words over the exposed skin of her neck, Nesta shivers at the sensation.

“What is?” Nesta asks, she internally curses her ancient friend’s inability to refrain from sounding cryptic whenever she speaks.

“This,” Amren repeats, immediately releasing her other breast. Nesta is too confused to register the jiggle of her tit as it settles back into its place on her chest. ‘This’ still isn’t an answer, Nesta thinks. Thankfully though, she isn’t too far caught up into the ‘enigma that is Amren’ to miss the fact that Amren’s right hand is currently resting on her ass, the palm of her left hand–the one that has just released her breast–now pressing on the region of skin just above her pelvic bone.

“How dare you deny this cunt as your own,” Amren demands. Nesta gasps as Amren moves her hand that is resting on Nesta’s ass down to cup her vulva from behind, igniting a whole new round of heat inside of her. Nesta can feel Amren’s fingers tangling themselves in her pubic hair, she can see the tips of Amren’s nails in the reflection from the mirror.

“I-I didn’t tell you that,” Nesta stutters, the heat of Amren’s hand below making it difficult for Nesta to retrieve her thoughts, her clit throbs in anticipation and she can feel the distinct sensation of wetness starting to build up inside of her.

“I know,” Amren smirks, Nesta making eye contact with her reflection, “But you poured your soul out into this mirror, girl. I can tell, that’s why I know exactly what I need to do to fix you.”

Nesta can’t even begin to try to wrap her head around that sentence; as soon as Nesta opens her mouth Amren presses her palm harder into Nesta’s front, causing a loud moan to escape her lips instead of whatever it was she intended to say as the added pressure discharges quivers of pleasure straight to her clit. Nesta is beginning to get the feeling that Amren enjoys making her speechless.

“And w-what’s that?” she manages to ask, truly desperate to know how Amren is going to fix Nesta’s fractured soul.

“How about you stop asking questions so that I can show you,” Amren replies instead of answering, Nesta pauses, noting that this is the first time tonight that Amren has sounded anything close to borderline impatient. Amren relaxes the pressure on Nesta’s front, seemingly waiting for the younger to respond before she continues.

Nesta quickly pushes aside the massive amounts of lust that are coursing through her body at the moment and instead makes eye contact with Amren again through their reflections.

“Yes Mistress, I apologize,” Nesta says dutifully, only feeling slightly bad that she irritated Amren. Still, she knows she made the right move as Nesta spies Amren’s shoulders relaxing as she rehooks her chin over Nesta’s left shoulder.

“Good girl,” she praises. Nesta watches Amren’s eyes flash before she starts moving her left hand up and down Nesta’s stomach. Nesta can do nothing but swallow as Amren starts to move her right hand.

“Now, are you seriously trying to tell me that these don’t belong to you?” Amren hisses. Nesta jolts as she feels Amren grip the lips of her inner labia, slowly rolling them between her fingers.

“These are nice, full, begging for attention, why do you hate them?”

“I don’t-” Nesta tries to start.

“Don’t lie to me,” Amren cuts her off, igniting another distant unfamiliar rage inside Nesta, one that she does not completely understand. As it seems to keep happening tonight, Amren doesn’t give her a chance to respond as Amren places a particularly strong tug on her inner labia, pulling the lips down before releasing them, the sound of Nesta’s wetness subsequently echoing in the quiet tiny room.

Amren forms two of her fingers into a V, pressing them just outside the area surrounding her clit before she starts massaging the area in a circular motion.

“Fuck.” Nesta whimpers, Amren’s teasing is absolutely agonizing. Nesta’s clit throbs, with the other’s fingers so close, it can’t help but send pulses of need throughout Nesta’s body in time with each move of Amren’s fingers around it.

“I need you to understand that this power of yours is not something you should be afraid of,” Amren stops the circular motions and instead presses two fingers directly onto her clit through its hood. Nesta swears the pleasure is so intense, it feels as if a fire is rising inside of her. The base of it originates from her core, the smoke rising up to keep the rest of her upper body warm too.

“It wants to work with you,” Amren lets out a gasp as she starts to grind her own pussy down on Nesta’s leg which she has been stradling this whole time. Nesta bites her lip as she feels the moist beginnings of Amren’s own juices impressing upon her calf. The fingers of Amren’s right hand aren't moving, instead they keep a constant thread of pressure on her clit. Nesta’s poor clit, she can tell it’s desperate for attention, it sends constant pulses as if it is asking her to move to give it some sort of relief from all the stimulation Amren is providing.

Nesta watches Amren through the mirror. She can both see and feel Amren’s right hand splaying out across her stomach, using it for balance as she grinds against her calf and uses her other hand to attend to Nesta’s cunt. Despite the impressive multitasking that Amren already has going on, Nesta notices Amren’s assessing silver gaze is locked on her own, as if Amren is waiting for her to realize something.

What though? Nesta wants to ask, but she refrains because she knows Amren won’t take it well. But how the fuck is she supposed to know what Amren wants? Amren is older than Prythian itself and Nesta has been High Fae for less than a year. All Nesta knows is that she is more turned on than she has ever been in her entire life, sitting completely in the nude between a mirror and the scantily dressed body of one of the people she feels the most comfortable around lately–which in itself is saying something as it is Amren she is talking about.

“Look inside yourself,” Amren says as she slows the pace of her gyrations, “can’t you feel that you’re not alone?”

Nesta lets out another moan, closing her eyes as Amren starts driving the fingers that have been fixed on Nesta’s clit around, dragging her clit into a circular path. This, of course, causes Nesta’s hips to jerk into the motion, chasing after the pleasure. She also tries to decipher what exactly Amren means with her statement that ‘she’s not alone.’

It is quite hard to do so though when she feels like there’s a sweltering heat inside her body, begging for escape. Nesta has been horny before, she knows what it feels like. Cauldron knows that she has been a victim of it tonight. Fortunately, thanks to the overstimulation that Amren is so happily providing, Nesta is able to take a deeper look at what’s going on inside of her.

Nesta closes her eyes, trying to center herself past the pleasure that’s overwhelming her senses. As she inhales, she ignores the rocking of Amren’s pussy back and forth on her calf, she ignores the sting of her painfully hard nipples, she ignores the rhythmic squelching coming from her own pussy as Amren’s hand keeps her lips in motion and pressure on her clit, Nesta ignores it all. As she channels into her soul, deep inside her, Nesta realizes that Amren is right, once again, she is clearly not alone.

It’s a hard thing to describe, a soul. Nesta certainly isn’t expecting to find hers feeling like it's coated in some sort of substance similar to live-wire. It definitely seems to be working in overload–constricted behind some sort of mental block–the area around it seems electrically charged. She tries to paint a mental picture of it, of this charged substance locked deep inside her persona. Nesta thinks it could best be described as a worn steel cage that just barely contains a ball of pure energy. For some reason, Nesta’s gets a sudden feeling if something other than her tries to reach out for it, this hidden piece of her soul, fire would lash out through the holes in the cage, almost like an intentional solar flare. She mentally reaches towards it, trying to catch a read of it–and inwardly gasps as she realizes she recognizes it.

“By the Cauldron,” Nesta gasps, coming back to the present with a jolt, the shock of her realization causing her to sit back on her calves–a space in which she notices Amren is no longer occupying–not being able to kneel properly any longer. She’s definitely sweating, she can feel its sheen gathering upon every inch of her body.

As she struggles to catch her breath, Nesta remembers something that Amren had said when she first was explaining the benefits of this whole ordeal to Nesta.

“Every being in this world has the potential for magic, child. Even some humans if they so chose to tap into that part of themselves. Its residue lies along the lines of the needs that unite all living creatures in all the worlds–eat, sleep, fuck. Your walls have been built too high, girl. It’s time we break them down.”

“Don’t you see now?” Nesta snaps her attention towards Amren, the female now standing, pressing her weight against the side of the mirror–one heeled boot crossed over the other–and inspecting the nails of her right hand, the one which had just been intimately involved with Nesta’s folds.

Nesta decides to ignore the fact that she has no idea when Amren even left her prior position behind her. She’s so close to understanding what’s going on with her, she can taste it. She doesn’t even care that Amren stopped touching her right before she would have most definitely orgasmed–well, she does a little… a lot, but gaining control of herself and her power is much more important, she reminds herself.

“It’s my magic…” Nesta breathes, moving her hands to the floor behind her to support her weight.

“It’s my…” Nesta trails off, noticing her own flushed appearance in the mirror.

“Yes,” Amren answers, redirecting Nesta’s attention back towards her, “it’s You, girl.”

This time, Nesta’s ire in response to Amren’s addressment of her is much more palpable, she can feel it crawling under her skin. How dare she, her inner voice speaks, louder than ever before.

“And Nesta,” Amren calls and Nesta turns her attention back towards her immediately, shock coloring her cheeks further. She can count the times that Amren has used her actual name on one hand.

“Yes?” she asks before she has a chance to take the vision of her in, heart freezing as she registers what Amren is actually doing.

Amren, still radiant in her lingerie, isn’t even looking at Nesta. Instead, she has her eyes closed, head tilted back against the edge of the mirror frame, and is actively humming. Nesta can do nothing but watch as Amren lifts her index and middle fingers–the ones belonging to the hand that the female had been inspecting previously–and brings it to her plump red lips.

Amren opens her eyes then, and Nesta once again finds herself trapped in the other’s primordial gaze. Amren moans again as she pushes them past her lips, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks on the digits before pulling them out–the action releasing a wet popping sound that seems very loud in the tiny room, the only other sound being Nesta’s increasingly rapid breathing.

“It tastes good,” Amren replies simply, as if she didn’t just do one of the sexiest things Nesta has ever witnessed, “you, taste good.”

“I’ll be right back,” Amren says, disappearing behind the mirror–the one that is so large that Nesta didn’t even know the closet extended further behind it until just now. She doesn’t really care about her abrupt departure though, not when Amren’s words have just launched her into what feels like a state of estrus.

There is a new wave of boiling heat inside of her. Nesta knows that this heat is different, it almost stings yet it is somehow still satisfying, it’s comforting, and it vibrates against seemingly every possible organ inside her body. She can do nothing but gasp as she feels her magic finally free itself from its steel trap. This power, her power feels just right inside her veins, like her heart needs it just as much as it needs oxygen.

It’s about time, the magic chides her, and Nesta is overcome by feelings of regret. How could she have denied this part of herself for so long. She understands why Amren was so insistent upon helping her now, why she had been so disappointed in her. Nesta clutches her breast to try to ground herself as she feels her soul reuniting with her heart underneath the skin.

Of course though, the serene moment is broken by Amren who throws a pile of clothes at her face, breaking Nesta from her trance. This time, Nesta is ready to snap at Amren, in sync with her newly awakened power.

“Now stand up!” Amren orders. Nesta tries not to let her temper get the best of her as she slowly rises, still able to feel the other’s wetness from where it leaked against her calf. Amren speaks again before Nesta actually has a chance to rip her head off, though.

“Put this on, this is taking a little longer than I was initially anticipating,” Amren says before she promptly disappears behind the mirror yet again. Nesta’s inner irritation quickly dims as she notes a slight tinge of concern dimming Amren’s usually confident eyes. Nesta remembers then, she and Amren are not the only two participants of tonight’s activities. Where exactly is Varian? Nesta wants to find out.

She quickly puts on the clothes that Amren picks out for her and slips her feet into an expensive looking pair of black stilettos. As she starts to turn around so that she can get a good look at herself in the mirror, Nesta can’t help but ponder about how the hell Amren knows her shoe size. She assumes the tiny fae must have bullied Azriel or someone into finding out the correct size instead of just asking Nesta outright, which actually sounds like a very ‘Amren-type-thing’ to do now that she thinks about it.

Nesta’s jaw drops as she comes face-to-face with her reflection. Amren has dressed her in a black wet-look teddy which features a low cut open bust, a criss cross neck, gold zip up front, cut out sides, criss cross back straps with O-ring details, a tie back, and a cheeky cut bottom. The way the teddy sits on her emphasizes all her curves in the best way possible, Nesta thinks as she raises her arms to adjust her hair. There is no hiding the monstrous size of her breasts with this low cut open bust. There is a perfect path of bare skin that travels from between her tits down to the visible zipper of the front. Fuck, Nesta thinks as she shifts slightly to see the back of the teddy, she looks delicious. The realization causes the already blistering temperature inside of her to somehow elevate even more.

“If you’re finished getting dressed, come back here!” she hears Amren call from behind the mirror. With the added height provided by Nesta’s heels, she is sure that the size difference between the two females will return to the usual. Still, Amren’s presence is so strong and foreboding–especially tonight–that Nesta would rather die than point this out to her friend. Still, Nesta follows Amren’s order without question and feels a gasp escape her lips as she steps past the edge of the frame which Amren has been hanging around all night.

“Oh my,” Nesta can’t help but say as she takes another step into the hidden part of the closet that she and Amren have been spending so much time in this evening. Lining each and every single shelf in front of her is the widest variety of sex toys that Nesta has ever seen. She always suspected that Amren was a hoarder, however, when she first formed that suspicion Nesta was thinking more along the lines of jewelry. She is not entirely sure what she should make of the display of dildos, paddles, chains, straps, vibrators, and plenty more in front of her.

“Wha-How long have you been collecting all of this?” Nesta asks, unable to stop herself. She turns towards Armen who has been waiting for her, leaning against the only wall in this little hidden area without any shelfs occupying it.

“I’ve been alive a long time,” Amren replies, mirth filling her gaze. Nesta considers that to be a fair response.

“Anyway,” Amren starts, pushing herself off of the wall and strutting forward until she stops right in front of Nesta, “pick what calls to you, girl.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks for clarity while trying to keep her inner beast in-check. Nesta doesn’t even know where to begin. However, she remembers that this isn’t her first time racking her mind to try to find something that Amren has told her to, Nesta thinks back to when she was trying to feel out the location of the Ouroboros. She also ignores the utter ridiculousness of Amren’s request, does she really want Nesta to tap into this great power of hers just to find the perfect sex toy? One thing she has learned throughout her relatively short time being friends with Amren is that the other female always has her reasons. Nesta supposes she will try to do as she’s asked.

“It’s quite simple. Your magic is awake now, let it guide you,” Amren coos before brushing past Nesta, purposely bumping into her shoulder as she passes by.

“You look great in that by the way.” Nesta jolts as a quick slap meets the flesh of her ass, turning around to find Amren laughing. She will not deny she enjoys the warmth that emerges from the affected area of her skin after the impromptu spanking. However, Nesta eyes the other female with a glare, she swears she’s never been more willing to attempt to tear Amren's throat out then she is right now. Nesta isn’t even entirely sure why, usually her subconscious would make itself known at this point to try to guide her away from such a rash decision. However, now that her soul is complete, Nesta cannot feel anything within her aside from a pleased rumble of agreement.

“How will I know?” Nesta asks, turning back towards the treasure trove of sex toys displayed before her.

“There is only so much I can tell you, try trusting your instincts,” Amren answers softly, the sound of her footsteps echoing as she takes a couple steps back, clearly giving Nesta space to work with.

