#eris vanserra fanfiction
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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | one
☁︎ summary: The Lady of Autumn hires a healer behind Beron's back. Sworn to secrecy, the healer helps Eris when he is punished by his father and forbidden to see a healer from their court. Eris did not expect to find himself growing attached. He comes to realize that he may know plenty about sacrifice, but he has a lot to learn about choosing to live for the ones you love.
☁︎ notes: let me know how you feel about the order of this chapter. I felt like it didn't read the same to have that last scene at the beginning, but if it's confusing I will change it:)
☁︎ warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, implied domestic violence
☁︎ word count: 2.8k
☁︎ AO3 Link // Masterlist
“Hurry,” Lady Edana hissed, a sound like pinching a candle flame. It echoed in the quiet, the only sound in the dark hallway.
The silence was so immense it seemed to roar. Every hall and passage was empty and utterly dark. Aya would have thought every court had secrets veiled by this hour between night and morning. But there was no sign of life in the Forest House.
And yet, Lady Edana led the way with a knife in her hand, poised to attack. It was not even a hunting knife or one of the jeweled daggers gifted to young boys of the court. Just a knife, likely stolen from the kitchens or even the dinner table. Aya had to wonder if it was the only weapon Lady Edana had access to.
To her credit, she held it like a fighter, blade pointed down and out so she could still strike if pinned. In her other hand she held her shoes, her stocking feet making no sound as she shuffled across the stone floor. Urgency radiated from her. If it were visible, it would have given her a corona. An aura of flames.
They came to another corner and the Lady tugged Aya against the wall before peering around the corner. She deemed it safe and pulled the healer after her. One last eerie hallway and then they stopped at a large wooden door. Lady Edana fished a chain of keys from its place tucked into her bodice and unlocked the door. It opened without a sound, like the hinges had been oiled or silenced with magic.
The lady snapped and the fae lights came to life in their sconces, revealing the heir of Autumn laying face down on a large bed, bleeding profusely into silk green sheets.
Aya had been warned of his condition but it still sent a jolt through her. He was so still, his red hair stark against pale skin and moss colored bedding. His mother tossed her knife onto the side table and knelt by the bed.
“Eris,” She whispered, her face nearly as pale as his, “Are you awake?”
“Mother,” He croaked. Something in Aya’s chest twisted at the utter brokenness of his voice. It hurt more than looking at the torn up flesh of his back.
“I brought a healer,” She said, beckoning to Aya.
“Mother,” He said again, reprimanding. Pleading.
“I will take care of everything.” She stepped back to let the healer take her place, disappearing into the washroom to fetch water. Eris’s eyes, surprisingly alert, locked onto Aya’s face. They roamed over her features, assessing.
“Worry not,” Aya whispered, unable to resist the urge to brush back a strand of copper hair. She understood the urgency now, as her gaze flickered to the blood pooling around his body.
His eyes softened at her touch, chin trembling like he was a thread away from shattering. So she took her hand away from his forehead, hovering it over his injuries instead. He flinched and she closed her eyes so he would not see the anger in them. The anger at whoever had done this. He needed tenderness and she would give it.
Aya reached into the spring of power within her and willed it to the surface. Willed it to pour from her fingertips into his being and soothe the pain. She urged the bleeding to slow to a stop, for his body to numb enough that she could clean his wounds before the true healing began. She felt his energy begin to pull away, lulled by sleep.
When she opened her eyes she saw that his own had closed, his breathing deep and even.
“You are as talented as the High Lord said,” Lady Edana whispered from beside her. She held a pitcher of water and an arm full of towels.
Aya stared at the mess, wondering where to begin. Even with all her doubts and wariness, she had not pictured an injury this severe when she accepted this position. She had known to expect the sneaking and the secrecy, but not to be led to Eris’s deathbed.
It did not help her uneasiness in the slightest when the lady said, as she mopped up her son’s blood, “Whatever we can’t get clean by morning, just throw into the fireplace. We’ll have to burn it all.”
It was a long moment before Aya said anything. Perhaps it was a risk to ask questions, but Eris’s blood coating her hands felt like justification enough.
“Why?” She murmured, keeping her eyes on the work before her. Lady Edana took her own time answering, lips pursed as she dabbed at the prince’s back.
“The High Lord forbade Eris from seeing a healer. It is part of his punishment.”
“So that is why the job was a secret,” Aya said quietly. They still avoided each other’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“What is the prince being punished for?” Another risky question, but Lady Edana seemed to think her questions were deserved, too. Or maybe she just wanted Aya to understand. From this perspective, dishonesty seemed to be built into the foundation of the Autumn Court.
“He visited the Winter Court without telling his father first. His father wanted to know why. And decided that Eris must be granted permission to leave the court borders.”
Aya clenched her jaw, looking back at the deep wounds on Eris’s back. No doubt from a whip or a belt. They would leave deep scars, and would have easily become infected without a healer. Though that seemed to be what Beron wanted. She decided not to ask what Eris was doing in the Winter Court.
“Beron will be called away first thing in the morning,” The Lady continued, “Not that he would have checked on Eris, anyways. But you will be long gone before he wakes, just in case.”
Aya wondered for a moment how Beron would know that Eris had obeyed his order not to see a healer. And she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach that he had likely left the enforcement of that order to Edana. The entire structure relied on their fear. They would do what he said because they had to, to protect themselves and each other. So what would happen to Lady Edana if Beron knew what she had done? What would happen to Aya?
She looked down at the ring on her forefinger, the blood on it glimmering like a ruby. She wondered how much Thesan had known any of this. It didn’t matter now, anyways, since she was bound to Edana by that golden ring. And looking at Eris, his brows furrowed and skin shining with sweat, she knew it was all for him.
How often was he destroyed this way? Torn apart in mind and body, forbidden from being put back together? Often enough for Aya to be paid a monthly salary. A very handsome one. But perhaps that part truly had been to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind.
As if she had a choice, now.
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Upon returning to the Dawn Court, Aya headed straight for the throne room. She did not bother to change first, her clothes still covered in ash and blood. Her whole body was stiff from sleeping on the floor and heavy from how little rest she had managed to get.
The mammoth wooden doors opened before her, revealing Thesan and a few of his councilors lounging near the throne. Their easy laughter rose into the air, dancing with the cool breeze. The open archways of the throne room showed the pastel skies and fluffy clouds around them.
It was such a stark contrast to the last hours of her life, dimly lit and painted in the dark tones of the Autumn Court. It blew a puff of air into the fire burning in her chest.
Thesan’s brows rose as his gaze landed on her, jaw clenched and eyes blazing as she strode through the room.
“How much did you know about this job?” She demanded. The irreverence shook the High Lord more than her appearance. This was the way she spoke to her cousin, and not Thesan the High Lord. And never in front of others.
He asked the councilors for a moment, keeping his eyes on Aya as they scurried away. One dared to flash her a disdainful look and click his tongue. Aya ignored it.
“What was your question?” Thesan asked softly when they were alone.
“You told me this job would require discretion,” She said, her tone cooling a touch, “Did you know why?”
“Lady Edana requested a healer for personal matters,” He took a sip from his goblet, “I did not think it would be polite to inquire about the details.”
Aya shifted on her feet, her rage slowing to a halt. How delicate was this secret? Thesan could always be counted on for his discretion. But surely there were political implications that she didn’t know or understand. There always was, and figuring them out had never been one of her talents.
“Did you not ask the details before you accepted the job?” He pressed. His curiosity about the state of her clothes was rising into anxiety.
“I assumed the details. I thought maybe she was having age-related troubles. Or perhaps an affair.”
“And you were wrong,” Thesan prompted, “You are very troubled by whatever this secret is.”
“Yes,” Aya admitted, her shoulders drooping.
Thesan’s gaze flickered to the ring on her finger. If he was surprised to see it he did not let it show.
“You bound yourself to her?” His voice still smooth, collected.
“She said a physical contract would leave evidence.”
Thesan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not believe Edana to have particularly evil intentions, but she had played Aya like a piece in a game.
“Are you able to tell me this secret?” He sighed.
Aya considered the contract. It seemed that Thesan should be exempt from the secrecy. She would find out if she tried to say it out loud, anyways.
“Beron tortures his son for information,” Aya said, dropping her gaze to the marble floor. The heaviness of her body returned and she resisted the urge to let her wings rest on the ground.
“Lucien?” Thesan tilted his head to the side. He did not seem all that surprised.
“Eris,” She whispered, lifting her eyes to his. She knew he would see how haunted they were. Filled with imagery of her long night.
Thesan pursed his lips, his own eyes sparkling with anger. Many things clicked into place with this new information.
“And that is the secret?” He asked, “Beron mustn't know you heal Eris?”
“Yes,” She felt much smaller now, all of her fury laid out before Thesan, “He forbids him from seeing a healer. But he would have died if I wasn’t there.”
They did not speak of what this meant for Aya. The danger she would be in every time she stepped foot in the Autumn Court. It passed between them without words, the worry forming like storm clouds.
“I think I should speak to her,” Thesan rubbed his chin in thought.
“Please don-” Aya began, rushing forward to plead with him. He held up a hand to stop her.
“Worry not, little bird,” He soothed, “I will make sure you keep your job. I just want you to be safe. Now rest, I can see the weariness in your eyes.”
Her mind was far from settled, whirling with countless thoughts and worries. But Eris was well and her own safety was in Thesan’s hands now. That was enough. So she obeyed, gathering the energy to trudge back to her room and rest.
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“Thesan tells me you are looking for work experience outside of the Dawn Court,” Lady Edana took a sip of her tea, amber eyes locked on the girl in front of her.
The Lady of Autumn had requested to meet with Thesan’s best healer in training. In private, in a quiet place. Thesan did not see a good reason to deny her. And he knew that she worked hard to separate herself from her husband in any manner she could. He’d heard the whispered rumors and seen the bruises hiding just beneath the fine lace of her gowns. If he could help to enable her independence, he would.
“Yes, my Lady,” Aya nodded, resisting the urge to ring her hands, “It is the last requirement I need to complete my training.”
She was proud that Thesan had chosen her as the best of her class, but now she was nervous. Edana had come alone, save for one guard who loomed off to the side of the balcony. His eyes were fixed on the glass doors behind them, but Aya had no doubt he had been listening to the entire conversation. Which, up until then, had been all pleasantries and small talk. But now the Lady’s eyes were narrowed, her focus sharp. It sent a shiver through Aya’s feathers.
“There is a certain situation in my home that requires a healer with greater skill than my court can offer,” The Lady began, “And the position requires discretion. I cannot ensure that a healer from my court will not betray me.”
She paused, watching Aya and waiting for a reaction. Aya knew her brows had drawn together, but she willed all other emotion away.
“There are many distinguished healers in a court, my Lady,” Aya said slowly, “Surely you would want someone who has finished their training?”
“No one with a title,” Lady Edana pursed her lips.
Aya only nodded, feeling ever more confused. The lady’s secret was that salacious? Perhaps it would be wildly foolish to get wrapped up in this situation. But offers for work outside of the court did not come along very often for trainees. And Aya would be lying if she said she was not itching to experience something outside of the soft colors of Dawn.
“I would pay you a monthly salary,” The Lady tilted her head to the side, looking as if she knew exactly where the girl’s thoughts had gone, “You will receive the same amount no matter how many calls you receive in a month. Sometimes, I may call on you often. Other times I may not need your help for a long while.”
“You need not pay me if you don’t use my services,” Aya frowned. Many healers in training took positions without pay.
“I was hoping the salary may make the strange requirements worth their while.”
She named the amount and watched Aya’s eyes widen.
“So you need a healer on call to help with private matters. And I must keep the job a secret?” Aya clarified.
That did not sound so suspicious when summed up concisely. Or perhaps the money had dulled the warning signs. She had never let Thesan spoil her just because they were related. She insisted on living in the healer’s dorms and earning her own living like the rest of her class.
“That is correct,” Edana nodded.
“And I would be under contract?” Aya asked. Another common facet of training positions.
“Three years. And it would be through an Autumn Court bargain, and not written,” She said, still watching with those bird-like eyes. She would fit well into Dawn with all of those avine features.
“Very well,” Aya said, “But I would like a written copy of what the bargain entails.”
Edana’s lips twitched up into a smile that Aya couldn’t quite decipher.
“I will write it up and send it your way,” The Lady stood from her chair, “It should be in your hands by this time tomorrow.”
Lady Edana held out her hand. Aya told herself later that she should have been clever enough to wait before shaking hands. She should read that bargain first and study the details. But she did not think of that.
When the magic snapped she let out a yelp and snatched her hand back. Her forefinger was adorned with a simple golden band. She tried to twist it but it did not move, as if it were now a part of her.
“What is this?” She asked, incredulous, turning her hand as she examined the ring.
“A symbol of our contract,” Edana said, straight-faced as ever, “It is a tradition similar to the tattoos in the Night Court.”
Aya stared at it, the pit in her stomach growing larger. How she would be scolded for her oversight. She was certain a version of herself from the future was watching this conversation and screaming at her for being so foolish.
As all of this raged in her mind, she missed the flash of guilt in Edana’s eyes, quickly overtaken by something else. Something too desperate to be sorry.
#i'm kind of in love with this story#acotar#acotar fic#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#eris#eris acotar#eris vanserra#pro eris vanserra#eris fic#eris fanfic#eris fanfiction#eris x oc#eris vanserra fic#eris vanserra fanfic#eris vanserra fanfiction#autumn court#dawn court#dawn court oc#acotar healer oc#eris x healer#lady of autumn#vanserra brothers#beron vanserra#thesan#dawn court healer#acosf#acomaf#acowar#acofas
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Cauldron of Fire
Eris x Reader - trauma healing with Eris :) fourth Archeron sister style, reader is second born, and accepts Eris’s proposal after a dance - healing ensues
Warnings: angst, illusion to smut
Word Count: 7.6K
“I’ll leave it up to (Y/N), it’s her choice if she wants to go with you.”
Those words echoed in your mind every day; they were all you could think about. Rhysand’s disinterested voice, his monotonous tone - as if your future and state of wellbeing were nothing more interesting than the invisible fleck of dust on his coat. You remembered that evening, the ball you had attended with your sisters and their mates, the look in those dead violet eyes as Rhysand peered down his nose at you.
You missed the days when Nesta hated him, when she used to come to your room late at night to split wine and spent the evening discussing how much she loathed the male, how tight his leash was on her. Then she had to go and mate the other Illyrian brute seemingly out of nowhere. She claimed that did not change her feelings about the High Lord, though you saw the fire fade from her eyes, how he tamed her: no more drinking, fighting; you saw how she held her tongue - but it may have been her mate doing that for her. Elain was fully dissociated, spending her days baking or sitting by the window. She didn’t read or eat or talk, she simply existed; the only times she did open her mouth were to question if she should still consider you family. Nesta had been accepted back into her little circle once she had become shackled to Cassian. And Feyre was simply a lost cause, blinded by the mating bond, dazzled by the control her mate had, drunk on the illusion of power she held.
Nothing was the same.
So you jumped at the opportunity to escape.
No longer did you feel the darkness of the Night Court seep through your bones, the chill of the cold wind nipping at your skin, the hypocritical lies - those so called dreams Rhysand shoved down your sisters’ throats.
It was too much. After you and your sisters had been shoved in the Cauldron, you hadn’t been able to breathe, to sleep, to eat. Perhaps that was your Cauldron blessed gift - no longer needing sustenance to live. The thought alone almost made you gag. You had been the only one not given something special from the Cauldron. While holier-than-thou Elain had become a rare seer and your dear vicious Nesta had taken Death itself apparently, you were left with nothing. You didn’t receive nor take. You did not fight back, you did not scream, cry, or panic.
The water burned you. It bled into you, scorched your skin, incinerated you. It ignited something in you - something you couldn’t pinpoint. Perhaps it was just you turning Fae, the new feeling of living. You tried to convince yourself it was the elongation of your bones, the coiled muscles around your new lanky limbs, that scorching hot black water that engulfed you in flame. But deep down you knew it was something else.
You’d lost all credibility - while Nesta and Elain had sworn the water was cold, you’d been charred. They thought you were crazy right then and there - hallucinating it, imagining it. And you had no gift from the Cauldron. That made them think you were lying. Why bless two sisters and not the third?
The night of the ball, they made you dance with Eris. Pregnant Feyre was nearly barred from speaking to any male, newly-mated Nesta outright refused, and Elain was protected by the eldest Archeron. The same Nesta who used to curl up in your bed with you, cursing the Night Court scum, drinking their expensive liquor and spending Rhysand’s money. She offered you up to the wolves on a silver platter.
When Eris offered you a marriage - solace, perhaps - you jumped.
Feyre made a scene,crossing the room in an attempt to winnow you away. Rhysand and the blue-stoned male were eyeing each other from across the room, no doubt speaking to each other silently. You pretended not to notice how the High Lord’s hand curled around your sister’s wrist, holding her back. Elain wept those silent tears, lacking the balls to even attempt to say anything. Nesta stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her mate seething behind her with bared teeth. All of a sudden so protective, you remembered thinking.
Eris simply stepped to you and held out his pale hand. A smirk crawled up his lips when you accepted, laying yours against his burning palm. “There’s fire in you, my dear (Y/N),” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before he winnowed you away.
That’s how you ended up in the Autumn Court, wrapped in cream colored sheets, curled up against the great mahogany headboard. You woke up with Rhysand’s voice ringing in your ears, your hair stuck against your temples and neck with sweat, despite the noticeable lack of fire in the room - the same as you did every morning. Another evening passed without sleep, just rolling around with your racing thoughts.
Your sheets still smelled of Eris.
Eris.
The male who saved you, who rescued you from the confines of the Night Court, who offered you safety and a home and a marriage. You knew what was in it for him. It would ally him to the Night Court, he would have one of the Archeron sisters on his arm - not the one who became High Lady, not Death herself - but a Cauldron made female nonetheless. Your reputation preceded you as a callous, stony Fae, one who would surely fit in at the Autumn Court. Beron was pleased with Eris’s choice of bride, welcoming you to the Forest House personally.
“Don’t get used to it,” Eris muttered, so quietly you were barely able to pick up on it, if not for his breath tickling against the shell of your ear.
He had made the arrangement for your own room in the Forest House, the line was drawn at your marriage, the one that would commence in a few months; that was your end of the bargain - just the marriage. He let you escape Night, you let him marry you. You owed each other nothing else.
Eris barely spoke to you in the beginning, allowing you time and space to become acclimated to the Autumn Court. You were thankful, as you had barely had time to learn what it meant to be Fae - to adjust to your new body. But after weeks alone in your bedroom, after countless evenings spent wandering the deep Autumn forests, you sought out Eris.
He was actually quite a good listener, though you were not always in the talking mood. Upon your first evening together, you had invited Eris for tea in your drawing room. He was civil, accepting your over-brewed tea, asking if everything was to your liking. Eris, you’d quickly learned, was not a talker, either. Instead, he asked you short questions about your human life, grimacing as you’d recalled your old cabin, the dirty town, the thick forest. He’d only cut in to tut or make a snide comment about your sisters. Part of you wanted to throw him out of your room for speaking of them, though the other part - the part that won - laughed at his cruel words, recalling how they treated you, how you’d spent more time at each other’s throats than truly loving or looking out for each other.
Over the weeks, your nightly chats became insufficient. You’d grown bored of droning on about your putrid human life or your miserable sisters and their insufferable mates. You were tired of talking - he was tired of listening.
It was a cold autumn night, the fire roaring in the hearth in front of you. He lounged on the sofa across from you, legs spread wide and red eyes focused on the flames dancing in beside you. You’d run out of things to talk about long ago, instead sipping on the cold tea in front of you, laced with the lovely spiced Scotch he brought you that evening.
You’d given up, hastily placing your mug against the porcelain saucer, the loud clang echoing through the room. Eris made no acknowledgement of the noise, not flinching nor eyes wavering from the inferno. Your own eyes narrowed at him, slack against the cushions, swirling the concoction in his own teacup. His red hair was tousled, no doubt after running his long pale fingers through the wild strands all evening. He had unbuttoned that dark green jacket and the first few buttons of the loose white shirt beneath it. Layers upon layers, this male never sweat, never blushed, never shed his coat. Nor his mask either, for that matter.
Not until you were nearly throwing your cup into the fire and crossing the room. You’d, instead, managed to place your cup on the coffee table, swiftly dodging it on your way to meet him on the couch. It was only when you’d crawled over his lap that he broke his gaze and swallowed harshly, peering up at you.
He said nothing, mesmerized by the pure determination on your face. “Enough talking,” you whispered, holding his stare.
“We weren’t talking.” While you crossed the room first, he’d made the next move, dragging his hands up your legs, underneath the bunched skirts that pooled over his lap. As your fingers found the buttons down the front of his shirt, that devilish grin pulled at his lips.
“Enough of this,” you muttered, working hastily to rid him of his clothes.
He chuckled beneath you, working to help you by shrugging off his jacket. You bit your lip as you took in the male before you, pale skin littered with scars, what looked like ancient script carved across his torso. When you moved to trace his chest, his hands left you, suddenly snatching at your wrists. You bit back a breath - surprised and nearly burnt - heat spreading from his palms to his fingertips, leaching into your skin.
“No touching.” He nearly growled.
You nodded, pulling your hands from his, placing them instead on the sofa, above either of his shoulders. You leaned forward, perhaps finally allowing the Scotch to run its course. Eris shivered below you, trying to meet you halfway, lust-blown eyes watching your lips. His hands found the backs of your thighs as he pulled you flush against his half hard cock. “No kissing,” you murmured, running your tongue over the shell of his ear.
It had been too long since a male had warmed your sheets, and it was making you itch. You’d felt that desire deep in your core for far too long. Especially with a male as devastatingly handsome as Eris who spent his evenings lounging across from you in your bed chamber.
So that was that. Strictly sex. No lingering touches, no holding each other afterwards, no tenderness, no kissing. Just like all the other males you’d bedded.
It had only been a matter of time before one of you cracked. He was glad it was you.
Two rules.
That was it.
Beyond that, the two of you spent most evenings together, using each other’s bodies, extinguishing the searing desire that lingered just below your skin. You’d found out Eris was just as starved as you, needing the nightly release as much as you. He’d called on you most evenings, sending housekeepers scattering, looking for his betrothed; other nights he showed up at your room unannounced in the dead of night, nearly hauling you over his shoulder to toss you on your bed.
Eris burned with passion - anger and desire. You’d seen the mask he wore around his courtiers and around his father. While he never delved into his childhood, personal interests, or anything too revealing, really, you finally saw him without that mask, without the taunting glare or sadistic smirk. If it weren’t for those pointy ears and fire roaring through his blood, you thought him almost human. He could be soft and kind, angry and cruel.
It felt like you’d made the right choice.
Though Rysand’s voice still haunted you.
Haunted you like the Cauldron. That boiling hot water. That black ocean that ripped the air from your lungs and singed away every human part of you. It took away your family, took away your mortality, took away your freedom.
At least you had managed to escape the Night Court.
You sat against the headboard, as you did every morning, willing yourself to forget that wretched voice ringing in your ears. Eris would be back that evening, you already knew. He’d already left for early morning training, evidenced by the clashing sound of swords outside your window. You’d left the window open last night, the cool evening breeze a welcome contrast to the hot male above you.
You shoved yourself off the bed on wobbly legs, you limbs felt heavier than normal after nights like that, thrown over Eris’s shoulders all night. You hauled yourself over to the bathing chamber, stopping only to stare at yourself in the mirror. The purple circles under your eyes had faded since you left Velaris, though you still found them quite easily over your harsh cheekbones. Scoffing at yourself, you aimed for the tub, grimacing at the large metallic bucket that was hastily thrown inside the large porcelain bath.