Nesta inhales a deep breath before exhaling softly, closing her eyes so that she can try and concentrate. Nesta lifts her hands–palms up–and holds them there, her elbows remaining in a position at about the same height as her waist. She tunes out the room around her and focuses in on the flames that have been joyfully traveling around her body ever since she finally accepted their presence, she focuses in on her power, tapping into the electric bundle at her core and then refocusing her energy on the area in front of her.

As she mentally scans the toys with her power–eyes still closed–she hopes that she is able to tap into whatever instincts Amren is referring to. As she keeps scanning though, she feels the electricity inside her getting more painful as she gets closer to a certain area. Here, Nesta knows where to go. She keeps her eyes closed as she moves in that direction, each step causing the stinging to travel to a new area of her body. Finally, Nesta opens her eyes as her stiletto covered toe meets the edge of the shelf of toys.

The sight of a black riding crop makes her mouth water, yes this, we need to use this, we need to keep others in line. To make things even better, the crop had a beautiful diamond encrusted handle. Before she has a chance to pick it up, Nesta realizes her power isn’t done screaming at her, something more, we need something else.

“I need to pick another,” Nesta turns her head over her shoulder slightly to make eye-contact with Amren, noting that her silver eyes blink slightly in surprise before she shrugs her bare shoulders.

“As I’ve been saying the whole time, listen to your instincts,” Amren steps back up to the shelf next to Nesta, gesturing for her to carry on with her business as Amren picks up the riding crop to hold for her.

Nesta turns back around to follow the second trail of sparks that had been nagging at her. Only after she picked up the riding crop did Nesta actually realize that she was meant to be following two different paths. Not that it matters anymore, now she knows what to do. Nesta doesn’t even bother to close her eyes, instead she makes her way straight for the shelf of strap-ons, her sights locked on this massive red dildo.

Nesta is a bit confused though once she gets closer, although it satisfies her instincts–the fact that this is the thickest dildo she has ever seen in her life makes her clit throb–she can’t help but notice the inside of it is hollow. Nesta picks up the toy and turns back around again to ask Amren what it is.

“Oh!” Amren’s eyes light up in delight as she eyes what Nesta is holding, “I haven’t had a chance to use that with him yet, this is wonderful!”

“Why is it hollow though?” Nesta asks, a bit nervous about the fact that she thinks Amren actually skips as she makes her way over to grab the toy from Nesta. She also tries not to focus on the fact that she thinks this is the most excited she has ever seen Amren outside of her talks with Lucien about whatever sport it is that they both like.

“Oh child,” Amren starts, the term once again annoying Nesta and causes her to roll her eyes, “this isn’t a strap on for you.”

Nesta shoots her head back up at the ancient one’s words. Oh?

She eyes Amren, who is stalling at the edge of the mirror frame.

“It’s for him,” Amren grins at her, a mischievous spark in her eye. Nesta feels another wave of heat wash over her entire body as she imagines the implications of this knowledge. However, Nesta also gets hit with a sudden sense of insecurity as Amren leaves the hidden section of the closet.

“Amren, I have a question,” Nesta calls out as she follows her. As she crosses into the other section, she spies Amren placing the toys that Nesta has selected in one of the empty spaces on the shelves between candle displays, the tiny fae’s back turned away from her. Amren sighs and lets her head hang forward before turning around to meet Nesta’s gaze.

“What is it now, girl?” Amren is no longer hiding her impatience, not even bothering to reprimand Nesta for failing to call her Mistress. Nesta doesn’t feel bad though, how could she when she finally feels like she belongs in her own body. There is one question she still needs to ask.

“How do I know that this magic is truly my own? How do I know this was meant to belong to me?” Nesta has never felt better or more like she belongs in her body than this moment in time, she is just worried that this is a trick, that it won’t stay that way, that she’s not strong enough.

Amren glares at her as soon as Nesta finishes spitting out the question, visibly incredulous that she had the gall to even ask the question.

"I have watched many a reign come and go girl, you dare question me?" Nesta gulps as Amren storms up to her, no longer teasing in her grip as she grabs Nesta’s arm and swings her around so that she faces the mirror again.

“I thought we went over this already but let me try to explain it one more time,” Nesta sees Amren frown through the reflection, the tiny fae standing on Nesta’s left side this time rather than behind her because of the added height of Nesta’s stilettos.

“Close your eyes!” Amren orders. Nesta does.

“What do you feel?” she asks, holding Nesta at the waist as she massages little circles into the skin of Nesta’s hips, visible through the cutouts of her teddy.

Nesta sighs before emptying her mind, trying to focus purely on her inner core.

“I feel fire, it's everywhere. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet, and it feels like my flesh is being scorched from within, I want-” Nesta cuts herself off. She wants so much. She wants to dominate, she wants to take, she wants to own, Nesta can’t even keep up with all the urges running past her mind, she knows for sure though that she’s never felt more hungry than she is in this moment.

“Open your eyes, girl," Amren orders just as Nests feels like the fire in her chest is about to break past her ribcage. Again, if it was any other time Nesta would rip her a new one for continuing to call her ‘girl’. Now though, what other option does she have other than to listen?

Nesta opens her eyes and is met with their reflection, flames clearly dancing within her gray-blue hues.

"Your power wants to work with you,” Amren hisses, splaying one of her hands on the bare skin below Nesta’s breasts, “it's meant for you to wield."

"Feel this?" Amren presses her palm into the region above Nesta’s pelvic bone, the added pressure sending waves of pleasure towards her cunt, her nipples raging with electricity as they beg for similar attention.

“Feel how good it aches," Amren whispers, moving her other hand to play with the zipper on Nesta’s front. She cries out a moan as Amren adds even more pressure to the area above her pelvic region, I do feel.

"Feel how it makes your body cry for more?" she asks, and Nesta is starving.

"This is what true power feels like girl, this is the feeling that men climb, cry and fight for, but they always fail," Amren brings her lips to Nesta’s ear and Nesta would be lying if she says she’s anything other than horny as fuck.

"But us," Amren whispers, her soft breath causing Nesta to become somehow even more sensitive than before. Amren removes her hands from Nesta’s lower body and instead brings them up to slide beneath the fabric of her teddy, the cut providing easy access to her breasts.

"Creatures like you and I…," Amren continues to whisper, squeezing Nesta’s breasts a couple times as Nesta feels even more wetness pool between her folds.

"We will prevail," Amren whispers, leaving a kiss under Nesta’s ear before letting go of her and backing away, out of the mirror’s line of vision.

“I see” Nesta closes her eyes once more and reflects. She finally thinks she gets it now, at least for the most part. Because how can she deny who she is any longer? Who is she to decide that she isn’t meant to be here? The magic is in her now, it breathes with her and it craves her every waking desire. Her journey in this new world has been like a battle between Nesta’s old beliefs, her family, and the grim reality seemingly standing before her. Now though, Nesta Archeon is done being afraid.

She opens her eyes only to immediately realize the lighting in the room has changed. The flickering yellow-orange flames from Amren’s candles are no more, in their stead, to Nesta’s utter astonishment, are silver flames, casting the room in a flickering white glow instead. In a similar tune, almost as if her magic is rejoicing at her inner revelation, Nesta feels another round of flames lick up her inner viscera, making her insides feel warm and comforting like a hearth. This body is no vessel, it is her own flesh and blood.

“I believe it's time,” Amren says quietly, softly, like she doesn’t want to accidentally startle Nesta into closing herself off from her magic again.

“I’m ready,” Nesta replies in the same tone, nodding at Amren through the mirror to show her that she is genuinely grateful for her assistance. It is actually quite insane to think that all it took to set her head straight was to be brought to the edge of an orgasm.

“I’ll give you a minute, I’ll be waiting in the hall.”

Nesta inhales as she nods in acknowledgement, once again admiring Amren’s petite figure as the female makes her way to exit the small room. Nesta feels yet another bout of heat spurn within her as she spies Amren grabbing the toys that Nesta has selected to use for tonight before she leaves.

“Remember what you can be, girl,” Amren tosses over her shoulder just before the door slams behind her, setting silence upon the tiny room where Nesta still stands. She waits a moment, listening. Judging by the increasingly quiet clack of the tiny Fae’s heels on the wooden floor, Nesta presumes that Amren is going to place them wherever she has stashed Varian thus far.

Nesta closes her eyes, reveling in the swirling thrum of sparks inside her, she would like to think that it is her inner beast coming to say hello, she really would. But Nesta is an intelligent woman…an intelligent woman who knows that the jump in her arousal is most definitely because she notices that the strap-on–the massive hollow toy that she intends to use tonight–is close to over half the length of Amren’s forearm. And the thickness… cauldron. She knows that a male-strap-on has to have a certain level of thickness in regards to the girth because it has to allow for a cock to fill its hollow opening. However–Nesta thinks as she opens her eyes, seeing the flames inside them staring back at her through the mirror in front of her–she wonders exactly what type of toy is hanging between Varian’s legs that requires a dildo as thick as her wrist. She is witness to her own reflection as a devilish grin forms on her own mouth–Nesta is more than ready to leave all that was before in this room.

“It’s time,” Nesta speaks aloud to the empty room. She refuses to let herself cower in the face of power ever again, especially when it's her own. Nesta straightens her posture, taking one last look at her reflection.

It’s time to take what she needs.

___Preview of Next Chapter____

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation.

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, is one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, yet there it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of a feud on a personal level.

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now, boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself.

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin.

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal.No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

_______________________

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wittybanterforlife · 10 months

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Elain, Amren, and Mor stans need to watch this!!

#elain archeron #morrigan #amren acotar #nesta archeron supremacy #amren x varian #acotar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of nightmares #pro nesta #valkyries acosf #acosf #a court of thorns and roses

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moonlightazriel · 1 year

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ACOTAR IG: The inner circle

Main Masterlist

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #sarahjmaas #shadowsinger #night court #velaris #moonlightazriel #rhysand #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #morrigan #the morrigan #amren #amren x varian #amren acotar #a court of mist and fury

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poppy-pola · 1 year

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Amren❤️🩸

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mommyofkittens · 9 days

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A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 9- The Third One

𓆩✴𓆪

Author's POV:

Venom... A chilled shadow crept through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering velvety in his ear. Azriel turned his weary gaze to the obsidian weapons, hanging at the guard's hips. Their equally dark armor, probably made of the same cursed material, glowed faintly as they passed any candles or windows. The moon watched over him like a stern mother, hoping for the best for her son.

Faebane... Another companion spoke directly into his mind, snaking quickly down his searing spine. He subconsciously thanked her for the icy path she left on his clammy skin, cooling him enough to allow his mind to think more clearly.

It had been more than twenty hours since he had eaten or had ten minutes of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He was used to these episodes of insomnia, he knew where his limits were and he knew how to help his body survive exhaustion, but with the hunger gnawing at his stomach he could hardly cope.

He was so getting a vacation after he went back to the Night Court.

Azriel stumbled to keep up with the guards escorting him from the gate. They were a head shorter than him, and perhaps those bulky armors hindered them in every way. Still, they were probably cleaner than his Illyrian skins, which seemed to mold over the film of sweat that had formed underneath. Azriel refrained from wrinkling his nose. He hated feeling stinky.

As he considered the color mismatch between the exceptionally clean burgundy carpet and the brown velvet curtains, he also noticed the way the mosaic on the windows and ceiling changed as they moved through different areas of the palace. It smelled nauseatingly of burning incense, sage, and something rotten and damp. Azriel searched until he reached the corners of the marble floors, where he noticed the musty flowers they tried to hide.

There was death inside the palace.

Azriel thought about the list of dangers he had made up in his head that would prevent him from getting out of the royal court alive if he had to escape. Not even his wings would help him, as they would be the first target of all the trained archers in the outer court.

He didn't have to turn around to count the scars that stretched like a mosaic along the hard Illyrian membrane, the way the brown was patched with dark red spots, aerodynamically weaker than the rest of the healthy tissue. He could still feel some of them, running deep into the marrow, like a ghostly rash that constantly reminded him of past nefarious circumstances. It sounded like he was adding another five hundred centuries to the ones he already had. Azriel knew that torn ligaments and sword wounds could heal too tightly and viciously, restricting certain movements. All of this ached during training, or in his prematurely short hours of sleep, even when it rained, thanks to changes in barometric pressure. He knew with frightening accuracy how, for whom, and when he got al those scars. He liked to keep track of everything, it was in his nature.

Azriel felt his wings a few pounds heavier, and he fought to keep his tired shoulders straight so as not to drag his bony tips across the marble floor. He wouldn't have minded scratching at the perfection of this palace, but to the Illyrians it was a sign of weakness he would not allow.

Turning his gaze back to the glass, he saw them again, shining under the crescent moon. Four pairs of towers surrounded the main hall of the palace, and as far as he could tell, the archers were only mounted in the outer towers, relying more on being useful over a longer radius. In the smaller towers, huge bells lay black as night, no natural light reflecting in the darkness of the material. In Azriel's mind, the worst-case scenario emerged. He imagined that the sound it produced would be loud enough to overwhelm the delicate hearing of a fae, loud enough that any danger in the vicinity would be killed in seconds by guards on the walls armed with sharp spears, swords, and daggers.

And he hadn't seen their magic system yet.

These were just a few of the small details that made Azriel sit as stiff as a bow and as still as a river, ready to turn at any moment. He was pleased with himself, his plan had worked. It had been easier than he had expected, setting himself up as a target in front of the bridge and allowing himself to be escorted by six guards into the heart of the palace, relying perhaps too much on the fact that those in charge had been tipped off by the winged man haunting the surrounding villages. His ego seemed a bit bruised, considering the small number of guards around him.

He counted the curves and doors that stretched from side to side, analyzed the thick glass and the type of fastenings in the walls, and made sure that all the ropes tied to the ceiling were there to support the heavy chandeliers and not for some who-knows-what trap. He was sure his shadows would have warned him of any imminent danger, but now they were just as vigilant, listening, watching, like hunting dogs.

Azriel knew the rules: he was to be presented to an emergency council unless they had time to raise another king to the throne. He had everything ready, the letter from Rhysand was his ticket in, but the problem was how to escape and how to find the so-called Comet Woman. He hoped no one else knew about her, knew what she could become. If someone found out in the meantime, things could get very, very problematic. It meant he wouldn't be coming home with his hands clean.

The man knew she lived here for the past month, retracing all her steps by the scent of amber that lingered in the atmosphere. There were certain areas so much more concentrated, so much more filled with her presence, so tangible that Azriel could almost see her faded face, as if he were standing behind a curtain in which he could just make out her outline. The shadows had led him to a wooden threshold with a barely legible sign carved with the simple word 'Potions'. Azriel caught the humor and almost snorted: the one he sought was indeed a sorcerer, which was why it had been so easy for her to slip past their protection, to sneak into the house when he slept so soundly, to haunt him for weeks.

He wouldn't have left without her, after getting so close that he could feel her brittle bones crumbling under his strong fingers. If he played his cards right, like a true diplomat and not a thirsty assassin, he could walk out of the wolf's mouth with his head still on his shoulders and the great trophy won.