With a sigh you turned the tap, angling the bucket upwards to collect the cool water. While it filled, you returned to your room to shut the window and pull the curtain. It was cold enough already, you thought to yourself. Your morning ritual consisted of laying in bed for hours, followed by a cold shower, and then meeting the Vanserra’s for lunch. On rare occasions, when Eris spent the night at the opposite side of your bed, and stayed into the morning hours, he’d drag you from bed and take you to breakfast in his office, just the two of you. Eris knew of your distaste for his father, and he very much agreed, opting for a quiet breakfast away from the rest of his rowdy family.
Besides, it was about time he put some actual effort into treating you like his wife. The wife you deserved to be, he often thought. Since he’d first seen you after the Cauldron, he knew he wanted you by his side. The seething, temperamental, fierce Archeron sister. Not nearly as timid as the flowery-one, nor as vile-tongued as the eldest, not insufferable like the High Lady.
You returned to step into the tub, hoisting the heavy bucket over your head. Cold water crashed over your head and down your shoulders, soaking every inch of you. Goosebumps erupted over your skin and with a hiss, you dropped the bucket against the porcelain again; you wrapped your arms around your torso, as if that would do anything to stop the freezing air attacking you. You bit your lip so your teeth didn’t chatter.
Seventy-two seconds. You counted every one. Every morning. Watching the tap fill your bucket so slowly, standing in the middle of the tub with your wet hair dripping down your back. You flicked the water droplets from your arms and grabbed the hair wash, lathering it in your palms as you scrubbed your scalp.
Your spine stiffened as your muscles tightened up at the cold, fighting the urge to clench every fiber of your being. You washed quickly, wanting nothing more than to crawl back up under your warm sheets.
But with another sigh, you lifted the bucket, letting the suds wash down your chest and legs. Another seventy-two seconds for the bucket to fill. You rubbed the other soap over your body, arms, legs, hips - everywhere, washing off the scent of Eris, the sweat from the night before, the lingering grime from the Night Court you never seemed to be able to get off.
You crouched and held your arms and legs under the faucet as it ran, splashing the water on your chest to speed up your cold standing bath. This morning routine had done more for you than whatever bullshit recovery plan those heathens in the Night Court ever employed for you. They forced you to train, forced you to eat, forced you to talk to them. You sat on the sidelines while Nesta and her precious Valkyries trained - gagging at the whiff of arousal between Nesta and the brute that those poor other priestesses had to suffer. You’d wondered how they could be so content with sitting around and talking and drinking constantly. They did everything as a group, even Rhysand running through Nesta’s frivolous bar tab and chastising her spending - only to make Feyre cry at the breakfast table, unashamed about his actions.
You refused their food and wine publicly - only because of the promise of you throwing it up later that night - and you couldn’t even bathe. Feyre was the only one who knew of your issue, promising to fix something in your bathing chamber (a promise in which she did not fulfill); but soon enough, it was Rhysand making a comment about throwing you in the river for you to face your fears. Then it was Cassian offering you a strong Illyrian from Windhaven to dunk your head under the water - “It’s only water, nothing to fear.” That’s what he had said. All while your sister bit her tongue. Your sister who had the same problem, who had a mate doting on her and distinctly not shoving her underwater, sat there and pushed the food around on her plate.
You rinsed completely with the last bucket of water, tossing it onto the floor beside the tub, shutting the tap off and wringing your hair out. Quickly, you toweled off, shimming into the plush robe folded on the stool beside the tub. You wrapped your hair in the towel and made your way back into the bedroom to choose a dress for the day. Eris and his brother were still sword fighting below your window, you stopped to watch how he swung the sword around with ease, aiming to viciously unarm his younger brother. Though you knew Eris had no intent to actually harm the male, you often wondered how close they’d actually gotten to killing each other.
You had pulled out a red dress, one that perfectly mirrored the color of Eris’s hair. He and his mother had gotten you a whole new wardrobe on your arrival in the Autumn Court. Eris had encouraged you to eat, hoping you’d put on some weight. He didn’t know whether they had locked you up in the dungeon of the Court of Nightmares or if the food in the Night Court was truly that bad. Not in the mood to figure out which, Eris had ordered one of the house keepers to send your food to your room in the chance you missed a meal. It happened quite often in the beginning, that you would eat your meals alone in your room, the dancing fire in the hearth your only friend.
When you had grown more comfortable with Eris, you’d eat together in his study, and join his family for dinner. You were uneasy at first, but soon noticed how Beron often skipped meals, as well. It seemed that he made the whole family unpleasant, because you quickly noticed how much livelier the dinners were without him. Lady Autumn was quite talkative when she wasn’t reigned in by her husband, often starting polite conversation with you or chastising one of her sons for throwing bread at another.
You almost laughed, remembering how you and your sisters acted the same. A long, long time ago. Met with a harsh warning from your own mother, while your father failed to hide his smile behind his wine glass. That was long before the life you knew was ripped away from you. Before your sister was taken and turned Fae, before you and the remaining two were Made, thrown into a life none of you asked for nor wanted.
Well - maybe it was just you who didn’t want it. It was only you, afterall, without a gift, without a home, without a mate.
You shook your head to rid yourself of the thoughts, towel dried your hair and brushed the knots through it. If you could force yourself into a proper bath, you would. It had always been much easier to brush the knots out in the water. But you hadn’t been able to since that fateful day. You’d tried a few times, but the bile rose harshly in your throat before you could even muster one foot in the water. Many times you’d filled the tub just to drain it seconds later.
You’d dressed and braided your hair down your back, much like how Nesta used to do your hair when you were children. The estate was empty once you made your way down the atrium, only servants rushing through the halls with bushels of linens in their hands, plates of food, and sparkling dinnerware.
As you made your way to the dining room, you passed Eris in the hall. His hair was wet with sweat despite the cool Autumn air he trained in, curling against his forehead and temple. He had long since lost his jacket, his marred chest on proud display as he strolled through his home. The tight white trousers he wore were tucked into his tall boots, strong legs flexing with every step. You took your time dragging your eyes up and down his body, only to meet his russet eyes with an amused look.
You nodded in greeting, to which he returned, and he flashed you that signature smirk, without so much pausing to properly greet you. But you’d noticed how his mask dropped - the one he wore in his own home - only for his expression to turn stony and cold once you’d passed.
It was Beron who was in the dining room, though, alone and with a great feast before him. You stopped quickly, having already shoved open the great wooden door loudly, his burning eyes flitted to yours. You swallowed your shaking breath, dropping into a curtesy before apologizing. “My apologies for the intrusion. I was not expecting anyone to be in here.”
He brushed you off immediately, gesturing towards the table. Despite the male’s harsh reputation, you couldn’t help but notice how he reminded you of Eris. While your future husband seemed to have some of his mother’s softer traits, there was still resemblance in those red eyes and high cheekbones. “Please, (Y/N), take a seat.”
You could only nod, slithering into the seat farthest away from him.
_______________________________________
The knock on your door pulled you from your slumber.
After lunch with Beron, you’d gone straight back to your room. You’d picked around at your food, the High Lord’s presence suddenly causing your appetite to vanish. You felt sick, actually. Your stomach twisted with anxiety, uncertainty, fear. You spoke only when spoken to. You stared at the plate in front of you, unable to make eye contact - only when he demanded it of you.
You found yourself acting like the Lady of the Autumn Court. And not in a good way.
With a sigh, you propped yourself up on your elbow and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You threw your legs over the edge of the bed and made your way to the door. Eris, as expected - the only visitor you had ever had - stood on the other side of the doorway. “Sleeping?” He questioned, taking in your groggy state. You nodded, stepping aside and allowing him in, shutting the door quietly behind him. “You slept through dinner,” he stated simply. “I was told you had a late lunch.”
Eris watched your every move. How you dragged yourself from the doorway back to the bed, barely acknowledging his presence at all. Unusual, considering your normal routine involved you ready to jump his bones and fuck.
He couldn’t tell if you were avoiding him or if something was actually wrong.
“I had lunch with your father today,” you informed him, falling back against your bed, laying upright and facing the ceiling.
Eris stood in the middle of the room, frozen in place. “You had lunch with Beron today?” He repeated, dumbfounded, as if you hadn’t just stated the same exact information. You simply nodded against the sheets, knowing it was mostly rhetorical. “Why the fuck would you have lunch with Beron?”
“I didn’t intend to,” you replied in a flat tone. “He was there and I walked in.”
Eris strode to the bed, standing at your feet, peering down at you. His cheeks were flushed, arms crossed over his chest. “What did he say? It’s important that you tell me exactly what he said.”
You huffed a sigh. “He was inquiring about the wedding…” you trailed off. “About you. About Feyre.”
Eris ran a hand through his red hair, tugging at the ends. “(Y/N), please tell me you didn’t tell him - ”
Eris cut you off, and you were quick to do the same. “I’m not that dumb,” you scoffed, rolling over to press your face into the thick comforter. “I know telling him she has his fire would be enough to start a war. I told him she was weak, that her mate still ran the Court, makes all the decisions.”
“Partly true, then,” he huffed, dropping down beside you, sitting upright on the bed. His boots were planted on the dark wooden floor, fists clenched in his lap.
“He was trying to see if you’re a threat to him.”
“If we’re a treat to him,” he corrected, dropping a hand to your hip. “He’s never once lived in peace since I was born. Not since myself or any of my brothers had been born - we’re a threat to his power. Meant to take over the throne - to take his place.” Eris nearly groaned. This had been his fear. He was taking a powerful wife, one that surely would make a fine High Lady - much finer than your sister, even. Eris was not threatened by your status as a Made female. But Beron was - as well as most everyone else in Prythian.
“He said I was a good choice,” you continued. “Why would he think that if he is threatened?”
“He’s feeling you out.” Eris nearly stopped himself. “He’s going to find your tells and use them against you.” Eris wanted to find his father and snap his neck. He cursed himself for not being there, for you having to endure that meeting with Beron alone, for endangering you in doing so. “He’s going to use it to break you.” He’d be damned if Beron set a finger on you - if he threatened you with so much a glance.
He was raging. Silent, strong rage pent up inside the male. Over the years he’d been trained to suppress his anger, to let the torch burn deep inside him quietly. Quietly - until one day it would all surface, releasing the storm that had been building up for five hundred years. That day would be coming soon, he realized, staring at the wooden floorboards of your bedchamber. He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling the once nearly placed long curls. He knew that bringing you into the Autumn Court would surely test him - test his patience in dealing with his father.
He could redirect Beron’s anger towards himself, allowing him to take out the High Lord’s frustration on Eris, burning him, cutting him, scarring him. He could protect his mother, protect his brothers - for the most part. He didn’t want Beron threatening you, talking to you, even so much as looking at you. His motive had Eris fuming. He actually had never anticipated his father inviting you to dine with him - perhaps a mistake on his own part.
Eris had to protect you. It was his duty as your future husband. As the future High Lord. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of what Beron would do to you - how he would break you.
Even if you didn’t feel the same way about him.
He pushed himself from the edge of your bed, his hand ran down the curve of your hip and down your thigh, then calf, as he moved toward the door. He paused in front of the mirror in your bathroom to straighten out his jacket, pressing his palms down his chest to smooth out the wrinkles. He stepped closer, hand dragging through his messy red hair, taming the wild curls before going to speak with his father - he needed to remain well put together, his mask uncracked, as to not alert his father that he was truly so angry with him.
You still laid on the bed, fingers rubbing against your temples with your forehead resting against the plush duvet. Eris’s voice echoed from the bathroom, as a silver glint caught his eye. “(Y/N), why is there a bucket in your bathing room?”
You shot up in your bed, sitting upright and hands gripping at the sheets. Fuck.
Eris was too quick, not waiting for a response - as if you could think of one that fast - and appeared again in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the wooden frame. His russet eyes burned into you, almost daring you to lie to him.
He had his suspicions, of course. He’d heard rumors of the Cauldron Made females, though that they were ruthless, unsympathetic, primitive even. But if his new theory was proven right, he’d have to admit he was quite surprised. A female who stared death in the eye, who faced the Cauldron head-on, who stepped away from her family - the only people she had known in this cruel world - afraid of a bath. Better than a Fae scared of their own own father, he supposed.