He paused for a few seconds in front of a polished wooden door, surrounded by ancient phrases carved into the holster. There was a brief exchange of glances between the man to his right and the guard in the hallway. He allowed himself to roll his stiff neck. He had been in the palace for more than ten minutes and still no sound, no servant, no Fae of any rank. What was everyone doing?

" Raise your arms! " The man to his left commands as he rests his hand on the scabbard of his sword, his eyes quickly scanning Azriel's body. " Remove your cloak and slowly present your weapons. "

Azriel made no gesture as he nimbly unbuttoned the gold button that held his traveling cloak, then removed his knives and swords from his armor and placed them according to size on the low table by the door.

A guard comes too close for Azriel's liking, counting the equipment in the torchlight. He lifts his eye shield over his head, revealing tawny irises and the smell of sour wine. " Are you planning an uprising? You brought an arsenal. ''

'' No. '' Azriel said casually, rearranging the crooked line of daggers with a finger, '' I just can't sleep without them. ''

The guard gave him a puzzled look, sensing Azriel's wry humor, then shook his head and put the torch away. He hoped there was no spell inside that would block his access to the other realm, where he had left allof his most important tools, undetectable and ready to use at a moment's notice. The colleague, who smelled of cheap wine, took his hand off the sword and pulled on his gloves, then began to search Azriel's body.

''Don't touch my wings,'' he warned them coldly, watching their slow movements closely.

The individual paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to take the mountain of a man in front of him seriously, then seemed to make the right decision and carefully circled the base of his wings on his back. He was aware that his life was not important enough to be judged by the royal court if the famous Shadowsinger decided to break his neck with his bare hands. Besides, there was his reputation: no one wanted to mess with the fragile nerves of a torturer.

The Shadowsinger didn't take his fierce gaze away from the guard's curious hands. In fact, he was annoyed that they were hovering too long over places he certainly did not want to be touched, but he could not afford to lose control when he was so close to fulfilling his plan. No one could test his iron patience. He could feel his skin soaking with sweat and dust as it ate away at his equipment. He hadn't had a hot bath in days and craved the feeling of cleanliness. And this touchy-feely examination was making it worse.

After making sure he didn't bring in a butter knife to slit the throats of the entire council, the door was opened and Azriel stepped through, this time accompanied by only two of the six guards.

He paused for a moment to take in the new scenery. Surely he had entered the gilded palace street, where the king's closest allies made their home, judging by the imperial colors of bright red, the spotless view and, of course, the lack of musty odors. Gold chandeliers and scented candles were screwed into the marble walls, along with dozens of paintings of portraits and battle scenes.

A couple of women, the first Azriel had seen in the fifteen minutes he had been in the palace, emerged from a side room and did not shy away from looking at him from head to toe. Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, content to look straight ahead without giving them any meaning. The ladies whispered to each other long enough for him to realize that he was the subject of the discussion, more specifically his tights and something about his waist. Even though Azriel was more than used to female attention, even male attention, that didn't mean he wanted it from everyone and everywhere.

Still, he threw a bone to the dogs and bowed his head like a courtier, eyeing the ladies like a predator disguised under the skin of a gentleman. Oh my, how the perfume of the hallway had changed to something sweeter, more... enticing. Azriel's lips curled just a little as a loud giggle escaped them, enchanted by his attention.

Azriel doesn't get to take a few steps before an all-too-familiar smell hits his senses hard: nutmeg and... burning coals. Azriel sighs deeply and prays to the Mother that he won't find what he already expected to find somewhere nearby. His instincts rarely failed him. Maybe he'd finally found the reason to end this male's existence after the meeting of the High Lords months ago. His discovery would only add fuel to an already smoldering fire that could reignite any second back in Prythian, And possibly make Azriel's job a little more difficult if this redhead started sticking his nose into his affairs.

The muffled voices seemed to contradict each other just after the left turn where the smell of fresh food came from. There were many more people on this side of the palace, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to locate the source. The scent, which could only have come from a fae, given how strong it was, began to intertwine with something softer, barely tangible, as if this person had no personality or will of their own. It had a subtle hue, barely discernible, like plants and leaves. No, not just the kind you grow everywhere, but the ones that love dry summers and cool winters, a plant that only the most special person in the world would know how to plant and grow for him. Saffron, he concluded, a plant that lives in the mountains and that for him meant freedom, however temporary.

He didn't dare close his eyes to block out the memories. Every moment of weakness was just another knife between his shoulder blades. Azriel gritted his teeth and pushed every thought away. He subtly sniffed the bittersweet scent that took him to the same place where those sunken voices could be heard.

The first guard stopped in front of him as he rounded the corner, probably slightly startled by the image he saw in the next corridor. Azriel stepped cautiously, his eyes taking in every detail of the stained glass until he came to a familiar clump of red hair. He couldn't help but sigh.

An awkward moment of silence fell over all the participants. Azriel felt the urge to hit someone, especially the one who was now standing there nonchalantly, as if he had done nothing wrong.

'' Well, I see Rhysand has sent his brutes out to play. '' His words, laced with mocking humour, did him no good as Azriel tried hard not to step on his throat again. '' What wind blows you here, Shadowsinger? ''

The raven-haired man didn't respond to his challenge at first, watching the intimate scene unfold before them: an insultingly small body trapped between Vanserra's tall frame and the marble sculpture of a naked fairy. The woman struggled to cover her face with the red mask he knew all palace servants wore for some reason, then pulled the folds of her dress tighter, waiting for the awkward moment to pass. In his mind, he guessed the reason they were forced to wear that uniform. It was easier not to know who was disappearing, it was easier to kill someone who was lost in a landscape where a thousand others looked the same. It was easier to get murdered.

'' Are you all right, girl? '' Azriel deliberately ignored Eris, any conversation with this traitor would only end in blood and not otherwise.

The woman didn't answer, didn't even look at him, as if she hadn't heard him at all. He was slightly offended by the lack of response, but overlooked it as she was probably on edge from whatever magic Vanserra had put on her.

One of the guards approached the maid menacingly, ready to strike. " Our guest gives you permission to speak by engaging you in conversation and you dare not answer? You disgusting human! "

Eris jumps up to stand between the guard and the woman, smiling sardonically. " She can't speak, Draegan cut out her tongue. "

" Of course King Draegan cut out her tongue if she doesn't know when and how to use it! " The other man shouts from behind his mask.

" Calm down! There's no need to throw a tantrum because a woman rejects you. " Azriel intervenes, freeing himself from captivity. " I think I can find my way from here. "

" I don't think is wise... "

" You're not here to think, you're here to guard, and I'm inoffensive. Lord Vanserra can vouch for that. " Azriel intensifies his look, turning his back to the guards. " And I left my entire arsenal by the doors, remember? "

" I'll take care of him, don't worry. " Eris grunted, crossing his hands over his green tunic. " Men like him are as harmless as a bear: they don't bite unless you find their lair. "

The men nodded sceptically and turned back. He felt Eris stiffen beside him, as if he'd been waiting for someone to catch him cheating at cards.

" Let the girl go. " Azriel spoke grimly, not turning to look at them. " She shouldn't be here. "

" She's where she's supposed to be. " Eris replied dryly, already irritated by Azriel's tendency to twist his words, then left a theatrical kiss on the woman's cheek.

The girl seems to push him away for a second, then pulls her hand back, hiding it between the thick folds of her black dress.

" I don't think you're where you're supposed to be. " Azriel didn't seem to want to back down, so he turned his full attention to the Heir of the Autumn Court, irritated by his idiotic answers.

" True. " Eris admitted, covering the woman almost completely. " But I could say the same about you. King Draegan is waiting for both of us in the dining hall. "

" Oh, you already share a bond with these criminals. " The man concluded, nodding slightly. " You still haven't told me why you're here. "

" Go, little human, I'll find you later. " Vanserra hugged her too lovingly, resting his huge palm on the woman's small face.

A violent feeling ran through Azriel as he watched these gestures: fear, fear for this woman who didn't know what she was getting into, who was always in danger of being crushed by Eris or someone else from this cruel continent. A fragile human once again caught between the fingers of a fae. These stories caused a sick feeling of anxiety in his stomach, not because he cared, but because he knew history was about to repeat itself. He watched her short legs move hastily to the servant's door, avoiding eye contact with the fae around her, trying her best to pass unnoticed. Azriel was almost nervous for her.

Don't be clumsy. Don't be loud. Leave as soon as you can. I'll pay you ten times your salary if you just leave. Azriel sang in his head, but it was in vain, she couldn't hear him and he couldn't do much more for now.

" Do you hear me? " Eris's voice grows a little louder, but something else catches Azriel's attention.

The woman stops suddenly, eyes wide with shock as if she had seen someone naked, and looks around in confusion. Azriel frowns, Eris' words flying past him. She turns slightly toward them, and for a brief moment Azriel can finally see her troubled eyes: round as a full moon and fiery as a burning sun, but their color was what set them apart - gray, like an inviting sea that hides treacherous dangers.

Then she disappeared, like a ghost between the walls.

A few moments later, he realized that his shadows had become silent, resting, waiting, as if they were hoping, and then vanished from his surroundings completely. It seemed bizarre to Azriel, and he felt lonelier than he would have liked.

" What are you doing here, Eris? "

" Same as you - business. I know you're not here for pleasure or anything, you won't find a happy place here. " Eris Vanserra seemed to slap him as he gave him a tight smile. Azriel stiffened his mental, emotional and psychic shields and the shadows reappeared. " I want to know more about Hybern. They are weak and few. I want to have an advantage when the time comes. "

" Just say you're here to spy on them and cut the crap. " Azriel strode after Eris, who knew the palace corridors disturbingly well. " Except I still wouldn't believe anything that came out of your mouth. "

" I don't need you to believe me or the approval of the Night Court. This isn't about the Morrigan anymore. " Eris turned abruptly, almost bumping into Azriel who was behind him. " Another war is coming, something worse is happening right now, and I want to know how we can win. If we can. "

Azriel's alarm rang in his ears. Did Eris know more about the Fallen Star than he was letting on?

" Hybern was our enemy months ago, don't tell me you want to have them as allies. It's like trusting a rabid animal. " Azriel stopped him with a gloved hand before they stepped through another huge door. " They are the reason more than half of our armies have been destroyed. "

He wanted to say a few more words to Eris, but that was a discussion he would have another time, in a much more secluded place and under more permissible circumstances, where he could use acts of physical violence. He couldn't ask him enough questions to find out what he knew, or if he knew anything.

" I'm aware of that, but they don't have the Cauldron to do that kind of damage again. Anyway, this is not the place to discuss the matter in detail. Give me more time before you turn me in. "

He didn't want Rhysand to find out that Eris was here, actively betraying everyone. He couldn't do that, it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

" This new king, Draegan. He knows something we do not. He may have an advantage we do not. Let me find out what it is. "

As another pair of huge doors opened before their eyes, Azriel suddenly felt tired. A huge table lay before him, decorated with plates and glasses far too full for his taste. Oriental flavors and far too much food awaited him, and the servants - both women and men - moved around in disturbing circles of clattering, chattering, and chopping.

Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to them, hidden in that semi-obscure atmosphere of burning candles and the barely audible strains of a violin. Azriel wanted to turn around and leave, he didn't have the energy to go through all that was about to come, but he had no other choice.

" Sometimes I hate it too. " Eris whispered, with the same smile that now seemed forced, and started to walk to the only two empty seats that were too close to the already occupied one at the end of the table. The big chair that actually mattered.

Azriel couldn't really see him, the king, hiding behind all this charade of music and dimmed lights and fae. But he could feel the sudden change in the air around him, too heavy to breathe and full of something evil. His shadows circled his vital points like a vise, shielding him as best as they could.

" Glad to hear it. " Azriel spits back at Eris and turns away, unfazed by the reproachful looks.

Azriel noticed the ladies from the hallway, watching him with lustful glances and scandalous promises. The creatures already seated at the table, all different kinds of fae, smiled at them all knowingly, bowed their glasses to them like hyenas tempting their prey. Indecent dresses, precious stones, tunics sewn with gold and silver thread, violinists with handcuffs on their feet and pianists with bandaged fingers. An unpleasant and painful sight. Someone proposed a toast and silence fell over the room. The two suddenly stopped, side by side, as if they had been caught sneaking into the banquet.

" My dear friends and advisors... Tonight I'd like to introduce two special guests. Two soldiers who are willing to present their offers of peace for our kingdom, offers that I intend to accept. " A dark-haired man with square features rose from the imperial chair at the end of the table and gestured for them to sit beside him.

Draegan... The brave shadow crawled through his hair, sitting on his head like a crown of darkness.

Azriel takes a deep breath. How stupid of him to think that the Night Court would try to win a place next to those abominations of faes. He hated talking to men of high rank. They were far too full of themselves, they spoke coded most of the time, and the part that really drove him crazy was their facade. Far too much politeness, far too many fake smiles, and duplicitous opinions. He was too old for all the political games, but tonight he had to get into his role.

" So you're here to make peace with these? " Azriel whispered so quietly that only Eris could hear, and began to push himself toward the red velvet chair. " They slaughtered our people. "

" You slaughter people for fun. At least I'm productive. "

" I hope your productivity kills you. " Azriel almost pointed his sharp canines at Eris, but refrained at the last moment. "And I hope it kills you before you leave this place. "

Azriel walks to the farthest place from the so-called king. This man seemed unfit for such a title: too young, too vulgar, and too innovative for a land deeply rooted in tradition.

" At least you're here with me and I won't feel alone in my dying moments. " Eris smiled jockingly and bowed his head.

" I am more than happy to find you in such a festive mood, King Draegan. " Azriel bowed very slightly, as if any bowing would cause him terrible knee pain. " May all the year be as prosperous as you are at this moment. "

A muscle twitches in Draegan's face. If he had made it this far without anyone standing between him and the throne, he had convinced his people that he would be a trustworthy leader. Who knows what means of persuasion he had actually used.

Draegan smiled knowingly and gestured for Eris to take a seat at the table. " May all your blades be at hand when you need them the most. " A wry smile almost crept across Azriel's face. The game started earlier than expected.

" You have no idea how pleased I am to have not one, but two emissaries from Prythian at my table. " The man smiled, showing his straight teeth, and poured the red wine into the golden cups himself. " You must be Azriel, the trustworthy and last of his kind Shadowsinger. I've heard enough about you and... your loyal companions. "

" All wounds heal. " Someone from the table interjected, raising his cup. " May this meeting heal us all. "

" Indeed, Lord Charon. " Vanserra agreed with the former, older participant, then turned back to watch Draegan.

His shadows swirled around Azriel's neck, stirred by the ease with which the king spoke about them. The Shadowsinger eyed the speaker, noting his many medals and muscular frame. In return, Lord Charon gave him a compassionate smile, toothy and wide, showing all the wrinkles on his round face.

By the Mother, Eris Vanserra seduced half the court of Hybern.

" After hearing so much about my business, I find it hard to believe that you are very excited about my unannounced arrival. " Azriel replied monotonously, placing a gloved hand on his crystal goblet. His boldest shadow jumped from his forearms and surrounded the glass.

" No poison. " Draegan announced displeasedly, drawing his dark gaze to the dark tongue of shadow circling the freshly poured wine. " This is no way to greet your guests. "

Safe...

The Shadowsinger turned his head cautiously, looking for some food on the table, which was barely holding together due to the numerous dishes. Did the people outside the palace have as many goods as those inside?

" What determined your unannounced visit? " Draegan leaned back and gestured for the others to continue their conversation. " I must admit, I was intrigued by the rumors. "

Azriel knew that though they all seemed to be deep in their own discussions of land, property, and business, their hungry ears were tuned to the three of them, their senses were intoxicated by his ominous presence, and every fleeting corner of their eyes was focused on him.

" My High Lord and High Lady wish to send you a letter - of peace. " Azriel rolled out the words as sweetly as possible and handed him the envelope marked with the royal court seal.

" So many offers. " The king chuckled lightly, but didn't open the envelope. " Why didn't they come themselves? "

Among the many candles melting on the tablecloth, he caught the glances of the diners around him. He noticed the cautious way they had begun to behave: eating in silence, wearing straight smiles and speaking in hushed tones. Some glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes, while others dared to admire him fully, allowing Azriel to sniff their disgusting fear.

" Well, it's no secret that everyone is rebuilding their kingdoms after the devastating war. Politics and people can't wait, their homes are ruined and laws are old and terrible, they don't apply anymore. So they're doing their best to solve these problems. "

" What about Velaris? The Hidden Treasure, is it as destroyed as the rest of the Night Court? " A question flies across the table, raising the hairs on Azriel's neck.

" Who determines what people can live there? It's unfair for some to get the chance to stay safe and happy and other innocent lives to pay the price of not being lucky enough. " Lord Charon throws the hardest question at Azriel,

Azriel bites back an angry reply. These people were talking about innocent lives when they were killing dozens every day, not to mention that bitch, Amarantha, their own, worse than all of them.

" Like I said, the laws are old, the city is as old as the law. Everything needs to be rebuilt. Everyone needs a chance to survive, to be happy, to be safe. The Night Court is working hard to rebuild everything from the ground. "

Vanserra almost spits his food on the table, trying to hold back a laugh. " Let's not dig up the graves. Both continents made mistakes. The Night Court is working hard. " Eris backs Azriel up only to speak under his breath, using the music so only the winged male can hear. " That's why the Night Court is divided into the one of Nightmares and the one made for Dreamers. "

Icy rage fills Azriel's veins, and it takes everything he has not to stab Eris with a real butter knife found on the table. He knew that the way people were allowed to live in Velaris was a flawed system, as were the Illyrian camps and the way women were treated there. But his words on these matters meant next to nothing if no one actually listened to his or Cassian's opinions.

" Everyone needs a second chance, I think. " Draegan interjects as he raises his goblet to his mouth. " It's better to have friends, not enemies. I'd like to visit this place once. If I'm allowed, of course. "

The Shadowsinger only nods, drinking heavily from that shitty wine, hoping to calm his stretched nerves.

" To what occasion do we dedicate this meal, Draegan? " Eris began as he eagerly carved a piece of lemon-glazed lamb, trying to ease the tension around the table.

Azriel plunged his fork into a well-browned potato, passing through numerous spicy condiments. He'd forgotten the etiquette of high society, so he'd forgotten how polite it was to actually take food, not just look at it. He sniffed the piece of vegetable lightly, guessing pepper and something resembling turmeric, a spice grown exclusively in the Montessere. He popped the potato into his mouth and enjoyed the burst of flavor.

He was starving, but he couldn't afford to eat everything on the table. If there was the slightest chance of being poisoned, at least the vegetables would have been digested faster and everything would have been disposed of even faster.

The king laughed. Azriel cringed. " Well, aside from celebrating new bonds... Remember I told you today that someone broke into my room? "

Azriel raised an eyebrow and looked at the man at the head of the table. He was glad the topic of conversation had changed. Shadows continued to swirl around him, clinging to his thighs and forearms, seemingly ready to draw his daggers at any moment.

Draegan's golden crown decorated with rubies sat on his head full of brown curls. The burgundy tunic he wore and the shadows cast on his face by the candles seemed to send him into a realm of madness.

There was a sudden movement as the guards closed the doors and the diners began to stir, startled by the turn of events.

Eris stopped eating and resigned himself to look around, stunned and dumbfounded. More guards appeared from behind the stone columns holding up the balcony above, pointing crossbows at everyone's head.

Azriel, though stiff, leans back in his chair, like a deadly weapon latently waiting to be used. He knew from the moment he walked inside that something would go wrong, that someone would die tonight. Maybe that's why he felt this urge to save the servant, this pity for her.

A few screams rang out in the high room as the guards ruthlessly grabbed the maids who were bringing wine and food to the table and ordered them in a line down the hall. The silver trays tumbled to the floor with a dizzying high-pitched clatter, the cups now empty, and the red wine that had once filled them quickly spread everywhere, soaking the carpets and seeping through the cracks in the marble.

" Dear participants, I don't want to give you a bad first impression, but I despise stealing. You see, one of those whores came into my room looking for something. " Draegan rose from his velvet chair and took a few steps toward the women, who were trembling. " You stole from me. "

Suddenly, he slapped the first servant in line so hard that the silly hat she was wearing flew off her head, revealing her aged, white hair. The woman was off balance for a second, stunned by the powerful blow, but did not react. Her legs had turned to jelly and she was now hovering above the floor in a half genuflection, so the guard behind her tightened his grip on her forearms, forced to support her.

The armored man behind her was as cold as this entire palace. Azriel felt no hint of guilt emanating from him, not even reproach, not even pleasure. Azriel quickly realized that there was something different about the guards here: the material of the armor was covered in onyx from head to toe, a trick to keep the Daemati out of their minds, but also to keep the smells they gave off from being detected.

The Shadowsinger clenches his fists under his chair. " Shouldn't Your Highness solve your problem somewhere private? ". Azriel tries to ease the tension and give these women a chance to get as far away from the palace as possible tonight, but he doubted they would make it out alive. He looked at the burgundy stain of drink that was now all over the place and horror gripped him, there was really nothing he could do to stop the next events from unfolding.

He couldn't do much without losing his own credibility. His mission was at stake, to find the Fallen Star, and that was more important than anything else at the moment. Once again, he felt like a child trapped in a dungeon.

" Or perhaps more diplomatically, given the presence of our new guest? " Eris also jumped to Azriel's aid, standing up as if to climb out of his chair.

Azriel watched where Vanserra tended to peer from time to time, as if hoping to find an escape hatch for the person in question. Glancing carefully over all the participants in this atrocity, he sensed that something was off: there was a disturbing sense of calm among them, but who could be so.... detached?

" Don't you dare tell me how to run my kingdom! " Draegan's head turned like a whip on their table, his pointed gaze raised in accusation. " I have been nothing but kind, and everyone seems eager to step over me! "

For a second, he would have thought the king was the calm one, but he smelled like a sewer on a hot day, as if his irritation was boiling up all the hatred inside him. Vanserra hid his panic all too well, but his eyes usually spoke louder than his smart mouth, so all he could feel were smoldering coals, red as burning lava. Azriel put a gloved finger to his lips and calculated again. The participants at the table, though technically accustomed to such excursions, were as frightened as lambs at the sight of a wolf for the first time, sweat and mischief dripping from every pore.

Oh, that was it. Azriel tapped his forefinger against his lower lip in satisfaction. A devastating storm of sea-blue smoke was about to drown Draegan and drag him into the deepest oceans.

" Please, my king... " The first woman wriggled, palms outstretched and rosy cheeks pleading for mercy. " I would never do such a thing. I have children to feed. I wouldn't dare. "

" Charon, bring me her eldest child. " Draegan ordered grimly, without a second thought. " Lock them both in the dungeon, without food or water. I will give you further instructions. "

The woman wailed uncontrollably, falling to her knees and soaking the king's leather shoes with her salty tears. The guard could not restrain her, but Draegan did, sending her into a deep sleep with a boot in her jaw.

Eris closed her eyes at the breaking sound and took a deep breath. Azriel didn't allow himself to close them anymore, he needed enough hate to annihilate them all at the first opportunity.

He noticed the reason for Eris's panic as she stood one woman away from what was now a pile of flesh on the ground. Curiously, he rolled his eyes restlessly over the six women until he reached the third in line. She now shifted her gaze, keeping her head in the ground as if trying to burn a hole in the thick marble and get underneath. He studied her for a long moment, never taking his eyes off her reactions. Her heartbeat was so tightly controlled that neither the scent of fear, nor stress came from her. Azriel was slightly impressed. This woman could control herself very well, but he could see through her, the way her wrists were tense, the way her thick eyebrows were raised to her forehead, the agony she went through to keep her steamy eyes from rising, how difficult it was for her to control herself.

Azriel's eyebrows rose slightly. This was where that dangerous, deaf, wild oasis of calm came from. She looked as if she knew what everyone's next move would be, waiting for the inevitable to happen and free her from her torment. Could she be the woman he was looking for?

Azriel rested his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on her. A helpless, small woman, without courage, without the strength to save the situation, too slow to save herself, too timid, too weak. Disappointing, he thought, he expected more from a myth.

" What were you looking for? Sex? " Draegan clung to the second with all his might and began to fondle her breasts thirstily. " You wanted to have fun with me? You see brothers, the news that I have a big dick sends these ladies into a frenzy, looking for trouble. "

Azriel was deeply disgusted, and so was Eris, who took a generous sip of wine without taking his eyes off the third maid. A bond formed between the two as the woman raised her head briefly, generously giving him permission to be calm, as if everything was under control. The Shadowsinger almost snorted. It was as if he could hear those burning coals eagerly leaping from the fire, waiting to be summoned.

If Eris wanted to start a second war here and now, he had every reason to do so. And the worst part was that Azriel would help him, no matter what. Faes like that just cast a shadow on the ground for nothing.

The rest of the guests begin to laugh, making indecent jokes that seem to feed Draegan's ego.

" Be in my room after dinner. " Draegan made a show of whispering something in her ear, loud enough to be humiliating to the second girl, who was shivering like she was getting hypothermia by the second. " And bring the blonde, Aoife. She'll teach you what I like. "

Tears as bitter as the first woman's began to wet her burgundy mask. Azriel was beginning to feel he couldn't take it anymore, but something caught his attention. The third lifted her head fully and glared at Draegan with the most venomous gaze. It looked as if she wanted to tear the sky in two above the new king's head. So this Aoife was special for her and wanted revenge for whatever she had done to her friend.

When the king finally reached her, he was met by those gray, icy, murderous eyes. He stumbled over his words, as if he'd actually hit a wall of ice, and stared at her for a few seconds, as if he couldn't believe what the madwoman in front of him had just done. There was a silent conversation between them that lasted so long that even the roar from the table stopped to watch.

Eris swallowed dryly and covered his mouth with a hand. Azriel could swear he was trembling with impatience. Obviously he had warned her about her behavior.

Draegan tilts his head to the side, intrigued by her bold gesture. " You have pretty eyes. You should be more careful if you want to keep them. " He spoke after a moment, aggressively grabbing her jaw and bending her head enough to leave a wet kiss on her mask. " You're next tomorrow night. "

Vanserra looked lividly at her, at that disgusting stain of saliva on her mask. His agitation vanished, as if Draegan had poured water over the smoldering coals. She looked back at him with blank eyes and nodded slightly. She could handle it.

There will be no tomorrow night, Azriel suspected, either Eris will do something that will cost him his head, or this woman will do something that will burn the palace to the ground. Or maybe both. He was running out of time.

When Draegan moved on to the next woman, the third one no longer looked down, but stared at Azriel with her huge eyes. Azriel held her gaze for a long time until Draegan pulled a necklace from the fourth woman's pocket. None of the three looked at the stunning discovery. It did not shock any of them.

Eris dropped his head, tired of watching the next bloody minutes unfold among them. Guilt was written everywhere: on Vanserra's face, on Azriel's actions, in the eyes of the third servant, even on these damned walls. They all watched as that innocent woman was mercilessly killed for something she didn't do.

Another burden to carry, another soul wasted. No one was going to notice, they all looked the same after all. That cursed uniform... But Azriel knew immediately that the third woman was the one who stole from Draegan's room. And that Eris Vanserra was her accomplice.

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athena-85 · 9 months

Text

EVERYONE would be DEAD if ELAIN:

Did not step out of the shadows to stab and kill the King of Hybern with TRUTH-TELLER

Thank you.

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siyana95 · 10 months

Text

Amren

#fanart #illustration #bookfanart #digitalillustration #digitaldrawing #bookfandom #fantasycharacter #illustrator #acotar #amren acotar #amren x varian #amren #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acotar fanart

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bookish-whore · 1 year

Text

Family Traditions

Rhysand x Feyre

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: None that I can think of!

A/N: Hey @high-bi-imgonnacry it's me, your secret santa for the @acotargiftexchange I wrote this fluffy imagining of a solstice gone awry (with baby Nyx) and I hope you like it!! Happy Holidays <3

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Two days.

There were two days until the winter solstice, and it seemed as though all of Velaris was celebrating. There were lights strewn up on all the shops of all different colors, and there were green wreaths wrapped in red ribbon adorning all the streetlights. The soft fall of snow cast the city in an idyllic haze of white, and the streets were quiet, the residents deciding to stay in away from the cold as Feyre made her way to her studio along the rainbow.

She woke in the middle of the night with the perfect gift in mind for Rhys. Last solstice she had gifted him the portrait of herself from the Ouroboros and had told him she was ready to start a family with him. Flash forward a year and they were celebrating their first solstice with Nyx, so much had happened and yet she radiated happiness as she made the trek through the snow.

It was times like this she was reminded of how far she had come, only three years ago she was preparing for a long winter in the little shack her family lived in, if she could even call it that. Her bones frozen from her time in the woods and her mind wandering to what else was out there, what else was in store for her life.

If only she could go back and tell that naïve girl who dreamed of the stars what awaited her. A family, a mate, a crown, a court of dreamers who just like her were creating a better world.

As she approached the back entrance of her studio, she heard the faint sound of wings. She didn’t need to turn to know it was her mate. That busybody.

“I thought I would find you here” Rhys voice purred as he landed behind her pulling her in for a kiss.

Feyre didn’t respond, she quickly entered the studio taking off her jacket, rubbing her hands together to warm them.

“You’re freezing” he noted closing the door behind them, taking in the redness of her nose as she discarded her thick wool scarf on a chair by the window

“I walked” she said collecting canisters of paint and brushes and a fresh canvas from the small storage room.

“Why not fly?” he asked

“I couldn’t sleep” Feyre said

“So you decided to catch frostbite two days before your birthday? Come on, tell me what’s bothering you” he said, opening his arms wide to accommodate her.

“I just want it to be perfect” Feyre admitted moving into his open arms and pressing her head against his chest.

“It will be, it’ll be our brand of perfect” Rhys said pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Its just this year is so special… its Nyx’s first solstice, and Cassian and Nesta’s first one together and we have so much to celebrate but I just feel-” Feyre took a deep breath “I just feel like something is going to go wrong”

“Nothing is going to go wrong. We have been through enough.” Rhys said tracing a finger down the tattoo that connected them to one another, the promise to only leave this world together.