You were quick to rise on your feet, standing on wobbling legs as you outstretched a hand out toward him, in warning, it seemed. Don’t speak, your eyes willed him. “Let me explain,” you began, heart racing in your chest.
His lips curled up in a smile, in near shock that you had become so worked up - so worried of what he might think. Maybe you did like him after all, he mused to himself. Or at least cared about his opinion, perhaps. “No need, (Y/N),” he interrupted. “I’m not mad.”
You cocked a brow at him. “Mad? I don’t care what you are,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, mimicking his pose.
“What’s got you so jumpy?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “Honestly, I’m just glad you’re clean, no matter by what means.” He examined the non-existent dirt under his fingernail. “I know how dirty those Illyrians and Nightmare dregs are.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be,” he said seriously, leveling his gaze with yours. He stood straight, dropping his hands to his sides comfortably. “It’s okay, (Y/N).” You stared back at him, suddenly a large knot forming in your throat. You swallowed harshly, willing it to dissipate, praying that it would disappear before the tears began to well in your eyes. Eris was quick to catch on, perhaps he’d have to teach you how to hide your tell sooner rather than later, after all. He took a small step closer, holding his hand out towards you, open palm: not a threat. “I understand.”
“No.” You shook your head, hands gripping at the fabric of your bodice, hiding the tremble in your fingers. “It’s not okay,” you murmured, voice cracking. But he understood. Tears pooled in the bottom of your eyes and you blinked furiously to get rid of them. To no avail.
He closed the remaining distance between you, pale hand reaching up to brush a tear from your cheek. “It’s all right,” he whispered, cradling your cheek. I am not judging you. I have fears, too. You are not alone. All of the words he couldn’t force himself to say. He didn’t know what was stopping him. “The Cauldron hurt you. It’s okay.”
You stepped backwards, dropping your head, a frustrated sigh - perhaps a gasp - leaving your lips as you choked back a sob. “It’s not,” you repeated. “Beron has hurt you and burned you with fire day after day. Yet you still yield the same flames every day. No issues, no tears, no fear.”
“I am this fire, it’s a part of me.” Eris reached for your hand, his warm skin evidence of such power burning through his blood. He waited for you to bring your red-rimmed eyes to his before he continued: “You are not the Cauldron, (Y/N). You were Made. No matter how many times your illiterate sister needs to repeat it: you are made, yes. But that is not what you are made of.” You clenched your teeth, suddenly feeling your jaw tighten and lower lip wobble. “You are fearless and resilient and powerful. And even as a mortal I’m willing to bet you were just as stubborn.”
He cracked a smile - one so genuine you’d wondered if anyone had seen anything like it before spread on the handsome male’s face. Such a kind small smile that it had fresh tears falling down your cheeks. He pressed a kiss to the back of your knuckles, thumb brushing over your fingers. “But you are not the Cauldron,” he continued. “You are you.”
You let out a broken sob, something between a cry for help and a gasp for air. He didn’t think twice, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him, pressing you against his chest. His arms wrapped around your back, hand resting at the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. His other hand rested over your back, keeping you grounded into him, allowing you to wail into his thick jacket. Your hands grabbed at the fabric, clinging onto him for dear life.
He didn’t try to shush you, didn’t belittle you - he didn’t say anything. He didn’t push your emotions aside, didn’t hurry you along. He held you, even going as far as to lean into you, holding you impossibly tighter, and dropped his cheek to rest on the top of your head.
You’d never been held like that. Never been hugged to the point in which you felt truly loved.
He waited until you were done, until you pulled your head from his chest and tried to step away from him. But he wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t have you turning away from him, hiding your tears, ashamed of what you felt and how you dealt with your trauma. He’d hidden his own away enough to see how that truly damaged himself - he wanted better for you. He wouldn’t have offered you a place in the Autumn Court if he didn’t truly believe it would mean a better life for you.
Instead, he held you still against him, hands falling to your waist. You slowly tilted your head up to meet his gaze, brows still knit together. “One day you will be able to get into the bath. Alone, even. It doesn’t have to be today. But I promise you that one day you will.”
You clung to him, but your tears had subsided. Your fear had vanished, apprehension about the tub in the room beside him now gone as Eris held you in his arms. He anchored you in reality; you felt safe - you knew he was real, that you were in the Autumn Court, not surrounded by strangers or being thrown into the Cauldron. “No,” you breathed. “I want to. I’ve been trying to,” you confessed, biting your lip. “I just can’t do it myself.”
Your fingers fiddled with the fabric in your grasp, so much so that Eris could barely think straight, focused on how your fingertips grazed the material, imagining how it would feel if you ran your fingers along his skin. “Let me help,” he whispered, entrapped in your arms.
You nodded slowly, unable to trust yourself to speak anymore. You didn’t know what you’d confess.
He held your hand as he led you to the bathing room, gesturing for you to sit at the edge of the tub. “It won’t bite,” he murmured. A snarky comment that normally would have been met with a rude remark or at least an impolite gesture on a normal day. But he didn’t mean it with cruelty - it was a new side to Eris you hadn’t quite seen before. One who, deep down, you’d suspected could be capable of caring for someone, despite what your sister and her fateful followers said. What they had lied about.
He made quick work to toss the bucket aside, turning the faucet on with one hand, while the other rested on your leg, just above your knee, unwavering. “Clothes?” He asked, eyes wide, a genuine question. He’d already felt he was pushing your comfort zone, unsure how far you were willing to go, acknowledging that the bath alone would be harrowing enough. He lost count of how many times he’d flinched at the sight of a sharp knife as a young male, even the one set at his right-hand side of his plate during dinner.
You shook your head, fingers numbly moving to unlace your gown. “A real bath,” you muttered, pushing yourself to your feet. Eris helped as the tub filled. Normally, when the two of you undressed each other, it was a hasty mess of ripped fabric, pulling clothes off each other with veracity, looking for quick release. Eris was tender, though, pulling the strings of your corset, warm hands peeling the fabric from your body. He let the heavy material fall to the ground, working quickly on his own clothing. He’d carelessly shed his many layers, tossing them away from where you two stood, baring nothing but your souls in front of each other.
He pushed your hair over your shoulders, down your back, tucking a strand behind your pointed ear. Lust laced his features, his heart swollen with pride. I’m proud of you, he wanted to say. Proud of you for this, proud of you for making it through lunch with his unbearable father, proud of you for leaving your toxic family. All of it.
His eyes went from yours to the full tub, reaching to shut the water off. He said nothing, straightening out and waiting for you to make the first move. You shook your head. “No, Eris, I can’t.”
“You don’t have to.”
You shrugged, suddenly feeling so exposed. You eyed the water. “I want to.”
“I’ll go in with you. You won’t be alone this time.”
This time.
“It’s not just that.” You stared blankly at the crystal clear water. Not black. Not murky. Not swirling with unkempt power. Your cheeks felt hot, you felt the heat radiating from the water. It seeped into your bones, warming the room instantly. “It’s too hot.”
Eris mulled over your words. Too hot. His brows furrowed as he, too, stared at the full tub. Tendrils of steam curled above the surface. Welcoming, he thought. “I - the Cauldron - ” you nearly choked on the word. “ - it was so hot. I…” you trailed off, wrapping your arms around your torso, fingers brushing the soft skin over your ribs. “I thought it was going to burn me alive.” Your eyes didn’t leave the white tub, dropping lower only to stare at the floor. Shame built up in your stomach, afraid of how he would respond. The man you were set to marry in just a few short weeks. Master of flame and inferno, his bride frightened by hot water.
How pitiful.
Eris hummed in response and dipped his hand into the water. He pulled the heat into himself, cooling the water drastically, as he himself grew hotter. A neat trick, though one he never thought would be useful.
He held his dripping fingers over the tub, waiting for you to place your hand in his. So you did, letting him take your hand in his and dip it under the surface. Tepid, lukewarm water. So clear that you watched your joined hands under the water, reflection rippling.
You took a breath.
You nodded.
That was all Eris needed to continue. One leg at a time, he stepped into the tub, not letting go of your hand. He waited for you to follow him in, stepping over the side just as he did. The two of you stood in the knee-deep water, staring at each other, still.
You sat first, biting your tongue as the water surrounded you, enveloping you. You swallowed as you felt the water curl around your neck, sparking shivers down your spine. Your chest heaved, panic already overwhelmed you as the water crawled up your throat. With each movement, the water splashed against your skin higher and higher, clipping your jaw.
Eris’s hand found your shoulder, startling you. You didn’t notice when he joined you, sitting across from you in the water, didn’t notice the concern in his eyes. His warm touch steadied you, so much so that you were able to sit straight and stare at him. Eris’s sculpted face was calm, his brows arched high, plump lips pressed together. He was nearly as afraid as you were.
“Turn around,” you whispered, voice barely audible. He didn’t question. He wasn’t in a place to. He slowly shifted around so that his back faced you. Eris faced the wall and cursed himself, praying to the Mother that he didn’t fuck everything up.
The water shifted all around him as you moved to sit on your knees behind him. Your hand came to his jaw, right under his chin where it met his neck. Your thumb brushed over his sharp jaw as you tilted his head back, dipping his flaming locks just beneath the surface. Without time to protest, he simply compiled, shutting his eyes as he let you soak his hair.
You couldn’t sit still in the suffocating water. You let Eris sit up, his shoulders slouched. Never had you seen the male’s shoulders forward like that, usually always pulled back and spine straight. Despite the loll in his shoulders, though, he was so stiff - rigid and tense - unsure. You grabbed the soap from beside the tub and lathered it in your hands, then ran your fingers over his hair.
Eris’s heart lurched up his chest. He swore he could feel the blood pumping in his veins, the heat building up inside of him, crawling up his neck. Your fingers laced through the strands of hair, fingertips scrubbing against his scalp, massaging the back of his neck and behind his ears - it sent shivers down his spine. When his shoulders shuddered, you paused, if only momentarily, before he found himself nearly begging you to continue.
As if you shared one mind, you continued, paying special attention to those spots, eventually using the soap that dripped down the back of his neck to rub into the skin over his shoulders and back. You washed his back, tracing the freckles along his skin, outlining his collarbones and spine. His head dropped back, eyes shut in pure bliss.
Rule number one completely forgotten. No touching.
Your fingers grazed the scars riddling his body, raised and puckered. You were in awe of the male. So classically beautiful, carved from marble by the Mother herself. He was so tall, muscle bound his body, he moved gracefully. You didn’t know why the gods had damned him by giving him the life he had - the father, the pain, the torture. Your heart shattered for the male - your male.
He melted under your touch, overwhelmed with the softness of your touch. Not once had anyone been so gentle with him. He hadn’t remembered the last time someone had cared for him with such kindness. He’d grown up feeling so cold, such a hateful father and a life devoid of love. It was all he knew, so that’s how he met the world. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him - the meaner the better, he’d been raised to think.
Perhaps marriage would prove otherwise.
He forced a shaky breath in his lungs. It was clear to you that the male hadn’t felt care like that before. What you didn’t know was that it was taking all of his will power not to crumple right there in your hands.
But it wasn’t meant to be about him. You, he remembered, this was for you.
You leaned into him, chest pressed to his back, as your hands rubbed the soap over his own chest, over the scars and muscles over his heart. Your arm curled around his own, and he went so far as to drop his head back against your shoulder. You splashed the water over his skin, ridding his hair and neck of soap. Your fingers deftly brushed over his Adam’s apple, his throat moved at the contact.
“(Y/N),” he couldn’t help himself from moaning. His hand threaded through your half-dry hair, holding you in place. Eris moved quickly to twist around, facing you, hand still cradling the back of your neck. His red eyes burned yours, asking for permission - pleading - to kiss you.
You closed the distance between you, brushing your lips against his, so soft, so tender and comfortable that you’d wondered what impulsively made you create the second rule. No kissing.
You’d been scorned before, you’d been unloved for so long that you feared sharing any intimacy with him. Your deal had been a marriage, with the addition of a good fuck every once in a while. Never had you imagined such a moment with this male - your savior.