“I just can’t shake this-”

“I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen, and I need you to listen to me” he said taking her hands in his, rubbing comforting circles along her knuckles “We are going to have a wonderful dinner, and a large cake, for you darling of course and we’re going to drink and remember all we have been through this year. Then we’re going to exchange gifts and I’m going to take my son to his first official snowball fight. Nothing bad is going to happen except maybe that you and Cassian get too inebriated to decorate the house again.”

“Okay” Feyre whispered against his chest

“I love you” Rhys said grasping her head between his hands as he looked into her eyes. Feyre could see the absolute truth in them as she leaned in to kiss him.

“I love you too” she said against his lips as they pulled away “Now go away so I can work on your gift”

“Fine, but be back at home for breakfast”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world” Feyre said as he stepped out of the studio. She heard the sound of him taking off and she began sketching the image in her mind.

Once satisfied with her painting, she stuck it in the supply closet to dry and to keep it away from prying eyes. She checked the time and decided to fly home, it would be fastest, considering the sun was beginning to crest over the mountains. Feyre had decided to land on the balcony of her room with Rhys, and as she walked into the room her heart swelled at the sight in front of her. Rhysand was asleep on his stomach, his wings delicately stretched over him and tucked under his wing was Nyx.

“Good morning my sweet boy” she whispered at the small babe who opened his eyes at the sound of his mothers’ voice, letting out a small yawn and stretching his arms to Feyre. She gently scooped him into her arms and made her way downstairs. She would let her mate sleep a little while longer.

Feyre was midway through feeding Nyx his breakfast when Rhys emerged.

“Hello Feyre Darling” he said pressing a kiss to her temple “And good morning to you sweet prince” he said to the boy in her lap. “How was the painting last night” he asked, taking a place next to her, and serving himself.

“It was perfect” Feyre said, her smile beaming “I can’t wait to show you how it turned out”

They finished their breakfast passing Nyx back and forth between them while finalizing the plans for the festivities the following day.

Everything would be absolutely perfect.

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It was her birthday.

Feyre opened her eyes in surprise to find that the room was colder than usual, and that it was quite dark. She looked to the sitting area and took note of the bright orange radiating in the space. The fire was doing little to heat the space and as she looked outside, she understood why.

There was a blizzard, you could hardly see anything amidst the curtain of white and it was so dense that it completely blocked out the sun, the sky was a dark grey and the wind whipped against the shutters causing a few loud knocks against the house every now and again. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. They were snowed in.

She rose from bed making her way to the nursery, it was her first destination every morning and since Rhys wasn’t in bed with her, she assumed he would be with the baby. She was right, per usual.

She walked into the room to find Rhys sitting in one of the chairs, cradling Nyx to his bare chest. He was saying something softly to the little one, but Feyre couldn’t quite make it out.

“Good morning my loves” Feyre said

Rhys immediately rose, making his way to his mate in a few short steps “Happy Birthday darling” he purred pressing a kiss to her temple as he seated Nyx into his mother’s waiting arms. Feyre cuddled the boy, peppering his face with kisses.

“And before you freak out about the storm, I already took care of everything” Rhys said into her ear, the gesture alone had Feyre’s heart swelling with emotion. He knew how important it was to her that everything went smoothly and waking up to the storm had her mind swirling with anxiety.

She flashed a smile at her mate “I can’t wait to see what you came up with” she said

Together the three of them made their way downstairs for an elaborate breakfast of all Feyre’s favorite foods, it was one of the most extravagant settings she had seen, and with him she expected nothing less. He had always shown her his affection through acts of service.

Halfway through their decadent breakfast service, Azriel showed up.

Feyre was surprised to see the male, dressed not in his usual fighting leathers. He wore a black t-shirt, that clung nicely to his toned torso and a pair of casual, loose blue plaid linen pants. Before she could make a remark about the clothing, Rhys was standing, clasping her hands in his and leading her away from the table.

“Wait- Rhys whe-” she began to protest

“you’ll see” Rhys said

“But what ab-” she tried to say before Rhys cut her off “you know how much Nyx loves Az and his shadows; he’ll be fine for a while” She simply smiled as her mate led them to their shared room. As they approached, Feyre sent teasing thoughts through the bond, images of them together in the cabin, their bedroom, the dining room, all places he had shown her for hours how much he loved her.

“Unfortunately for you feyre darling, there isn’t enough time before the festivities for me to properly show you my adoration but trust me tonight I will worship the ground you walk on”

Her toes curled at the promise of later.

As they walked into the bedroom, Feyre noticed the box sitting on top of their bed. Rhys simply urged her forward “Open it” he said making his in front of her to watch her reaction.

She delicately untied the ribbon holding the parcel closed and removed the lid, it took her a moment to realize it was clothing in the box. Three small wrapped sets of black satin pajamas lied inside, she thought they looked sleek and refined like the high lord himself. Feyre also noticed that there was intricate silver embroidery on the right side of the chest of each set. One had an R, one an F, and the third an N. She beamed at her mate, smiling broadly at him.

“Rhys, I love them, but- what are these for?” she asked

“for today” he stated

“I thought we had a formal party tonight; this hardly seems like appropriate attire”

“I cancelled the party, on account of the weather”

“But what about your traditions?” Feyre asked

“I think it’s time we make some new ones” he said, and in response she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, Rhys brought his arms around her torso, simply holding her in place.

--------------------------------------------------

After changing into their matching pajamas, Rhysand and Feyre made their way downstairs to where their family was waiting.

“I had Azriel winnow everyone here, and I was very specific about the dress code” Rhys said as they approached the sitting room.

Her eyes drifted first to Cassian and Nesta, who wore matching red flannel sets, they sat together holding Nyx between them. She couldn’t help but think that they would make great parents when the time was right. Next, she saw Amren and Varian on one of the sofas. Amren seated in his lap and the two of them wore sets of shimmering grey material. It looked silver depending on the lighting in the room and they sat engaged in a conversation with Az, still in his blue attire from earlier.

Mor, always one for good fashion wore a red nightgown that clung to her body perfectly, accentuating all her curves, and over it she wore a red satin robe and across from them sat Elain and Lucien. Feyre was surprised to see her sister considering they had just departed to the Day Court to begin learning the history and traditions of the court they would one day lead, since accepting the bond they both were inseparable and today were wearing a fitting shade of green the both of them beaming as they listened to Mor tell a story about a recent occurrence at Rita’s.

Once feyre and Rhysand were noticed in the doorway the room went silent as everyone rushed over to give their birthday and solstice wishes to the high lady.

Nesta and Elain were first, pulling their sister into a hug with Nyx cooing between them, followed by Mor, Cassian, Az and Lucien. Amren exchanged a glance with Feyre raising her glass to her, which for Amren was as good as a hug.

--------------------------------------------------

They spent the day catching up and reminiscing over previous years.

As the sun went down, they began exchanging their gifts. Feyre had received a number of wonderful items from her family. Nesta had gifted her some books, Mor had gifted her some lingerie, Lucien and Elain wanted to bring her and Rhys to the Day court for a vacation, Az gave her a new bow and quiver, Amren gave her a crown fit for a high lady and Rhysand… he gave her a book of photographs, a look back at their year with Nyx and he had given her the promise of more children when she was ready. It echoed what she had said the previous year and she smiled at the gesture.

It was time for Feyre to exchange her gifts. For Nesta, she had gotten a rare, first edition of her favorite book and for Elain, a book about her seer ability as not much was known about it. For Lucien, she had gotten a tunic; for Cass and Az, she got a set of daggers. Amren, per usual, was given some extravagant jewelry and for her mate…

She had painted him something, with Cass and Az’s help.

She winnowed to her studio to retrieve the painting and as she presented it to him his violet eyes lined with tears. It was a depiction of their family she had painted a long couch with herself, Rhys and Nyx at the center surrounded by their family and behind them she had painted those no longer with them. She painted her father, Rhysand’s mother, and his sister. Thanks to memories from Cassian and Azriel.

He wiped the tears from his eyes at the sight of his mother and sister after all these years and brought her in to a passionate kiss.

You have no idea what this means to me. He said in her mind, not trusting his voice to shake if he spoke the words aloud.

Happy Solstice Rhys. she said back

Once the adults had all exchanged gifts, Nyx was next and was absolutely spoiled. He got an assortment of toys and clothes and jewels to last years. Feyre smiled at the thought that all of these people adored her son as much as she did.

After they had exchanged gifts there was food brought in and an extravagant cake. It was four tiers, each decorated with a memory of each year she had spent solstice. The bottom was decorated to resemble the forest where feyre had killed the wolf those years ago, the second was the spring court where she had spent her first solstice with the fae, the third tier was the night sky dark and cloudless and endless and on the top was a reminder of this year, there was a depiction of a harp, a mask, and a crown, all reminiscent of the power Nesta had given up to save her sister and bring her nephew into the world. Feyre wiped the tear that had fallen from her eye as she stared at the cake a reminder of all she had been through and how happy she was to have found home.

After the cake, Nyx went to sleep for the night and the real party began. There were drinks and games and Cassian who was walking around the room with mistletoe.

“Oh, come on Nes” Cassian teased while holding the tightly wrapped bundle of mistletoe above their heads “Just one kiss”

Nesta simply gave him one of her signature glares and returned to her conversation with Amren.

Without missing a beat, Cassian found his way to Azriel on the couch, dangling the mistletoe over the shadowsingers head and gave him a suggestive nod.

Azriel smiled, swallowing the remaining amber liquid in his glass in one gulp and grasped Cassians head with both of his hands and planted a kiss to his lips “consider that your gift” he says softly with a low chuckle.

The room erupted in laughter, and as Feyre looked around the room, at her family so happy and carefree, at her mate, she looked forward to next solstice and whatever new traditions lie in store for them.

#feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #nyx acotar #nyx archeron #cassian x nesta #elain x lucien #amren x varian #azriel shadowsinger #mor acotar #acotar secret santa 2022

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elliemarchetti · 1 year

Text

Five Ways to Seduce a Male [3/5]

@acotargiftexchange @aldbooks hope you enjoy <3

Part 1

Part 2

Words: 1.008

3. Make Him Jealous

Nesta and Cassian’s Mating Ceremony at the River House was going to be exaggerated, opulent and utterly unforgettable. If Elain had worked hard to make the garden perfect in all seasons, for the event she felt she bested herself, creating almost fifty compositions of white and cream flowers, distributed among the tables, the entrances, the balconies and the dance floor. Though Feyre claimed it wasn’t a wedding, that the bond created by mates made everything much more special, as Elain watcher her friends set the plates and the silver goblets, she didn’t see much difference. There would be a priestess to celebrate the match, an aisle full of candles to walk through, and Nesta would miss father just as if they were still mortal and she was marrying Tomas Mandray. But there would be no woodcutter’s second son waiting for her, and with her waist cinched in the elegant silver dress, her sister looked anything but mortal. Even the guests were going to be breathtaking, Feyre wrapped in an impalpable golden gown, glittering like a jewel in the night, and Mor barely covered by a scandalous red lace. When she accompanied them at the shop downtown, she didn’t know Amren was going to join. At first, she had been terrified of Rhys’s mysterious Second, but now she thought she could understand her more, perhaps thanks to her lively lover and her new, less powerful form, so she didn’t stiffen when the little female took her arm.

“Do you think we should make Mor jealous with our choices? We could go with something strapless,” joked the ancient one, grimacing as she discarded a puffy pink underskirt. Elain would’ve liked it, but she figured it was too feminine for Amren, too soft for someone who seemed to be made of sharp angles and edges. She should’ve bought something purple, the same shade the twilight was in that brief but majestic stretch of time dividing the sunset and the night. Elusive but beautiful, just like her.

“I think nothing can dwarf Mor’s idea,” Elain commented, her gaze suddenly drawn to a fabric of the same blue of the forget-me-nots she planted in the little garden at the Town House. It seemed so light and fresh, just like droplets of morning dew.

“You should dare more,” the female teased, her silver eyes landing exactly where the middle Archeron sister was looking. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s advice you’ve been given before.”

Elain blushed slightly, wondering how a private conversation between her and the twins had become public knowledge.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I too would be impatient if someone didn’t notice my longing for them, even though I gave up dreams of romance a few millennia ago and would take the matter in my hands in seconds. But you’re young and inexperienced, so I almost feel compelled to help. I’m lending Varian for a dance, because there’s no male more inclined to act on instinct than a jealous mate, but remember, I don’t like to share.”

Despite the completely futile threat, for her lover had eyes only for her and she knew it, Amren’s words turned out to be exquisitely true. Cloaked in a forest green dream, Elain took Varian’s extended arm with a neutral expression on her face, chin high and steps light as snowflakes. She wasn’t quite sure how or who did it, but the dance floor was awash with a low-lying mist making the atmosphere soft and delicate, and the music was even better than what she heard in the Hewn City.

“Lady Elain, will you allow me to gird your waist?” Varian asked, respectful as a Prince from the fairytales. Too bad real life was often disappointing.

“Only if you assure me Amren won’t bite my head off,” she joked in agreement, liking how her newfound sense of humour sounded.

“I’ve been educated down to the smallest detail,” he admitted with an amiable smile, pulling her towards his muscular chest. As the violins began their passionate song, a rousing back and forth, her partner moved as if his breath were one with the music, carrying Elain effortlessly through notes and moves. Between the opening movements of the waltz, she met Amren’s encouraging gaze, and right in that moment she knew she had been deceived, for the female knew her lover would show off all his skills to make poor Lucien jealous out of his mind. Elain suspected it wasn’t Nesta who invited him, but she surely would’ve rejoiced in seeing the High Fae nearly choke on his wine as her sister bent and took shape under someone else’s capable grip. She probably would’ve called it innocent fun, but since she was long gone, probably clinging to her mate in one of the bedrooms, Elain only had to wait for the song to finish to find out if the plan had gone through.

“What a shame you decided to sit this one out,” said Amren, making Lucien nearly jump in surprise. “Rumours say you’re a great dancer.”

“I spent centuries on this waltz, by now all those pirouettes bore me to death,” he lied politely, eagerly waiting for the last frantic minute, made of even higher and greater sounds. Varian’s eyes were alight with feral complacency, and Lucien thought he owed a favour to whoever taught his mate to dance like that, even if he wasn’t the one holding her, for nothing compared to the splendour of her body as it tensed and relaxed, nothing was going to make his blood boil more than her slimy courtesan smile. She knew what she was doing to him, she had to feel it through the bond, yet she abandoned herself to the music, wild and indomitable. Maybe only a true Prince would’ve suited Elain, maybe Lucien wasn’t enough for her talents, no matter what the Cauldron said, yet he invited her for the tune he specifically requested, its steps lighter and easier, the perfect way to flatter his mate until she realized the extent of his love.

#acotar secret santa 2022 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #amren x varian #amren #varian #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #mor #morrigan

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shallyne · 2 years

Text

But you know which scene is very underrated?

When Amren is in her real form and she recognizes Feyre and Varian after saying she won't be able to recognize anyone

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #amren x varian #amren acotar #amrenofvelaris #amren #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #feyre darling #high lady feyre #varian acotar #varian

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born-to-riot · 26 days

Text

WIP Wednesday

Since there is exactly one week until the day I plan to post my @polyacotarweek fic, I think it's time I share a little snippet of Nesta's adventure with Amren and Varian.... in their bed hehehehe

TW: NSFW

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[So 900 words may be too long for a snippet but just so you have an idea of what you're getting into, this is the message I sent @acourtofladydeath when I came up with this idea: (I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?)

__________

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, was one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, but here it stands.

“Don’t be shy now boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin.

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal. No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

__________

hehehehe if you liked this then feel free to come back next week to see the full thing (hopefully I will come up with a title before then)

EDIT: im slow so this is going to be posted on the free day!!!!

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gothicbabydollz · 2 years

Note

Hoping this doesn't go against any rules you have / makes you squeamish or anything [TW for Blood just in case!] - BUT! I saw a post that said "I want to cut my tongue and have bloody make out sessions with you" and just... that, with Amren 😳😳😳 just, watching that last shred of control snap before she grips your chin, nails digging in, and kisses you hard and utterly domimates you after >3>

tw: blood, knife play

Amren watches crimson pool on your tongue as she carefully pulls the blade away. Tears are pricking your eyes from the pain but the darkness and fire burning in her eyes numbs the sensation. You can feel her nails biting into the skin of your jaw, she’s tightening her grip on you, attempting to conceal that last shred of restraint.

You’d whimpered so prettily when Amren dragged the sharp blade across your tongue. Firm enough to cut yet do no permanent damage. She’d done so with a smirk on her lips and a pulsing in her cunt. Your eyes had shut tight, breathing turned heavy as pain blossomed on your tongue Amren had hummed delighted. Getting off on the sight of you bleeding and hurting.

Now she watches you closely. As your tongue hangs out of your mouth and the blood begins to drip down your chin. Amren tuts, she can’t have that. She can’t let any of your scarlet sweetness go to waste. Her fingers move to squeeze your cheeks hard, dragging yet another pathetic sound from your throat. Amren coos, “So pretty,” it’s almost as if she’s mocking you for being so vulnerable when exposed to her gaze.

And taking you by surprise, her lips capture your mouth in a quick, fluid motion. You moan instantly, as she cups the back of your neck and sweeps her tongue over yours. The feeling soothes the slice on your tongue, the pain morphing into pleasure. You kiss back, grip tightening on her waist. You can taste yourself, the metallic taste of your blood coating the inside of your mouth.

Amren drinks it all up. Her tongue swirls around yours, explores your mouth, attempting to collect as much of your blood as she can. She moans as she tastes you. It’s better than anything she’s ever had. Amren could live off your taste. She clambers into your lap, pressing herself close while kissing your fiercely. Your blood drives her close to insanity, heightening her senses. She kisses you as though it’s the last time. Her tongue scoops the blood from your mouth, she bites, your tongue and lips victims to her teeth. Amren is eating you alive. And you gladly submit to her hunger. Mewling as she feeds off you, grinds on you. As she uses you for her own need.

You’ll do anything she wants…

#drabbles ❥#drunk drabbles #amren x reader smut #amren smut #acotar amren #amren x reader #amren acosf #amren #a court of thorns and roses smut #amren x varian

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nestvrn · 2 years

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cassian: so do you and Amren have any pet names?

varian: uhhhh, no, why

cassian: *grinning* try calling her an angry snowball

varian:

feyre: varian, no don’t listen…

nesta: DO IT

#acotar #cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta #nesta acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #pro nesta #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #amren x varian #amren acotar #amren #varian #varian acotar #cassian acotar

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mommyofkittens · 1 year

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A Court of Fallen Heroes -Chapter 5: Haunted

Author's POV:

Amren abandoned herself in study, after the phenomenon from a few nights ago. She went through manuscripts after manuscripts, emptying her library, and still didn't find any explanation to satisfy her. She couldn't imagine how something of such magnitude was not felt by Rhysand, with his incredible powers or Feyre. Her High Lady travelled the underworld when she was only a human, she should be touched by this kinds of changes, especially because of her variety of assets brought by the courts.

Why was Amren alert? Why did she wake up? Was this something to do with her old form?

It was precisely the reason she took this mission upon herself, feeling responsible for excluding any danger that could threaten the Night Court and her loved ones. Even more, she felt that the message was addressed to her, that she could play and important role in what was to come. Amren enjoyed feeling important, actually, but she wasn't quite ready to go through the same trauma in such a short period. Destroying The Cauldron and dying, it wasn't something easy to do, she didn't want to sacrifice anything anymore, she couldn't give anything else but herself.

The information shown by the sun was bothering her more than she admitted. Amren found it useless, considering that there was no village or person in the region who bears this name. It lead nowhere, dead end. She asked for the registries of the population nearby, where parents go and write their child's name, so she can be sure. She hadn't yet resorted to the somewhat darker methods, but that was because she didn't give Rhysand any report about what she discovered. Mostly because she didn't feel like her restlessness had a sure cause.

Her High Lord had enough on his plate, the fact that a grimoire sent a message was not something to bother him with.

He was far too preoccupied with rebuilding the kingdom after the war, his illyrians, the continent and even Feyre, he felt her pain caused by Nesta, so it was his problem to deal with too. On top of that, he always disliked the type of magic brought into the world by witches. He believed that the powers that came from within a person were as pure as his intentions. Instead, what the witches did was absorb the energy from the environment and then use it. The final result consisted largely in the type of charge that energy carries, positive or negative.

What Rhysand didn't know was that witches were connected to the chaos of the universe, and the most experienced ones could transform even the evil charge into a good one.

" Kingdom comes first. " His father used to say, when a group of lesser creatures came to his palace, searching for protection in exchange of their services. Even if what they offered was a great help for the court, he drove them away: orcs, witches and a handful of fauns. He didn't want to be associated with such beings, lesser fae.

But right now, this was a matter that could involve The Night Court, sooner or later. She felt it in her bones. Although the name was meaningless, it held a great weight when whispered, melting on your tongue and poisoning your mouth.

As second in command, even now, that she'd lost her powers and was no longer as useful as she liked to think, Amren still had a word in the concerns of welfare of the Night Court. Regardless of his opinion, she had to seek the meaning of what the universe revealed to her. He had Feyre by his side, and if her husband wouldn't approve the search, she would be willing to do whatever it took to win the peace.

Sipping from her glass of dry wine, she savored the sour aroma on her reddened lips, trying to remember of how blood used to taste. She tapped her dark fingernails on the time-worn pages and closed her eyes for a while.

The thought of getting back to the River House was unpleasant. The last time she was there was actually the last conversation she had with Nesta, when their sliver of friendship dissipated in front of her. She didn't have any burning desire to return, but it was necessary. Amren had to present this issue to Rhysand and Feyre and see what the next steps are.

She had to let the fear aside: the name had nothing to do with her past.

Or was she mistaken?

Angels used to take names crowded by Cyrillic and symbols, with a hard pronunciation, often leaving you deaf just by hearing them. On the other side, the evil entities wouldn't reveal themselves in the sunlight, but rather in the rays of the moon.

Vesper. Vesper.

If she was to go to Rhysand, might at least boast with a somewhat more accurate discovery.

An idea suddenly dawned on her as she watched the light reflect in the dictionaries of dead languages. Amren blinked a couple of times and stood from her burgundy chair, a decisive look written on her silver eyes.

Did she not read those first?

She grabs the manual covered in green leather and inspects it for a second, taking in the waves that elevated in the rays of sun. It was not dust, she kept her books cleaned and tried to protect them from the destruction of time. Smoke, diaphanous threads of white smoke, as if the pages were burning.

Amren quickly noted near ' Vesper ', the word ' Sun ', linking them, then opened the pages of the dictionary at the V-Y interval.

As relief flooded her posture, relaxing her limbs, she couldn't believe her eyes. With her fingers, she searched numerous sentences, until she reached the word that brought a victorious smile to her tanned face.

Vesper – lg. old, used in the Asf. Kingdom, æcləstīąstiķ - Vespą. Def. Star, evening star, prayer raised by ' The Eyes of The Mother ', unused.

Amren's smile disappeared. She didn't need to write down thin information. She knew what the books were talking about. ' Vesper ' was passed down as a mere word in literature, but her manual about the future didn't see it, which was rather bizarre considering the powers her grimoires held.

She also remembered this sisterhood, a group that divined The Mother and were versed in prayers, protection and healing. They were fierce and scary and nothing stood in their way when it came to protecting the ruler of the kingdom. The sisterhood had no scruples and didn't care about the costs. They were capable of anything.

But they weren't the only one capable of unleashing massacre on earth if they were stepped over. Even the Illiryans couldn't compete with their wrath and vengeance. But for the sake of everyone, they disappeared, all of them, all gone long ago, together with the land and many more sisterhoods who fought for peace.

Guilt poisoned her mind, creeping deep enough to reach her soul. She angled her body over the desk, supporting herself in her hands and dropped her head. Amren and her battalion were to blame for the eradication of the women, the land and their religion.

A great power had been lost with the rebellion of angels, with hers, a great betrayal had occurred and stained her hands, her reputation. Many orders, as well as thousands of people from that court, suffered. They never recovered, and so they died, buried underground, lost and never to be revived.

Amren had to compose herself. This ' Vesper ' did not represent any danger at the moment, it seemed like it wasn't born or formed yet.

Quickly rearranging her stuff on the table, she hid her books in the secret drawer and took a few notes with her, before leaving the room. Immediately after closing the door, she found herself staring in Varian's brown irises.

He was wearing his traveling clothes, all blue and green, with the emblem of his court embroidered on his suit. A serious expression hardened his dark features.

" Varian. Is everything alright? " Amren greeted him, unprepared, forgetting to use her senses, " I didn't expect to find you here? "

" Amren. You didn't expect to find me in our house? " The man chuckled stoically, with a slight delight on his chocolate skin, " I would say you look as beautiful as every morning, but unfortunately, I didn't have the pleasure to wake up with you next to me, lately. "

" Well, I feel productive in the morning, so I try to help Rhysand with some political issues. " Amren avoids spilling the whole truth, smoothing out her gray, two-pieced suit, " Looks like I've lost plenty, considering you're ready to go back to the Summer Court. " She points out, leaning her small hips against the wall adorned with valuable paintings.

She wasn't much of an art collector, but Varian was, and she liked to please him by bringing him all the oil portraits, vases and woolen rugs she found. Moreover, she had her own gain: many of them, such as the frames and carpets, were sewn or painted with gold and precious stones.

" I didn't plan anything. A situation occurred back home and I came to talk to you about it. " Varian reaches out and grabs a strand of Amren's brunette hair, twirling it a few times before kissing it.

Her heart raced at the sight of the romantic gesture. He did it quite often when it was just the two of them, and she was starting to like it more and more each day.

" Tarquin sent me a letter about some strange events that took place across the land. He didn't mention much. He's probably cautious considering how often the messages ended up being intercepted. " Varian pauses for a second, brushing his fingers to Amren's chin, " However, he told me enough. The sea is agitated and brought to the surface some ancient creatures. They started to kill the fishermen and the people who have houses near the shore. And... on the night of the solstice, Tarquin was nearly killed in his sleep. "

Amren blinked, barely able to digest the information. " An assassination attempt? "

" I'm not sure. As captain of his guards, it is my job to protect him. I failed this time. " He clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed, a sparkle of guilt darkening his brown eyes even more. " The Samsars, his secret guards, his shadows, slept soundly, all night. "

" I thought The Order of Samsars disappeared with Tarquin's father. "

Amren rummaged her memory for the information about this group of men. They where trained in an underwater legion, a small group, willing to sacrifice much more that their life to protect the High Lord of The Summer Court: their voice, their shadows, every sound they made, sold to the Old God of the Sea.

" Not really. A handful of them are still alive. Tarquin tried to make them go and live their own life, but they already lost too much to go back. He said he's never going to make another generation, they're training is... brutal. "

" But some are still willing to become Samsars, right? "

Varian shook his head, a silent approval. Amren knew the capacities of The Shadowsinger: stealth, silence, efficiency, loyalty. These were only a few of his assets, but a whole group, devoted to this kind of work... They might catch up with his power.

" I still don't understand how they fell asleep. The oath they take at their final test takes their ability to ever sleep again. "

A restless eternity in exchange of an open entry to the God's underwater domains.

" A spell hit the palace. A damn powerful one. Half of the servants went to sleep and some never woke up. Tarquin escaped. That is why I have to go, urgently. "

She knew he was afraid: for his court, his cousin and his sister, Cresseida.

" How's Cresseida? Did she escape? " Amren remembered her dark features, a more sensual mirroring of her brother, Varian, with her fierce face and complete devotion to her home.

" She took care of my position while I was gone, but she slept as well. "

" I'll talk to Helion, he could be able to help us. I have a suspicion it might be related to the Summer Solstice. "

" If you want do discuss this with him, do it without attracting too much attention, please. " Varian withdraws his hand and smoothes his short, white hair. He take's Amren's palm in his own and starts walking towards the entry of their home. " The Summer Solstice is an occasion of joy, a moment of rebirth and overcoming our deepest fears. The light at the end of the tunnel. It shouldn't unleash on us like this. "

" Varian... " Amren cut him off, sensing his tension from his muscles, " You have the best astrologers from the area, ask them if they saw any... curious event on the sky, that night. "

She knew she wasn't being totally honest with him, that a part of her, the one bound to the Night Court, was using him to gather this piece of information for her own plans, but it was something innocent. Moreover, if the events from the Summer Solstice had repercussions over them too, maybe what she found was also including them.

" I will do as you asked, Amren. " Varian replied, his words a soft whisper of devotion to her, " Now, come on, let's get you to your friends and then I'll be on my way. "

They shared a short kiss, their way of saying ' Goodbye ' and ' I'll be waiting for you ', then left, holding their hands.

When they arrived in front of the River House, Varian spoke again, " I know I'm asking a lot, but please don't mention anything to Rhysand for the moment. " His brown eyes locked into hers in a silent plea, " At least not until I know for sure what happened inside the castle. Tarquin still feels betrayed and he'll think only the worst if he finds out you knew about this. "

" The thing we did to him was necessary. " She commented, only to satisfy her desire of having the last word.

" My cousin would have given Feyre the book. She only had to be honest about her intentions. "

" Are you lecturing me? " Amren paused, striking him with her grey eyes, " The last time someone dared to hold me a moral, he lost his minds. "

Varian offered her a cunning smile, leaving two dimples to stain his cheeks. That was one of her weakness, right there, written on his face in plain sight.

" You already made me lose my mind, Amren. " He said, before disappearing slowly in cloud of steam.

He winnowed without another word, leaving her in front of the tall house. She felt weak in the knees. An effect Varian had on her every time he used his humorous come backs to try and calm her down.

She smoothed her short, brunette hair and took a deep breath, still smelling the sea salt and lime fragrance up in the air. She watched behind, to the buildings that were slowly reconstructed by their inhabitants and the stone path that still held holes in it after the attack on Velaris.

She had to prevent something like this from happening ever again.

When Amren got to the front door, she didn't waste energy on knocking, but made herself welcomed into the large dining room. She instantly sensed that something was off with the atmosphere.