Eris pulled you closer to him, eventually dragging you over his lap between his legs. Your chest and back rose above the waterline, skin erupting in goosebumps as he held you in his lap. His strong arms held you close, one wrapped around your waist, the other around your shoulder, hand cupping your cheek. He guided you, tilting your head so he could deepen the kiss, in no hurry to devour you. He just wanted to feel more of you - hold you closer than he ever had.
He warmed the water, the flames burning within him needing escape; you, shivering in his arms, also needed the warmth. You held him closer, arms slung around his neck, finally indulging in what you hadn’t known you’d so desperately been missing.
#eris vanserra#eris/reader#eris vanserra/reader#eris vanserra fanfiction#acotar fanfic#acotar#eris x you#eris vanserra x you#Eris x reader#Eris Vanserra x reader
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Chapter 4: Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters
Another Eris chapter. I swear this isn't filler. Lot of fun lil details for the people with their conspiracy boards at home 🧡
Eris x OC | Rated E | Read on AO3 | Read on tumblr below the cut
Read on Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Gianna of Montesere's life is shattered when her family becomes the target of a chilling assassination attempt. Forced into exile at her estranged father's side in the Autumn court, she embarks on a journey that thrusts her into the treacherous depths of Prythian's most perilous family. Amidst the dazzling highs and heart-wrenching lows of cutthroat politics, Gianna discovers an unexpected love in Eris Vanserra that turns her world upside down.
Warnings: Typical violence and scheming, gambling, old-school slut shaming (nothing in this chapter other than more dead bird talk)
If you want to be on a taglist, let me know. I forgot to start one earlier.
No one stopped Eris as he left Forest House and walked to the estate’s perimeter, where the trees of the old Autumn Wood gave way to his father’s home. Here, the trees sparkled in the waning sun of the day; the leaves glimmering brilliant reds, oranges, and greens.
The forest was far older than his ancestral home, far older than the fae themselves. While there were various settlements throughout the Court, they had not been founded through some resource-based strategy, instead emerging where the trees had yielded to the fae. Any place the woods did not want them, their kind did not survive.
Advisor Bassell had not been wrong about what haunted the woods. A handful of Autumn’s tomes, located deep in the royal archives, documented ancient creatures that had once ruled Autumn. Eris had only seen the documents once when he had accompanied Beron into the deep recesses of the archives to search for mentions of some ancient artifact - a sword. From what he recalled, most of the ancients here had been the Daglan, the deathless monsters who had hunted his kind for sport. Several fae in Autumn would swear they could hear the call of the hunting horn echoing within the wood. And many young fae who had wandered into the thicket at night had never been found again. Beron insisted there wasn’t anything notable to report, of course.
Eris walked along the edge of the trees and past piles of birds until the servants removing the creatures were far behind him. He’d ask them questions later when they had finished and weren’t working under the pressure of his father’s watchful eye.
The songbirds that usually warbled at the end of the day were silent, now lifeless on the ground, leaving the surrounding area unusually quiet. Though he wasn’t frightened, Eris wished he had brought his hounds along. Even if his father didn’t believe in ancient beings, he certainly did; He knew what creatures roamed the woods of Spring. He had heard of what monsters the Night Court’s prison held. Eris was certain their kin were here as well.
As the mossy roof of the Forest House vanished from view, Eris noted less fallen birds in the area. He was confident that the servants had yet to make their way out here. It was as though the animals were aiming towards the estate. The cicadas had emerged and perished rather quickly, but the birds…. They had all been swarming Forest House. Something for him to investigate later.
He spotted a finch splayed out on the ground. Eris picked up the tiny thing, cradling it gently in his hands. The feathers of its wings were soft against his fingers. And yet Eris could sense some kind of magic on the bird, like residue. Something old… deep magic… Daglan magic. Bassell’s words echoed in his brain. Once his father’s meeting was done, he’d need to follow up with the advisor, probably tomorrow.
A rustle in the woods interrupted Eris’s train of thought. The male froze, still as a predator, and scanned the woods for any sign of movement. No other animals were in the area, nothing climbing the trees or leaping from branches. Eris stepped forward to the edge of the wood, almost at the threshold, where the roots of the trees emerged from the ground and twisted around each other.
The noise happened again, and Eris gazed into the depths of the forest beyond where he stood. He felt something staring back. Eris lifted a foot to step on a root and approached the creature, but the air seemed to crackle around him. Not quite a warning, but not an invitation. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and his legs were unable to move him forward or away - he was stuck.
“Show yourself,” Eris said, his own voice wavering. He willed his hand to move to the pummel of his dagger belted at his waist, but his body was frozen, still grasping the bird. There was no response. Instead, a gust of wind blew out from the forest, nearly knocking him back, and the scent of oak and sweet moss curled around him.
Eris scoured his brain for a reason, to understand what was happening, but almost as soon as he felt the thing’s presence, it vanished. The only evidence of it being there was a patch of dead foliage on the ground turned a dark, sooty black, as though someone had set the forest floor alight. The air now smelled of smoke. Eris dared to step forward and nudged the soot with his boot. It seemed like simple debris, save for the circling of magic, bitter and earthy, swirling around him.
Eris wasted no time, winnowing back to Forest House and shutting himself away in his study. No creature of the wood would find him here. The study was small, tucked away in a less used area of the manor, but it offered him respite from the endless pestering of courtiers and servants. He sat down in the plush chair of his desk and took a moment to appreciate the solitude.
Soon, Eris examined the finch, turning the creature over in his hands. The bird was still intact, with no apparent harm. If anything, it seemed like it had been frozen in time when its little heart stopped. Eris stroked its head gently. Had it known it would die, a soldier in some death god’s game? Or had it been a surprise?
As Eris sent a tendril of magic into the bird, he encountered resistance, as if the deep magic, as the advisors had dubbed it, wanted him out. He retreated and frowned. Eris tried his magic again, this time ever so gently, letting it seep in rather than prod. He felt the threads of the other magic open until it started weaving with his, trying to pull him into the tapestry of whatever spell had enthralled and killed the creature.
Someone knocked on his study door, and Eris yanked his magic from the bird. It felt like he was ripping a cloth in half, an unsettling, tearing sensation. Eris furrowed his brow and grimaced, wondering if it was safe to have the bird in here at all. After a beat, he set the bird on a cloth and then removed his gloves.
“Come in,” Eris said. The door creaked open, revealing Bassell. The brunette male stole a glance behind him into the hallway before stepping into Eris’s lavish study.
“I was hoping to have a moment alone,” Bassell said softly. Eris flicked his hand, and the door sealed shut, a protective ward shimmering so no one could walk in or listen to their conversation.
“What is it?” Eris asked. Bassell settled into the other chair at Eris’ desk, his eyes fixed on the brown bird between them. He reached to touch the creature, but then hesitated. Gone was the fierce debater from his father’s meeting.
“I stand by what I said before,” he murmured. “The magic in these animals predates the fae. It’s ancient. But why it’s woven into such common creatures, I can’t fathom.”
“Whatever the magic, it’s still active,” Eris said, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. “It reacts and attaches to living magic.”
“Like an arcane parasite,” Bassell said. “May I?” He gestured to the bird.
“Be my guest,” Eris replied. He cocked a brow and watched the male hover his hand over the creature. Bassell closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in concentration. Not a minute later, his hand wavered, and he pulled it back quite suddenly.
“Fascinating,” he said with a shiver. He massaged his palm, likely having experienced the same ripping that Eris had.
“Is it?” Eris asked. “I’d think you’d be more concerned.”
“My apologies,” Bassell said. “It is concerning, but this kind of magic differs from what we know and use. I’m surprised your father isn’t more interested. This power is difficult to control, and more difficult to counter.”
“Give him time. My father will be if he isn’t already,” Eris said, as he watched the male continue to prod at the finch. “How much more do you know?”
Bassell paused, the bird giving off an eerie glow from whatever magic he was using.
“Not much at the moment, but I can send a report when my healers finish their research.” Bassell pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wrapped it around the finch and bought it closer to him. He scanned its body, then turned it over. The eerie glow on the bird stopped. Eris sighed. He might as well give the finch to Bassell.
“I expect you to keep what you relay to my father to a minimum. And if you cannot, let me know what he knows.”
“You have my word.” Bassell replied. He was staring straight into the beady, black eyes of the creature. He didn’t seem like he was leaving any time soon, so Eris cleared his throat.
“Is this really why you’re here? Certainly, this conversation could have waited until tomorrow.”
“Well, yes… and no,” Bassell said. His eyes flickered away from the bird to the portrait of the Vanserra family hanging on the far wall behind the heir and then back to Eris. He gave a thin-lipped smile.
“What is it?” Eris pressed again. Bassell was always so hesitant.
“My daughter...” Bassell began, “She’s coming to Autumn.”
“I didn’t know you had a family,” Eris stated plainly. Well, most of his father’s advisors had a family: a wife, children. It was the respectable thing to do - something the Autumn Court valued. But Bassell never brought a wife with him to court. No children, young or grown, had been introduced to the Vanserras. It was unusual, but Eris hadn’t found a reason to pry until now.
“I don’t. She’s the result of an affair. Her mother is... noteworthy, and I was a fool for not marrying her,” Bassell said. The male possessed the slightest tinge of pink on his cheeks. His eyes were dancing across the room, hiding from Eris’ narrowed stare.
“I hope you are not implying what you seem to be,” Eris said.
Bassell put his hands up, horror plain on his face. “Oh, absolutely not,” he sputtered. “I-I would never presume -“
“Then do get to your point. It’s getting late and I have other things to do, Bassell,” Eris interjected, his voice even and cold.
“Gianna,” Bassell said. “Her name is Gianna.”
Eris frowned at this, waiting for Bassell to continue. It did not matter to him what she was named.
“Gianna is coming to Autumn sometime next week. Her mother is the spymaster,” Bassell said. “But she’s being accompanied by the emissary, not her mother.” This fact obviously meant something to the advisor. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed almost frazzled by the information.
“And does my father know?”
“He informed us after you left.”
Eris paused at this. It was peculiar for his father to allow a strange female from the continent into their court, especially one from Montesere. He recalled from several meetings ago that his father had been in contact with emissaries from the kingdoms on the continent, but a Gianna was not mentioned as someone of interest. It was equally strange that this news had not come from Bassell, the female’s father, but from his father... unless the advisor really did have an awful relationship with his former lover, something that Eris could at least understand.
“What else did he say?” he asked Bassell.
“Nothing. Only that she was staying at Forest House. I’ll be staying here as well.”
“How is this, at all, relevant to the birds?” Eris asked, suspicion lacing his words.
“I want to make a deal,” Bassell replied.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Ensure my daughter stays out of trouble, and I’ll use all my resources to help you understand what’s happening in Autumn.” Bassell shifted in his seat. His shoulders were now squared, eyes boring into Eris’s with such confidence Eris hadn’t seen in the male before.
“I am not babysitting a spoiled brat from the continent,” Eris said, his patience wearing thin.
Bassell leaned over the desk, dangerously close. His eyes gleamed. “I know your goals. Use her as leverage, if you must. She has her family’s ear,” Bassell urged, barely above a whisper. Eris refused to acknowledge the implication.
“And did you offer this deal to my father as well? Is this why you sit at his table?” Eris asked. “Did you sell your daughter’s freedom for a chance at power? I recall you come from nothing.” Bassell flinched at Eris’s words.
“I did what any good father would do,” Bassell said. His jaw was set, and he grasped the arms of his chair.
“She was likely fine in Montesere,” Eris spat back. “What does my father intend now you’ve dragged her into this?”
“He only knows her heritage and offered her a place to stay. What else he plans is beyond my knowledge, Eris.”
The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their unspoken agreement settling between them. Either Bassell was the worst politician he had met this century, or his father set another scheme in motion, one Eris somehow missed.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t get herself killed,” Eris said. The only kind of agreement he’d willingly make. Bassell seemed satisfied with this and leaned back in his chair, a smile creeping onto his face.
“I think you’ll find the Monteserrans more interesting than you think.”
“If by interesting you mean scandalizing,” Eris said. “I can’t think of a group my father would hate more.”
“But what will you think?”
Eris scoffed at his answer, but Bassell simply hummed, lost in thought.