The mint green walls were the same, so were the windows and the furniture. An unknown fragrance floated in a very limited portion of the air particles, giving their house an unfamiliar buzz of energy. As usual, there were flowers, lilac, for the most part and jasmine, but also mist and... something spicy. No one she knew had this particularity.

She took a few steps around the room, lifting several objects and inspected them carefully, testing their weight and how they felt when countered by her senses. The fireplace held another odd resonance. She let the perfume settle on her tongue. Here, it wasn't spicy and sweet, it tasted like pain, like burned flesh.

Amren blinked a couple of times and studied the grey mark a knife let on the marble that surrounded the fire. She wiped it, then rubbed her fingers together, bringing them to her nose.

Someone else set foot insider their home. An outsider.

Leaving the dining room, she inspected the rest of the house. The sweet cologne lingered lesser and lesser, totally extinct by the time she reached the kitchen. Here, something else overpowered it, something more soft, a forest of coniferous trees. Cedar.

So, Azriel felt it too and searched for an answer.

Nuala and Cerridwen greeted her with a head bow, as they glided pass her. Two barely felt specters, visible to the eyes only if they had the desire to be seen.

Elain's sugar-coated tone resonated like a breath of spring within the walls, barely audible even for the fae ears.

" Nesta refuses to train since she went to Windhaven. " Feyre informed her sister with a barely restrained irritation, trapped between her vocal cords, " She stands in the middle of a rock with her unsatisfied face and humiliates Cassian in front of his subordinates. "

" I heard. " That was all that Elain said, her only focus being on moving the purple flowers from the table up to the window, where the light shone more brightly, " At least she started to eat and went easy with the drinking. It is a win, too, Feyre... "

Her High Lady did not seem satisfied with the so called ' achievements ' of Nesta, considering the way she had been self-flagellating in the past few weeks. Her vehement refusal to eat anything other than crusty bread and restaurant leftovers was getting her nowhere. Sometimes she took a step forward, not eating anything at all, days after days, as if the punishment was for their sisters, and not on her body.

Her hobby was worse: drinking and going to pubs where she gambled on Rhysand's money and after all that, she fucked all the men she found agreeable.

Feyre didn't know what hurt more: either that their older sister became a wreck after the war or that their relationship completely fell apart. Their last night as a united family took place in a tent, all cuddled up together in each other's arms and the moment they said their last ' Goodbye ' to their father, now buried meters underground.

Elain, on the other hand, was not so torn between pleasing the court and loving Nesta. For a long time there was only her older sister, protecting and loving Elain like no one else ever had, although Feyre was the one to sacrifice herself for the family, for their well being. The bond between Elain and Nesta was deeper.

The fact that Nesta refused to meet Elain, to see her, was crushing. Only because she begun to resemble the Inner Circle, their habits. It hurt her more than the transformation from human to High Fae.

" I trust Cassian. " Feyre recovered, getting ready to leave the kitchen, " He's trained a lot of illyrians, some even more difficult than my sister. And of top of that, he cares about her. It's so much more in the middle. "

" Feyre... " Elain cut her off, rustling her dusty pink dress between the legs of the chairs, " Is there another way to bring Nesta back? I fell like we’re limiting her decision-making power. "

Amren remained frozen in the room next to the kitchen, carefully pricking her ears. Elain didn't talk nonsense. Nesta was more or less constrained by other people's decisions, but only because hers were made out of grief and suicidal desire.

Guilt made her stomach hurt. She took part of that, too. In fact, she was one of the people who refused to meet with Nesta again, her friend, out of desire to make her suffer enough to get a reaction out of her, to make her reach back.

' Keep reaching your hand. ' She advised Cassian, a mistake she learned from something she didn't do.

Amren had no idea at that moment that Nesta was unable to see the full part of the glass.

Feyre, on the other hand, was aware of the kind of help she received from the circle, in a similar circumstance. The only problem was the type of character they both inherited: while she was more understanding and ambitious, Nesta was a whirlwind that destroyed first, and then regretted. The same strategy wouldn't have worked.

" We are all different and we all suffer in the way that brings us enough healing to make us forget. I didn't want to allow Nesta to destroy herself, so I did the most thoughtful think at the time. It was out of love... "

" It's not very thoughtful of us to let her train among the creatures she dislikes the most. " Amren spoke for the first time since listening quietly, sharpening her smoky irises as Feyre's head appeared from the kitchen.

Her chestnut hair was twisted in a high curled ponytail, no jewelry to adorn her features. She wore her monotonous clothes, designed to be worn outside, in the village, while she tried to help the citizens to restore their broken goods. Amren was bored instantly by the dark colors. She had her bag with her, the one where she transported her pencils: she was going to her new painting studio, as well.

" The discussion ends here, Amren. Nesta needed a way out and we offered her the best option. "

Amren pursed her lips at her High Lady's scolding tone. She had enormous respect for the girl, after what she's done for their realm, breaking the curse and doing what she could during the war. Amren knew it was mutual for Feyre, too. But this line, this limit, never prevented her from calling things out when she knew something was wrong. Not even when it came to Rhysand.

Feyre avoided the tall dining table, and left the house without saying anything.

For a moment, the room stood silent, an uncomfortable cloud falling over the two remaining girls. Amren ignored Elain as best as possible, never having a problem with her presence, but always trying to avoid their interactions. It wasn't like the youngest sister ever created issues inside their house, she was always silent and obeying. But that was the problem, her lack of response, the absence of fighting in her.

The little creature was speechless at the sight of Amren. Her hazelnut eyes wide and her pupils constricted. Elain didn't move at all, her hands still suspended in the air, over the flowers. It seemed like she hadn't gotten used to Amren's terrifying presence and it didn't look like she was going to anytime soon.

Amren grimaced slightly at the extravagant chastity that Elain exuded from every pore. Maybe that's why Azriel was head over heels for her, he felt like he needed to shield her from the world, to save her and keep her away from every creeping looking man. Just like a baby.

She cleaned her teeth with her tongue and shifted her weight from one leg to another. Oh, how much she hated the people unable to protect themselves.

" Have you seen Rhysand by any chance, today? " She asked, willing to break that weird look that was passing between them.

The girl's hair had come lose from her top knot, secured behind her head with a golden clip, falling elegantly over her eyebrows. " No, not at all. " Elain spoke in a broken voice, wiping her hands from the cream apron tied around her. " Feyre said he's gone for a few hours. He'll be back by sundown. I can... I'll send him whatever message you need, if it's urgent. "

" No, I'll manage. Beautiful flower, by the way. " Amren complimented, then set off to the library.

Maybe she'll find some answers there.

◇□◇□

A few hundred miles away, Azriel watched vigilantly as several messengers left the court of the human queens, all of them taking a separate path than the other. A pretty diversion for a newbie, but he was no beginner in this art.

He passed easily from branch to branch, dematerializing and jumping through the shadows. This was the maximum of his powers he could use here, just a droplet of it, so close to the palace and the Queens wards. It wasn't the first time they detected someone's magic, so he needed to stay as low as possible.

His whiskey irises searched the five men, all dressed in the same black outfit, spreading like ants.

Follow the small one, master...A shadow whispered, peeking over his armored shoulder, then circling the sword he held on his back.

Azriel didn't hesitate, he trusted his companions more than anyone. He had not changed his position for more than four hours, waiting for the committee to break, and the muscle fever in his thighs had begun to impose it's point of view on his body. But he would never allow himself to jeopardize the mission just because he was numb.

Things had been hectic here, too. The last surviving Queens had moved their army closer to west, near the line that separated the borders of the faeries from the human ones, but none of the females had left their palace since they bathed in The Cauldron. His spies had informed him about the fact that they often all gathered in one room and stayed there for hours.

The Shadowsinger glided easily through the trees, silently taking every step so he could stay as close as possible to his target. It was like hunting a deer. He studied the prey, noted their habits, their day to day lifestyle, their weakness, planned his way of approach, and barely after that came his favorite part, the chase. The primal instincts it rose inside him, the way it made him feel glorious and in control, the satisfaction it brought when he took them by surprise, their terrified looks. Everything made him feel alive.

The veiled movements the Queens made could only mean three things: either they were preparing to be invaded by Vallahan, an agreement was signed or maybe they were plotting something else. All suspicions were put under the question mark: why would regions like Montessere and Vallahan accept the Mortal Lands? Where did they have resources from, and if they had some, who made this offer to them? Mor still tried to get a peace treaty with the Vallahan region, but they didn't seem very eager to grant it to us.

What seemed even more suspicious was the desire of the stronger regions to unite with the humans, a species they believed to be inferior. With Hybern now out of the game, there were two other forces left to worry about. And most importantly, they didn't recover from a war.

The political situation in Prythian was no better, either. The Night Court was still somehow halved into that of Nightmares and Rhysand's actual kingdom. With Keir leading the army of darkbringers, a strong bonus in every fight, his High Lord couldn't control something that wouldn't submit to him. The Summer Court also suffered, even before Tarquin, but their situation was somewhat better, materially speaking. With the help of their ships, they managed to do enough trade to support their economy.

The problem was the relation between Tarquin and Feyre, who had stolen the Book of the Breathings from under his nose, and he sent them back those blood rubies. Of course, there was Helion's court, still prosperous by nature and with whom they were on good terms. He would always ally with them in case of trouble. The Winter Court was in the same situation, with Kallias as High Lord.

Then, there was Beron, the inept Beron, who would rather see his whole land burn than make peace with Rhysand. The Spring Court was the worse, becoming a ruin of that it used to be. Tamlin lost control, and with that, everything went downhill, becoming a ghost in the flesh. The population dropped drastically, leaving only those who had no families in other places.

Azriel couldn't say he felt sorry for Tamlin, not after he'd put Feyre into a depressive episode and stolen Elain from under his nose. His jaw clenched, the only sound he made for several hours now being the grinding of tooth enamel.

Thanks to his excellent memory, he could recall even the smallest patches of dirt that stained Elain's body, during the moments when she had been kept in chains. His pupil dilated, the black swallowing his hazel iris, and his nostrils flared. The mask he wore was suddenly too much to bear on his face. She was not a suitable subject to think about in a mission, so he focused instead on the steps the tiny man made, travelling through the forest.

Still shrouded in shadows, trapped between the thick branches of a tree, he watched as the emissary came to a halt, carefully assessing the terrain. Azriel froze as the man raised his head and studied the blue sky on his direction. He knew he couldn't see or smell him, he diminished his own fragrance and absorbed the habitat's perfume, totally sheltered by the rough smell of blooming buds and wet leaves, trampled in the path.

The mortal was around forty, short legged and stuffed into an unfitting suit. With Azriel's trained ears, he could hear the man's rugged breathing, like he just finished running a hundred miles, not only two. A gust of wind made him stumble on his bloated feet, raising particles of sweat and burned chicken in the air. The Shadowsinger didn't even flinch when the unpleasant smell rose up to his nose.

Another figure came into view shortly after the Queen's emissary stopped in the middle of the woods. Azriel couldn't say that he had seen Vallahan's people often, but his features seemed far too common for someone who spent his time by the ocean.

The Fae doesn't belong to Vallahan, he bears the fire ot the Autumn Court. A bolder shadow curled around his ear and crept under the mask covering his mouth and nose.

Though so... Azriel responded in his mind, blinking once, letting his companions know he understood the message.

The stranger was tall, but slender enough so that his indigo attire would be lacking at the edges, leaving his wrists visible. His blonde hair had a reddish undertone outside the sun's rays, betraying the place he came from. On his silver decorated jacket, lied the three-triangle Valknut, symbol of Vallahan.

The Shadowsinger sensed the stirred state of the human, as he rubbed his hand over the leather bag he held under his arm. He probably administered a few doses of sedatives, so as not to be suspected if he was going to betray them.

Azriel remained silent, like a beast lurking in the dark, with his lips pressed roughly together. Only his eyes glowed, like molten gold, underneath the black hood that covered his brunette hair. If he went a step further and kidnapped any of the emissaries, it would mean a warning that Rhysand specifically ordered not to send, yet. He could knock them both down in the blink of an eye, without them even having the time to realize who hit them and from where.

There was no point in a war declaration after they just came out of one.

He couldn't infiltrate the palace personally, either. The land around the kingdom was fenced off with an old spell, uniquely designed for faeries. When they stepped on that patch of cursed area, uninvited, it could turn them into stone, permanently.

This inconvenient didn't scare Azriel off. He was a man full of resources and too ambitious, he liked to have his mind put to work. Through his web of spies, he contracted old acquaintances who owed him their lives, and they put him in touch with a group of human mercenaries, willing to do anything for the fair price: jewels and money. The work? Five men managed to break into the kingdom, each positioned at different distances, so if any of them was ever caught, the information would reach the last one, near the gate. Some became guards at the entrance, other maids, coachmen, salesmen and servants, and all were glamoured by a spell Amren created, so that their thoughts could not be read and their intentions sensed.

Information flowed much more easily that way: humans were always unconscious by nature, that's why inappropriate knowledge always slipped out in the presence of a maid or a servant serving them coffee. Then, there was and awful lot of work to do: laundry to be washed, carried by a coachman and taken to the store where they took care of the items. Because they don't have a sewer for water, the workers from the magazine left, obviously bypassing the guards, and collected the amount of water they needed from the river.

This was the way the data came for Azriel. All roads were open to him, just as he pleased.

A crease appeared on Azriel's tanned forehead when the man offered a letter, alongside an iron box, inscribed with symbols.

The Fae man asked the Queen's emissary to open it.

" Show me the emblem. " The human said.

The Shadowsinger sharpened his senses, looking intently at the stranger. When he opened his dark blue tunic, on his left pectoral was imprinted the symbol that all the warriors of the Autumn Court received at the end of their initiation: a leaf made with a fireplace poker.

His suspicions were correct: the Mortal Queens were not only flirting with Montessere and Vallahan, but also with Beron. The question remained the same: why?

When the man finally opened the box, a small map, tied with a velvet ribbon, lied inside.

It's bewtiched. His shadows whispered, slowly wrapping around his contracted torso.

" These are the instructions to find what you need. "

After they parted, Azriel left out a loud gasp, glad that he could finally move from that irritating position. The leathers he wore blocked the splinters from entering under his skin, but didn't helped much with the rough terrain he had to sit in. Flexing his wrists and ankles, the tension begun to loosen up, enjoying the pain that came with the movement. He put his elbows on his knees, taking the amount of rest he craved before flying back to Velaris.

Pulling his mask down with a gloved finger, he savored the forest ambiance, rainy and green, helping him calm his nerves and quiet his mind. He remembered he still hadn't talked to Rhysand, or anyone else, about the nocturnal visit from a few days ago. Not because he had anything to hide, but because he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it all.

Remorse stained his pride. He made a mistake. He fell asleep and wasn't aware that a stranger came inside. He didn't even rest. What if someone else was in the house with him, Feyre or Elain, and they suffered because of his carelessness? He is the one who should take care of them, to assure no one got hurt under his watch. If someone was going to suffer, Azriel should take it all upon himself.

Physical torture was something he had gotten used to a long time ago. The only thing that disturbed him were the mental and emotional agony, which he had no idea how to manage.