#stt writing#eris vanserra#acotar#autumn court#pro eris vanserra#eris acotar#acotar fic#eris vanserra fanfiction
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A Court of Fire and Desire: Chapter 4
Elyse couldn't help the smirk that sneaked onto her lips. The brothers looked ridiculous in all their finery, sitting stiffly on those even more ridiculous fluffy velvet chairs. They reminded her of the little golden eggs nobles fancied in Montesere - shiny and ornamented with the most precious stones, but hollow inside and good for nothing.
They looked up at her as she took her place next to her father. All of them transfixed by her, except for Eris, who was preoccupied with pouring himself and his father wine.
Elyse traced his movements as his pale fingers curled around the glass and carried it to his mouth. She held her breath, counting the seconds until his bottom lip pressed against the gilded rim and he tipped it.
"Checking for poison, my lord?" She pounced, perfectly timed with the first drops of wine. She cocked her head, expecting to see his eyes fill with horror or embarrassment, but it was resentment that flashed instead.
"Yes," he said simply and placed the glass before him. "I would think it wise, my lady. Won't you?"
#acotar#eris vanserra#autumn court#beron vanserra#eris x oc#autumn court drama#acotar fanfiction#Eris Vanserra fanfiction#I would appreciate your feedback#I need a beta reader#lady of autumn#sjmaas
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Forgotten Starlight (Eris Vanserra x OFC) Part One
This is the first thing I have ever posted here so please let me know what you think! This hasn’t been Beta’d so I apologize for any mistakes.
TW: violence, blood, kidnap, imprisonment, death
***
The screams that rang through the forest overshadowed the sounds of rustling leaves and singing birds. Rowena watched in horror as her mothers eyes rolled back in her head as Tamlin’s brothers shore her mothers wings from her back as his father stood back and watched with a twisted smile. As Astra’s eyes fell shut and her mouth went slack, Rowena continued to hear screams. It was only then that Rowena realized the screams were coming from her mouth and they wouldn’t stop.
“Shut her up before someone hears.” Tamlin’s father growled. The last thing Rowena saw before Tamlin brought the pommel of his sword down on her head was his father raising his blade and bringing it down to her mothers neck.
***
At first she had been secreted away to some cruel lord's house in the Spring Court. She had been put in a grand room and was told she was a guest. Except she couldn’t leave the room. The door was locked and warded, the room lined with ash wood. It didn’t matter to Rowena much anyway as she laid in the bed, uncaring for the silk that touched her skin, as the vicious memories of the days before broke through her mind like an unending storm. Her mother’s screams. Rowena’s own cries of distress. The way Tamlin and his brothers had hunted them for sport. He was supposed to have been Rhysand’s friend.
Rhysand.
Her big brother. The male who swore to protect her no matter what after. He had made that promise when she was no more than ten autumns old when she had fallen and scraped her knee. He had found her crying quietly in the streets of Velaris as blood trickled from her wound, he had been thirty at the time and visiting from Illyria. She had looked up to him so much when she was younger. She loved him and she thought he loved her. But then he never came. He abandoned Rowena and their mother while someone he thought he could trust ambushed them. He was the reason their mother died. But despite this, for years Rowena kept faith that he would come find her. That he was searching for her.
The first time her faith in her brother waivered was when she felt him come to the Spring Court with their father. Even sheltered away in her great room, miles from the manor house of the Spring Court, she felt his power. Like called to like and she begged him to find her. For the first time in days she moved. She all but crawled to the window, her strength depleted from lack of food, and screamed. She screamed for her brother to come. She screamed until her voice was nothing but a rasping noise floating on the perpetual spring breeze. She screamed until she felt the pulse of magic pulse through her veins that told her the title of High Lord of the Night Court had passed on from father to son. She felt the moment he ascended to power. And then he was gone.
The maid who had been assigned to her found Rowena collapsed by the window, her eyes wide open and unblinking.
He hadn’t come for her.
It seemed that a life for a life had been taken that day because Tamlin returned to the house Rowena had been stored in with his newly inherited powers. His father had been killed by hers and his brothers had all been killed. He came for her the day after the slaughter and hauled her back to the manor house. Rowena barely registered the change of scenery. It took her two weeks to recover from the shock of what had happened. That her brother hadn’t found her and that both her parents were dead.
She didn’t see much of Tamlin, but she didn’t mind. Nothing mattered much to her anymore. The only comfort she got was from the moon and stars that shone through her bedroom window at night. She would sit by the window and just watched as the moon made her nightly trip across the sky. Always there. Ever present. Never dying.
Slowly the moon started to heal Rowena and for fifty years she sat in her room, rarely leaving. She sang to the moon and the stars, casting wishes upon their shining forms that one day she might be free. She knew she was only living a half life. One that no fae should have to endure as the wards dampened her power and the ash woods left her permanently weak. She knew this was no life. But Rowena was from a court of dreams and so she wished on falling stars that one day she would feel a cool autumn breeze lift her into the air, her wings catching the current.
***
It was a rare day for Rowena that Tamlin let her out of her room. For a few hours every few months he would let her be free. Free, of course, under his conditions. The ash wood woven rope burned her ankle and she felt it poisoning her blood as it chaffed her skin raw, but Rowena didn’t care. She didn’t care that all she felt was a sickly spring breeze or that she was only permitted to fly so high and so far. She didn’t care that sentinels aimed their arrow at her and tensed with every move she made. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was flying with her mother once more.
A sharp tug on the rope made her hiss as the fibers dug into her blistering skin. Rowena ignored it. When the gloved sentinel pulled again she trained her stormy violet eyes on the male below her.
“What?” she snapped, her patience waning. She knew what was about to happen. She was going to be banished back to her room and any bit of strength she had acquired from her moment away from her cell would wither like a sick plant.
“The High Lord has a visitor coming. You are not to be seen. Be grateful he let you out this long, you winged bitch.” the sentinel, Avery she had learned his name was, snarled with ferocity as he pulled harshly on the rope. At her own pace, Rowena slowly floated from the sky, the strain on her ankle lessening as the rope slackened. She waited patiently for her shackle to be untied and from how Avery fumbled with the rope with his gloved hands, he could see he was panicking.
Before she could ask what was happening, a new form of power swelled around her. She froze as evil seeped into her pores. She saw Tamlin through the windows of the house as he swung open the doors to his manor and revealed a female with flaming red hair and a sinister smile. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be back in her room where no one talked to her and everyone that visited were as weakened as she was.
“Take me through the servants corridor. I don't want her to see me.”
For once Avery didn’t argue or say anything snide. He quickly rewrapped the rope around Rowena’s wrist and pulled her to the back entrance. She saw the flick of orange hair, so bright and angry and unlike her own deep red hair, and the cruel stare of black eyes turn to her for a single eternal second. Rowena let out a breath she had been holding as black eyes met violet and she knew her safety was even less assured than before. One thing was for certain, Rowena’s existence was no longer a secret.
***
For a brief moment, Rowena thought she was safe. She was doing her nightly ritual, sitting and singing softly by the window to a beautiful full moon when she heard the doors of the manor burst open. She stopped singing mid note and immediately backed into the corner of the room, her wings wrapping around her like a security blanket. Through the screams of the staff who worked in the house she knew her time was up. They had found her. Whoever had visited Tamlin had come back for her.
Her heartbeat raced in her ears as the sound of heavy boots got closer. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, looking for anything that could be a weapon.
All she had was a pen and a candlestick.
But it would have to be enough.
When the door splintered open Rowena had to suppress the scream of terror that ripped at her throat as she took in the sight of soldiers dressed in black armour. She watched them stumble as the wards and ash took hold of their bodies. No doubt they were beginning to feel dizzy as their bodies and powers sped away faster than a shooting star, a sensation Rowena was all too familiar with. This was her moment.
Rowena sprang from her place and jumped on the first soldier she saw. She tried to remember any of the training her brother had given her when she was younger, but those memories were blurry and buried in her mind. She fought on pure instinct as she jabbed her pen into a soldier's exposed eye and tried not to think about the warm specks of sticky blood that sprayed onto her face. The sound of screams seemed to bring his companions out of their stupors and Rowena suddenly had five fully grown fae warriors bearing down on her. She gripped the candle stick as tightly as she could and swung at anyone who got too close. She held them off for longer than she expected, but she really was no match.
Rowena didn’t notice the glint of a well honed blade cascading towards her shoulder before it was too late and the sharp edges of a dagger lodged itself deep into her flesh. She dropped the candle in shock which gave the soldiers the chance they needed. They wasted no time in binding Rowena before they were sucked away into darkness and winnowing to somewhere unknown.
***
Amarantha.
That was the name of the female who had come to see Tamlin.
The female who had spotted her and sensed power even beneath the layers of ash and wards.
From that fateful day on, Rowena became a prize that Amarantha coveted. She became a bargaining chip that only Amarantha and Tamlin’s loyal followers knew of. Rowena was how Amarantha would call Rhysand into line if he ever crossed a line and how she kept Tamlin under her control. Rowena’s existence threatened the tenuous peace that existed in her court Under the Mountain. And no one even knew she was there.
The red headed fae from Hybern copied Tamlin’s method of imprisonment to a tee. She added wards and ash wood and hid Rowena away from any prying eyes. Amarantha hid Rowena so deep in the mountain that no light reached her room. The moon and stars, her constant companions during her last fifty years of imprisonment, were unreachable.
But she felt him.
She felt as he cast out a giant burst of power as Amarantha cast her curse and she wondered if he felt her. She wondered if Rhysand had noticed her trapped in the same mountain just as she was.
But he never came.
***
Over the last forty-nine, almost fifty years, Rowena had drawn the night sky as she remembered it. She draw the stars from her childhood and the stars from the sky in the Spring Court. And sometimes she would wake up and draw the stars and constellations she had never seen clearly before in her life. It was strange to see stars in her dreams that hadn’t truly been visible to her, even in the Night Court. But they were her favourite constellations.
Even deep under the mountain Rowena sang to her constellations. She sang and wished and hoped. But now she didn’t wish for her brother to come for her. Even when she felt the air shift in this hellish court towards something different, she didn’t hope for him to find her. She hoped for escape. For freedom and the ability to fly freely. She hoped that Amarantha would die so her wards would break with her and Rowena would finally be free.
One night, one quiet night as the air stilled with an aura of expectation, it happened. Rowena felt the power around her quake and she felt something break. She didn’t dare breathe. Her great plan of escape, the one she had dreamed of for a century and a half, was forgotten. Her brain screamed at her to move, to flee, to find a way out but her legs wouldn’t move. She was stuck where she sat. She stared at the door to her room and waited for someone to kill her. Surely even if Amarantha had died, she would die with her. Amarantha must have told someone about her. So she waited for hours.
But no one came.
Slowly, Rowena tiptoed to the door as though the sound of bare feet on rock would wake a great beast. She turned the door handle and felt no resistance. That was all it took for her brain to begin to race and her legs to start moving until she was sprinting down dark hallways and careening around corners. She stopped for nothing as her limbs screamed at the unfamiliar movement. Her chest heaved as she finally breathed untainted air and something deep within her burned to life.
He heard her before he saw her. It was the sound of someone running desperately and he crouched down, ready for a fight. What he hadn’t expected was a small fae female to crash into him. He reached out and steadied her. His eyes widened in shock as he took in her leathery wings, violet eyes, and red hair. For a moment he wondered if all the years of being Amarantha’s whore had led Rhysand to siring a child. His first thought was to grab her and winnow her to the Autumn Court. She would be the best tool to keep Rhysand in line. But something stopped him.
Something deep in his chest hummed in delight as the feeling of her soft body pressed against his sank in. Before he could move she had yanked her body free from him and stared at him with equal parts rage, fear, and determination.
“She’s dead.” she said. A statement, not a question. The male before her nodded once as though saying more might summon her from the afterlife.
“How do I get out?”
“Why should I tell you that?” the male said, finally finding his voice as he throttled the feeling in his chest.
“Because I am no threat to you.”
The male paused, “I don’t know that.”
“I have been a prisoner far too long to be a threat. I just want to be free. I want to fly again.”
“What court do you belong to?” the male asked and Rowena froze. He shifted closer to her and she took a step back, shaking her head.
“I don’t belong anywhere.”
“Would you like to?” the male asked suddenly, the question erupting from somewhere deep within him. The look of shock that flashed across his face would have been comical had the situation been different and Rowena wasn’t running for her life.
But something in her told her to wait. To pause and listen to the male before her. He had deep red hair that shone like the fiery leaves of autumn trees in the bobbing fae lights that had popped up along the hallways. In the flickering light his eyes skewed amber and Rowena had to stop herself from getting lost in their honeyed glow. And Mother above he was so warm. It felt like the kind of warmth you feel when you wake up from a perfect nights sleep. It wasn’t something Rowena had felt for decades.
Rowena shook her head again, clearing away thoughts that ran rampant in her mind. “What’s your name?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know you. If there was any chance of me going with you I need to know two things: your name and what you plan on doing with me should I go with you.”
The male perked up at the second part of her demand. He liked that she was smart enough not to trust him. It thrilled him.
“Eris. My name is Eris Vanserra.”
Rowena took another step away from him. She knew the name Vanserra. He was a son from the Autumn Court. Her memory was foggy but even she knew who the oldest son of one of the cruelest courts was.
Eris saw a look of recognition pass over her face as she backed away from him. He took a step towards her and held up his hands. He didn’t want her to think he was a threat to her.
“I won’t hurt you.” He said lowly reassurance lacing his voice.
Rowena looked him up and down, “I don’t know that.”
For the first time in over one hundred years, Rowena felt power leach into her veins. She clung to it desperately.
“I promise. I will not harm you.”
Rowena paused and assessed Eris. She knew a warrior when she saw one. Her brother had been one. Every move calculated and thought out. But as Eris stood before her, Rowena saw nothing but sincerity and she wondered if it was a practiced mask or genuine emotion. She clutched for her waking power and held out her hand.
“Swear it. Swear it and I will go with you.”
Eris’s hand rose without hesitation and took her smaller one in his.
“I swear.”
She felt the sting of a new tattoo etch across her chest. It felt just like it had when she had made Rhysand promise to get her ice cream and a small star appeared on her pinky she used to seal the deal. Their mother had been furious when it appeared and greatly relieved when the small tattoo disappeared after Rowena sat happily eating her icey fudgy treat. She was so lost in her memory that she almost missed the look of shock that crossed Eris’s face as he felt the tattoo appear and the way his hand fluttered to his chest. His eyes widened as something in his mind clicked in place.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
Rowena froze. “What?”
“You’re Rowena. You’re Rhysand’s sister. You’re supposed to be dead.” Eris said brokenly as he forgot every bit of courtly training he had received as he looked down at a ghost.
“And you’ll keep me from being killed, yes? Even when you take me to the Autumn Court and your father figures it out. You’ll keep me safe.”
Eris paused and his chest burned at the words he knew he had to say, “I can’t promise all that. I won’t hurt you, but I make no promises about my family.”
Rowena froze and looked so intently at Eris that he thought time may have stopped. “Fine.”
“Shall we?” Eris asked and held out his arm. Rowena didn’t hesitate as the sound of footsteps reached her ears.
#eris vanserra#eris vanserra fanfic#ACOTAR#TW violence#TW blood#TW death#TW imprisoment#slow burn#rhysand sister#Rhysand's sister lives#18+ blog#18+ minors dni#eris vanserra x ofc#eris vanserra fanfiction
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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Reader
Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Archeron!Reader
Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.
Warnings: use of the nickname bunny
Based on THIS request.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
Gods, you were going to be in so much trouble. You kept your fast pace as you walked through the woods, keeping your eye out for anything, anything, that might help you. The only reason you even knew where you were was the red and golden leaves adorning the trees, the scent of cinnamon and rain hanging in the crisp air. Autumn. You were in the Autumn Court.
You had just been practicing winnowing with Rhys, your brother-in-law. Since the war ended, the Inner Circle was finally spending more time helping you learn your magic. You had wanted to learn, to do more, ever since you had been turned fae, tossed in the cauldron like your sisters.
But being the youngest meant also having to take a back seat sometimes. Feyre and Nesta never let you do anything. Never let you help in any way. Not much changed after you had been turned fae.
The sound of dogs howling made you pause in your tracks. You stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. They could be farm dogs, it could mean that someone was nearby, someone who could help you.
But you knew of the type of fae in the Autumn Court and it could also be someone who’d try to hurt you. You bit your lip, finally deciding to make a run for it as the howling got closer.
You took off down a line of trees, pushing yourself to run as fast as you could to create some distance between you and the pack of dogs. But a few stumbles over fallen branches and you could hear the pounding of their paws not far behind you.
A bark had you looking over your shoulder, cursing as you saw the hounds close behind. They yelped with excitement as they caught sight of you, picking up their pace.
Pain, awful, debilitating pain, rushed through your leg and you screamed, falling to the ground. You flipped yourself over to see your foot stuck in the claws of a bear trap, the metal prongs piercing through your skin. You cursed as you realized they must’ve been herding you here.
You let out another cry as you forced yourself to sit up and scoot closer to the trap. The dogs were still running at you and you desperately tried to yank the trap apart, to free your foot.
It was no use; the dogs were too fast. Faster than any dogs you’d ever encountered. You could do nothing but throw your arms over your face and scream, hoping someone would hear you before you were mauled to death by a pack of dogs.
To your utter shock, the feeling of teeth ripping into your flesh never came. You slowly put your arms down to see twelve hounds running in a circle around you, yapping and howling into the air. Each one gray and sleek like smoke.
Footsteps coming from behind you had you whipping around, eyes wide. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a male. A very handsome male with silky red hair, whiskey amber eyes, and pale skin. He was tall, lithe, but he had the top three buttons of his shirt undone, giving you a glimpse of the muscles beneath.
The cobalt coat he wore was finely crafted, along with his pants and shoes. The haughty expression on his face told you exactly who you were looking at—Eris, the Heir of Autumn.
You swallowed audibly as he smirked down at you, coming to a halt a few paces away.
“Well what do we have here?” His voice was smooth like silk and it sent a shiver down your spine.
You said nothing as he let out a sharp whistle and the hounds circling you halted before running to his side. They sat behind him like perfect little guards, their unusual eyes still on you. You looked back up at the male, who had just stumbled upon you, trapped. He walked around your form, much like his hounds had been doing.
You couldn’t find any words. Mostly because of the pain of the bear trap ripping through your shin and foot. But also because you had only really ever heard horror stories about Eris—about his cruelty and cunning nature.
Eris’s fox-like face smirked down at you in amusement. “My hounds seem to have herded a little bunny into one of my traps. Do you have a name, bunny?”
Should you tell him who you were? That you were one of the Archeron sisters, that you were from the Night Court? You knew briefly through listening in on Feyre’s conversations that they considered Eris an ally. But they also said he could hardly be trusted.
“Does the little bunny not have a voice?” Eris purred, still circling around you like a predator playing with its food. “Hm, let me guess. The golden brown hair and the big, brown doe eyes that look incredibly similar to my brother’s mate’s…Have I trapped an Archeron?”
You used the sleeve of your dress to wipe at the tear tracks on your cheeks. You tried to back away from him, but the movement only jostled your leg, causing a small whimper to escape your throat.
“I-I’m not sure how I ended up here, my Lord,” you mumbled. Gods, you felt pathetic. “Can you p-please help me?”
Eris tilted his head at you, in an animalistic way you still weren’t used to with the fae. He studied you for a moment before another smirk bloomed on his handsome fox-like face. He was picturesque with his disarming beauty.
“You see, I think this is all a bit unfair. You seem to know who I am, but you still haven’t told me your name, little bunny.” He knelt down next to you, reaching a gloved hand out to push some of your hair from your face.
It should’ve alarmed you, his closeness, the touch of his hand. But for some reason, it didn’t. You swallowed again, considering your options. Maybe he would help you get home.
“I’m one of Feyre’s sisters,” you managed to stutter out.
“Is that so?” He seemed to be enjoying this. “And what is the name of the bunny I’ve managed to trap?”
You mumbled your name out loud, glancing around the meadow you were in, at the hounds that were now all laying down, still staring at you. You blinked at them and the biggest one, the leader of the pack, stood suddenly. You kept your eyes trained on her as she marched over to you, shaking as you examined her large head, her jaw that could easily rip your throat out.
But to your surprise, she merely meandered over to you and brushed her head against yours, letting out a low whine. Your eyes widened, looking over at Eris for a second to see a flicker of shock cross his face. The hound let out a small yip before licking the side of your face, drawing out a surprised giggle from you. Was she trying to…comfort you?
“Ashera,” Eris said sternly with a snap of the fingers. But the hound merely glanced at him and then went back to nudging you with her fluffy head.
You raised a shaky hand and stroked her back, bewildered by the dog's behavior. She licked you up the side of your face again and Eris said her name a little louder this time, making her ears twitch. She whined at him but listened, going back to the other dogs.
“I didn’t know there was a fourth Archeron sister. Where have they been hiding you?” Eris asked, drawing your attention back to him. “And why?”
You shrugged your shoulders. Had they been hiding you? No one has ever mentioned keeping you a secret. “I-I don’t know.”
He waved a hand in the air, summoning a piece of parchment and pen. He quickly scribbled something on it before flicking it away. You watched it disappear with awe, still taken aback by the use of magic.
Eris seemed to remember you were still stuck. He let out a sigh and placed his hands on both sides of the trap. He paused to look at you. “Sorry, little bunny, but this is going to hurt.”
And then he pulled the trap apart with his bare hands. You let out a loud cry as the metal spikes were pulled out of your leg. You whimpered, pulling your knee to your chest as you examined the damage to your shin.
Blood was now gushing from the wounds that circled around your shin. You grabbed some of your skirt in your hand, intending to use it to put pressure on the wounds but Eris’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.
“Don’t do that,” he hissed. “Are you dumb? Your skirt is covered in dirt and mud. You’ll only infect it.”
Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He reached a hand towards you but now free from the trap, you scrambled away from him with a whimper. He let out an amused chuckle.
“No need to be frightened, little bunny,” he purred. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
You looked at him warily as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dangling it in the air between the two of you. You swallowed audibly but didn’t move as he approached again and wrapped it around your ankle as a makeshift gauze.
He hummed, standing up and brushing invisible dirt from his pants. “Now, are you going to tell me why exactly an Archeron is in my court?”
“I was learning how to winnow. I-I don’t know how I ended up here. One minute I was in Velaris and then next, I was here.”
He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Interesting. Well, come on. Let’s get to Spring so someone can come retrieve you before you get yourself killed.”
Eris held at his gloved hand to you. You took it, letting him help you rise from the ground, trying to keep weight off your injured ankle. As soon as you were up, he winnowed the two of you away.
A moment later, you appeared on the border of Autumn and Spring. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for Eris grabbing you by the upper arm. You blushed, muttering a small thank you.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to walk the rest of the way so we don’t set off any wards that will alert my father,” Eris said, coolly.
He set off and you trailed after him, hobbling slowly because of your injury. You only made it a few paces before Eris turned around.
“Hurry it up, bunny, I don’t have all day.”
Your eyes narrowed at him. “Sorry, it’s a little hard to walk considering my foot was just in a bear trap.”
Eris tsked, looking down at your ankle before his eyes trailed up your form. He let out a sigh and strided back to you. Before you could even figure out what he was doing, he grabbed you by the waist and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
You squeaked in surprise. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”
“Like I said, I don’t have all day,” Eris said, stalking off towards the border to Spring. You jostled on his shoulder with each step he took but he held you firmly with an arm around your thighs like you weighed absolutely nothing.
You pounded on his back with your fists. “Ugh, Let me down!”
“You even hit with the strength of a rabbit,” Eris laughed to himself, ignoring your attempts to free yourself from his hold.
“Jerk,” you scoffed, crossing your arms as you dangled there.
Eris just laughed again. You bickered with him all the way to a clearing where he finally came to a stop and put you down. You huffed, smoothing down your dress and hair as you glared up at him.