He ran his palm over his face and pressed two fingers to his eyes. Azriel uncovered his veined wings from the shadows, and flexed them a few time before setting off, feeling their enormous weight on his large back.

No one else mentioned feeling strange on the evening of the Summer Solstice, and he didn't want to alarm anyone with the nightmares he grew used to. It was an issue that Madja could solve with a sleeping potion of some kind. No, not a sleeping potion. But something that could prevent dreams and nightmares. That would be more useful than a deep unconsciousness that a sleeping pill would have brought him.

The smell of magic evaporated by morning, as his sleep. Azriel patrolled the whole night, searching every centimeter around the River House, then flying over the sleeping city. But as the sun begun to shine and the people to appear, reopening their stores, he knew that the peril was gone. He was left empty-handed.

The imprint the nightmare left on him felt as heavy as if the whole sky fell on his back and dragged him underground. Captive behind invisible bonds. His mind was always full, always calculating and planning, and when a small moment of peace found him, the same pair of green eyes came back, haunting, and his nostrils were filling with a ghostly smell of amber, intoxicating him.

He hated that fragrance. It was far too strong, too spicy for his preference, which leaned more towards something floral, like jasmine. Especially when it came to women.

Of course he prefers flowers, for fuck's sake.

He snorted and sharpened his movements, fleeing as fast as possible from the Human Realm, as if he could leave his problems behind.

The dull ache in his chest remained. It wasn't a sensation to get used to. Every night, the loneliness became more intense and the bed colder. The urgency for a body to lie next to him, to hold and to squeeze until morning, was unbearable. This was a different kind of punishment, it could drive him crazy, it made him more unpredictable, fiercer than before. Even he was aware of that change in his behaviour.

Azriel spent the following nights inside the ring, hours on end, until the skin on his knuckles cracked and bled, and the number of destroyed swords began to increase. His body acquired a more defined shape than usual, being subjected to tougher and longer training. He had muscles before, but were more lean, more specific for the kind of job he had, but now, his waist grew larger, his shoulders more round and his abdomen started to created the pack most of the warriors who used brute force had.

All this just to feel free from those damned shackles that bound his soul.

Was he bewitched?

Amren could answer most of his questions, but was he willing to address them? No. The little devil had a big mouth and was too sly for his taste. No matter how competent she was in this matters, Amren wouldn't have helped him with anything other than to annoy him.

The next solution was the library. He could either ask one of the priestess or document himself. Amren was an extreme choice.

" Azriel. " Rhysand's voice filled his brain.

He didn't feel like answering right of the bat, he still had that tinge of guilt for not telling him about what happened that night. His High Lord should have been the first to sense that something was off with Velaris. After all, Rhysand created the city.

And yet, perhaps Azriel's powers made him more sensitive to these small changes in the atmosphere. Even the shadows, his trusted guardians, were sedated that night. The next morning, they hummed on and on, attracted by the last remaining energy in the living room.

Green amber...

Come back...

They chanted, as if an electric field sustained them, called them in a hypnotic song.

" Azriel, hurry up, Amren found some interesting information to share. "

" I'm on my way. "

And with that, the buzz produced by Rhysand's ability retreated from his head, giving him the peace he needed.

It doesn't take much longer until the River House comes into view and he lands on the arched balcony. Fortunately for him, the living room was free, no mating smell, no cringe interaction with others. The tension made his muscles spasm rhythmically and his jaw to twitch.

He moved silently, gracefully skirting the couches and wooden floorboards that he knew creaked under his weight, and waited a second outside Rhysand's office door. Ever since he passed the barriers surrounding Velaris he knew who awaited him in the room: Amren, his High Lord, and his protégées, Nuala and Cerridwen.

However, he didn't feel ready to face people. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't escape the irritation boiling in his blood and the overwhelming need to get it out.

Is rooted in our existence... A shadow snaked on his bicep, and snarled, making Azriel's head to spin

Let me find her ...Another begged, the same brave one who often climbed into his ear and whispered truths he denied feeling.

Shut up! Azriel howled in his own mind, showing his clamped teeth.

Impulsively, he walked in, interrupting the conversation.

" Are you well, Shadowsinger? " Amren's flat tone teased him, waking him up from his madness.

Her smoke like eyes nailed him to the ground, trying to decipher his unreadable expression. They were both bent over Rhysand's desk, reading a pile of old books that impregnated the room with naphthalene.

He suddenly felt dumb. He never made mistakes like this. Azriel pulled up his mental shields and hid his scent, then shifted his weight from one leg to another and came closer.

" I am good. I have something to report. " Azriel informed, using his frozen mask.

" You felt it too, isn't it? "The little devil spoke again, her voice a hollow echo between Azriel's temples.

The room seemed too small to keep three people inside, the atmosphere to oppressive, as if in their palms was the most crucial discovery. They exchanged looks between them, and it was enough to understand the answer. An obscure presence seemed to infiltrate among them, listening intently to their conversation.

The Shadowsinger searched the room, expecting to find some ghost in the far corner, but no one was there. Did Amren experience the same nightmares as his? Or the amber smell?

Even the sunlight dimmed, obstructed by the thick window of Rhysand's office. His companions grew thicker, swirling around his tense shoulders, tightening around his massive chest in an attempt to shield his heart. He took of his hood, revealing his structured features. In his amber eyes, the only readable thing was caution, alert, as if someone could discover his secrets.

" Amren noticed an incident, a rather special one, on the night of The Summer Solstice. " The High Lord broke the silence, frowning his violet gaze at the mountain of papers on his desk. " A comet crossed the sky and landed to west from our position. "

" Hybern. " Azriel concluded, quietly approaching the ominous manuals, " How did you get your hand on this information? "

" Varian helped me. I asked him to have his astrologers look for events that took place on the sky in the past week. " Amren explained, pointing with a red nail at the calculations and the estimated position of the crashing.

" Something tells me this isn't all. " He muttered under his breath, more to himself, grasping a torn piece of sheet between two gloved fingers. " Vespertus... "

He rubbed his teeth together, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise. His shadows deepened, darkened, becoming sharp tongues around him.

" What's this? " Azriel asked again, feeling his voice choked.

" The Vespertus is a prayer. " The gray clothing, adorned with intricate patterns of red, fussed as Amren turned her tiny body towards him, showing a paragraph from a thick book called ' Darkness of Days '.

" Sounds promising. " He let his humor out, unfazed by the doomed title. It sounded like they had to confront another life threatening situation, and he wasn't very happy about this.

" It is, actually. " Rhysand chuckled, brushing the dust from his sleeves.

" So, some bored individual really prayed for a comet to hit us? " Azriel wondered, a wrinkle becoming visible between his dark brows.

" No. Vespertus is a prayer that is not spoken, it's a type of salvation that occurs when people in unison feel the need for deliverance, for freedom, cleansing and peace. " Amren clarified, showing him a symbol with a group of women, all dressed in robes, like the priestesses.

Their open palms were raised above their covered heads, praying to a seven-pointed star that sat imperially upon them.

" Meaning this isn't the last war we've faced. Something worse is coming, and this comet is here to help us. " Rhysand added, crossing his arms over his black tunic, covered with the symbol of the Night Court, " Or, in the worse case scenario, condemn us all. "

So, Azriel wasn't the only one who went on mission today, his High Lord also had his own role to play, considering his impeccable suit and the heavy crown placed above his hair. The fatigue played over his cheekbones, the only sign of the weight he had to carry since the end of the war: gatherings, the illyrians and the ones they lost, their families, the women who were still subjected to inhumane treatments from those bastard. Everything rested on his and Feyre's backs, and everyone from the Inner Circle contributed as best as they could to ease their work.

" The Vespertus is in the middle of a scale. " Amren began, showing them another drawing of a balance, with a feather on one end and a drop of blood on the other, " A prayer can be directed either for good or for evil. It depends on the people around: those who use it, those who raise it to the sky and most importantly, the ones who form it. "

" How do we get to this comet? " Azriel questioned, still holding the note in his hands, looking at it intently, as if it was going to combust, " And how can we be sure that someone else hasn't discovered it yet? "

The room went quiet again. Nobody was sure of anything. The Shadowsinger wished Cassian was here to lighten up the atmosphere, but he was caught up in other problems, the ones with a sour face and long legs.

" That's the issue, we don't. " Rhysand huffed, looking at Azriel, then at Amren, " The thing is, this comet might be a human being. "

" Why would that be a problem? It's much easier to catch and carry a man that a real comet. " Azriel argued, clenching and unclenching his left fist, still sore from the training. He still hadn't used his power to heal himself. The throbbing pain was a welcomed distraction from the world around.

" Because this person may not have been born yet. Spiritually speaking. " Amren smiled, proud of herself, and showed them another page: a naked woman, kneeling before a bloody sword. " For a Vespertus to be born, to be formed, it takes a tragic event to radically change the way she sees the world. The kind of event that sets her on her journey to become was she was sent to do. Her spirit wasn't broken, she is not a revenging prayer yet, but a mere mortal. It is very difficult to trace her, we don't have her name or anything connected with her, something that belonged to her. "

" Are you telling me a woman fell from the sky and survived the damned crash? " Azriel asked skeptically, the wheels in his head starting to spin, " And mortal, on top of that... "

Not even the illyrians, trained in all types of weathers and under all conditions, would not come out unharmed.

" Yes. " Amren approves decisively, placing a hand on her hip. " It was a rift in time. Her fall was cushioned enough for her to escape without fatal wounds and with minimal damage. It's possible that the place where she landed to turn into an artifact: an oasis, a temple, a forest. Anything of this kind, but with unimaginable powers. "

Azriel remembered how time felt that evening – like tar, unbearable. But that didn't explain the tension he felt, the fact that someone had broken inside their house and sent him to sleep, then hexed him.

" If she fell into Hybern's territory and they get there before us, then it's not just Montessere and Vallahan we should worry about. Such power would help them establish their army. " The worry on Rhysand's face seemed to age him more than usual.

" Maybe we're lucky. Maybe they didn't feel the phenomenon, yet. " Amren said, flipping through the pages, " It's not something many people experiment, only special ones are affected. "

" What do you mean, Amren? " Azriel asked, his interest being caught even more.

" The High Fae will be immune or maybe they'll notice something common enough to overlook. " She picked up her wine glass and finished it in one gulp before continuing, " Those who feel the pressure in the air or the fact that hours pass differently are creatures made somewhere else, not the ones created by The Cauldron. "

" You observed it too, didn't you? " Rhysand spoke, affected. " I only know that it was too warm and I craved sleep. "

Amren shook her head, before answering, " I couldn't breath. I might be more receptive to these changes due to the form I had before. "

" Where do we begin the search? " Azriel broke the little devil's embarrassment, placing a hand on his hip. The illyrian skins hung heavy over his body, as did all the weapons he carried all the way. He was used with a large amount of equipment, but now he felt exhausted and still had information to give to Rhysand.

" The only direction we have is an approximate one, searched as accurately as possible by the Summer Court. They are among the few who can measure this coordinates. " She pulled another piece of paper from her pocket, with several village names on it.

Ozana

Nyzim

Thaibar

Valencia

Bismezym

" I want you to go find her, Azriel. " Rhysand demanded, putting his hands on the table, " I can't leave the court right now due to our political situation. Amren must gather more information on this Vesper and the amount of power is in the game, and Cassian... he has Nesta and Vassa to worry about, and above all of that, this mission is not of his competence. "

" I am spying on the Mortal Queens. I can't leave my people alone and risk their lives. I won't be able to communicate with them. "

" I know. Find a way do deal with them, you are the only one prepared and mannered enough for this. I can have Morrigan come with you for any future political issues that may arise with your arriving. "

" I need some time to think. " He cut his High Lord off, irritated.

Rhysand blinked often, caught off guard by Azriel's refusal to please him, then nodded, giving him his free will.

The Shadowsinger stuffed the two papers into the pocket of his jacket. With this gesture, he already knew he accepted the order, otherwise he wouldn't have taken those objects for further studying. Maybe this woman was going to take him out of his dark thoughts, for a moment or two. Not her, per se, but the search to put his hands on her, planning the abduction and the infiltration, surveying the territory. He had to meet with Morrigan as well, think further through any problems with the palace. If they entered the land, after they just killed their king, it wouldn't have been a sign of peace.

But he was already thinking like he was going to leave.

" Give me an answer tomorrow. "

" I have news for you. " Azriel changed the subject, putting his hands behind his back. "The Mortal Queens exchange information with the Autumn Court, not just Montessere. One of their people came dressed in the formal tunic and the symbol of Vallahan, but he was asked to show the mark and on his left pectoral was the leaf their army gets after they finish the training. "

Two shocked pair of eyes studied him.

" Beron has always been a leech. " Amren spat, gathering her books and preparing to leave. " But I didn't expect him to make a deal with someone he was at war with. "

" What do you know about Eris? "

" Nothing at the moment. Cassian has a meeting with them in a few days. " Rhysand clarified, sitting back in his black chair. " These waters aren't going to calm down anytime soon. "

" They exchanged a note and a map, closed in an iron box with several symbols on it. "

" A map? Did you see how it looked like? " Amren pursed her lips, covering her body with a cape.

" Very small, old, wrapped in velvet and it smelled peculiar, sweet and muddy. In the coming days I'll meet with my spies for more details. "

" Our problem is that Prythian is in the middle. If we are attacked from all three sides, we will get down faster than we anticipate. " Rhysand took off his crown and threw it on his desk. " Let's hope it doesn't get there, we're not even at half of our capacity. "

" Maybe the Vesper will help us. "

" Let's not put our hopes in myths. " Azriel snapped, preparing to leave. " We're not sure we'll find her or if she's still alive. We don't know where she came from and how she looks, if she's mentally sane or not. We don't know if she's willing to help us. This woman could very easily be tortured now and we wouldn't know. "

" Then hurry, brother. Help us gain this small advantage. " Rhysand whispered, bringing his fists together at the level of his mouth, watching him with his purple eyes, like he was trying to read Azriel's mind.

The Shadowsinger made a small gesture with his head, then turned on his heels and left, with Amren following after him.

" I know you want to ask me something, Shadowsinger. " She caught him, her ancient voice echoing down the long hallway. " I know your shadows sensed it. "

" My shadows were sedated. " He turned to her, enveloped in the darkness. " And so was I. "

" What did you see? " The little devil pressed, taking a step forward, " An entity? Did she bewitch you? " Amren's deep red lips stretched into a smile, " Don't worry, whatever effect the solstice had, it will pass. Even I feel uneasy, like I'm being watched. "

" Everything was fine, I checked the whole house. " Azriel's heart pounded between his ribs.

" Really? " She continued, stopping a few steps away from him, enough to let him smell her ancient perfume. " I suppose you were aware of the scent of burning flesh or amber. I know you didn't tell Rhysand someone was inside. "

" I don't have to explain anything to you, Amren. " He replied, entering his room and roughly closing the door behind him.

Azriel pulled out the papers from his pocket and studied them in the light of the candle. His breath hitched as he felt the familiar fragrance on his fingers. His blood roared inside his veins, furious, then smashed the pieces on his nightstand.

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