“You’re welcome,” he purred with an arrogant smile.
The shadows around the clearing seemed to move in a flurry and then a familiar face stepped out of the darkness.
“Get away from her,” Azriel growled at Eris.
Eris held his hands up, that smile never leaving his face as Azriel stalked towards you. His eyes narrowed as he sniffed, smelling the blood on you.
“Did he hurt you?” Azriel asked, his tone dark. He grabbed you by the arm and yanked you to his side, causing you to stumble.
Before you could even open your mouth, Eris cut in.
“Must you have such a low opinion of me, shadowsinger.” Eris wore that fox-like grin again. “I haven’t harmed a single hair on her head.”
Azriel looked to you, waiting for you to verify his story.
“He speaks the truth, Azriel,” you said, clutching your ankle. “I ran into a bear trap on my own. He helped me out of it and brought me here.”
“And why were you running?” Azriel tossed Eris a glare.
“His d-dogs scared me. But they’re friendly,” you replied, trying to ease the tension in the air.
Eris scoffed, as if no one had ever referred to his hounds as friendly before.
Azriel looked at you with exasperation. “Come on, let’s get you home. No need to linger here.” He glared at Eris one last time.
Before you could protest, he hoisted you up into his arms. You glanced at Eris one last time to see a moment of shock cross his face as he met your gaze.
“Thank you,” you called out as you gave him a small wave before you were swept away in the shadows.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
You didn’t see Eris again for months. Not until Winter Solstice, when it had been decided that Nesta would try to intrigue him enough to keep him as a steady ally. When Elain had declared that she was going to join the Inner Circle in the Court of Nightmares, you had demanded to be taken as well, despite arguments from nearly everyone. But you were tired of being treated like a baby.
You had gotten your way in the end, after agreeing to strict orders to stay at the foot of the dais the entire time. It wasn’t ideal but it was something…better than staying home.
You were dressed in a black tulle, A-line gown. The bodice was sheer but adorned with lace appliques embedded with shining silver gems. It had a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder lace straps. It swept the floor with tulle and lace, pooling at your feet like dark water. It was beautiful, more girlish than the dress Nesta was wearing but not as plain as Elain’s modest, long-sleeved dress.
You stood at the bottom of the dais next to your sisters, between the two Illyrian warriors, as your sister addressed the crowd. Eris was standing next to Keir at the head of the gathered crowd, dressed in Night Court black himself. It was hard to deny how truly beautiful he was—especially with his striking red hair contrasting the black so well. You could feel his eyes on you from time to time but kept your gaze forward.
“May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you,” Feyre declared.
Keir was the first to approach with a low bow. “Allow me to extend my congratulations.”
“And allow me to extend mine as well, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.” Eris had stalked forward as well, giving your sister a pretty, cultivated smile. “He shall be thrilled by the news.”
“I’m sure he will.” Rhys kept his eyes trained on the Autumn Heir. “Music!”
An orchestra began playing and Feyre raised her voice and said, “Go—eat.”
The crowd slowly began to dissipate. Keir also disappeared as half the crowd began to dance seamlessly to the music.
“Before you join the merriment, Eris,” Rhys drawled. “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”
You tuned out the conversation, taking in the rest of the throne room. It was your first time here in Hewn City. It was as monstrous as expected. But beautiful still, in the dark way that screamed Night.
You tuned back into the conversation just as Feyre spoke, “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.”
She looked at the three of you, as if deciding who she would offer to the Heir of Autumn even though it had already been decided. Elain gave a passable impression of appearing interested, as she had been directed to. Nesta just looked bored. Rhys and Feyre had given you no direction, claiming Eris would be tempted more by power and a wide-eyed, young girl, as they had called you, would not be of interest to him.
“My oldest sister shall take my place.”
But it was like Eris hadn’t heard Feyre speak as he stepped forward and stopped in front of you, not Nesta. You blinked at him, your brows raising with confusion as he extended his hand to you, an open invitation.
“I’ll take the little bunny,” Eris purred with that fox-like grin. He kept his amber eyes on you, not looking towards Feyre despite speaking to her. “If the Lady agrees, of course.”
“I-I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the dances, my Lord,” you said, politely, ignoring the hand outstretched to you as your cheeks turned red at the attention.
Eris didn’t back down. “That’s quite alright. I’ve been told I’m a good lead.”
You glanced at Feyre and Rhys, uncertain of what you were supposed to do. This wasn’t the plan. Eris was never supposed to take interest in you. You were a speck of dust compared to the power rolling off Nesta—power, the only thing he was supposed to care about.
You felt talons scrape your mind and let your sister in.
Just go with it for now. We’ll send in Azriel to take over before it goes too far.
You slipped your hand in Eris’s hold and let him escort you to the dance floor just as the dance finished and the introductory strains of the next began. You couldn’t wipe the wide-eyed look off your face as much as you tried to. You placed your free hand on his shoulder just as his broad hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.
You blushed, somehow turning even more red than you already had been.
He leaned down to whisper in your ear just as the violins began their song.
“And so the fox ensnares the bunny again.”
Your eyes narrowed at him. “Stop calling me that.”
“Why?” he purred, beginning to lead you into the dance. “It just seems so fitting.”
“It’s not,” you grumbled, trying not to stumble over your own feet. You were lucky that this waltz was similar to the one from the human lands or else you would have surely embarrassed yourself already.
The pair of you finished your first rotation around the dance floor in silence but that smirk never seemed to leave Eris’s face to your annoyance. Flame simmered in his eyes, never leaving yours for a second. You felt something flutter in your chest.
“So,” Eris finally spoke. “Have your owners finally let you out of your cage?”
“I am not caged here,” you murmured. “Just because they don’t find you pleasant company, doesn’t mean I haven’t been allowed around others.”
You snapped your mouth shut, a brief wave of horror passing through you. You had just insulted him. You had just done the opposite of what was supposed to be happening tonight. But to your surprise, Eris just chuckled, not seeming offended at all.
“Do you find me unpleasant, Lady?”
“I remain undecided, my Lord,” you said. “Though everyone certainly has a lot to say about you.”
“What lies have they told you about me, sweetheart?” He twirled your around again, your skirt swishing in the air. A faint fluttering of butterflies grew in your stomach.
“What are these lies you speak of, my Lord?”
You tried to channel your sister but it came out so wrong. You didn’t sound as aloof as her. Nor as cold.
“Don’t try to play the game they want you to.” Eris’s smirk grew into a grin. “It does not suit you, bunny.”
“Maybe if you stopped playing games, I wouldn’t feel the need to as well,” you muttered with a frown. Eris’s grin sharpened.
You were failing at this task. Failing so profoundly that it was embarrassing. You hoped your family couldn’t hear this conversation.
“This is not a game to me, little bunny,” Eris purred, his grip around your waist tightening. “None of it is.”
“Your behavior seems to say otherwise. So does your reputation.”
“Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?”
“That matters little to me, my Lord,” you said. “I am not a piece on this political chessboard you seem to have with Rhysand.”
“So what matters to you, Y/n?” Eris kept pace with the other dancers and you followed his lead as best as you could. “Tell me. I wish to know.”
Your hand slipped from his shoulder, down to his chest and right over his beating heart. “This. This is what matters to me. I would rather someone good of heart over someone with power.”
“How sweet,” Eris teased. “How naive.”
“Gods forbid someone be hopeful for the goodness of people to be the change in this world,” you bristled.
To your surprise, Eris merely smirked once again. “Goodness cannot exist amongst cruelty, sweetheart. Just as hope cannot exist under the burden of responsibility.”
You studied him closely. “Aren’t you tired of putting on a show, Eris? I have seen monsters. You do not seem like one of them.”
Eris yanked you closer and your heart began to pound in your chest. “Then I’d say you haven’t seen enough of the world and its monsters if you truly believe that, bunny.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Wide-eyed, fluffy tailed,” Eris listed off, his fox-like grin returning. “Still has hope that she can change the world. I have seen this story, sweetheart. I know how it ends. Perhaps it would be best for you to return to your safe, little burrow where you belong.”
A wave of anger crashed into you, your body heating up.
“You don’t get to tell me where I belong. No one does,” you huffed. “Especially not a jerk who doesn’t have dreams of his own and lets everyone else dictate who he is!”
Eris didn’t seem perturbed by your impassioned speech. If anything, his grin seemed to grow. You hadn’t even realized the song had ended and that the two of you had come to a halt on the edge of the dance floor, too lost in your anger.
“You’re just going to have to learn the hard way, sweetheart. You think having dreams and hope makes you something but it doesn’t. It can’t.” Your hand dropped from his chest as he brought the one he was holding up to his lips. “You are only ever going to be what others think you are.”
He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before letting it fall to your side.
“Sly fox.” He pointed to himself before turning his hand to you in a sweeping gesture. “Dumb bunny.”
“I am not a dumb bunny,” you growled.
“Right,” he drawled in a teasing manner that infuriated you. “And you are definitely not caged here, either.”
Your eyes widened as he strode away from you, disappearing in the crowd but not before he tossed one last remark over his shoulder, “I’ll catch you later, bunny.”
You stared at his back as a scarred hand landed on your shoulder with a firm grip, knocking you out of your stupor. You looked up at Azriel, at his cold, unreadable face that stared down at you.
“Come on,” he murmured. “I’ve been ordered to take you back home.”
And just like that, your night–and freedom—was over. Eris’s words and his stupidly handsome face haunted you the entire journey back to Velaris.
#acotar fanfiction#acotar x you#acotar x reader#acotar#eris vanserra#eris x reader#eris acotar#eris x you#eris x y/n#autumn court#eris fanfic#eris imagine#acosf#eris vanserra x reader#eris vanserra x you#eris vanserra acotar#eris vanserra fic
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Paring: former Azriel x Reader
Triggers: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, cursing, a lot of bold and italicize
Word Count: 3K+
Summary: The High Lords called a meeting to discuss the Death-God’s resurrection. However, with the death of their Seer, tensions run high between Day and Night Court, Helion outraged by the loss of your life. Truths are revealed and lies are exposed. And what happens when the High Lords realize that they have all been too late?
Note: I thank you all for all the love you have given to my one shot!! I had never thought it would have been so well received by fans and writers! I am very amused by everyone's reactions and thoughts on the one shot — everyone is wanting blood and redemption for our poor reader. And she will! This chapter is a segway/filler chapter — but still important. It's still angsty, don't worry. This one shot will probably become a 3 part series. I know in that voting poll I had done asked if you guys wanted a 5k chapter, rather than a 2- 2k chapters, but I wanted to leave you guys with one more chapter to look forward to! Please look forward to it!
Part One | Part Three | Epilogue
<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist
“You had abandoned my emissary, disregarded her sight and had her take her own life in your Court… And for what? Your mate’s sister’s powers?!” Helion was fuming, amber eyes staring the High Lord of Night down, “And that her mate — - “a growl escaped his lips, as he glanced at the Spymaster next to Rhysand, “Had cheated on her for said sister?!”
The High Lord of Day’s voice echoed throughout the throne room, shaking its very walls at the allegation of what had happen within the wards of the Night Court. Helion’s fingers gripped the edge of the large round table, his claws causing the wood to splint underneath his fingertips.
“And now… you are telling me that her body disappeared?” his voice deathly low, “That your Spymaster’s shadows had whisked her body away to — God-knows-where… That, that child, never had never had a proper burial?!”
Rhysand couldn’t utter a single word against the claims placed against him and his Court — he couldn’t when everything that Helion had roared was true.
“… Show me…” Helion hissed, focusing at his old friend, “Show us what had happened that day…”
Rhysand gulped, staring at Helion before glancing around the table towards the High Lords of Pyrthian. All of them staring him down before all felt the claws of Rhysand's power creeping in their minds, images of that day of your death playing in their minds — all of them watching the confrontation between the Inner Circle and you — on how you were cornered and betrayed, leading up to your very death.
He hated it. Rhysand not only relived that that multiple times during his dreams — where he had failed you. He now had to relieve it while he was awake. Hearing your pleads and cries for him to listen to your visions, and seeing your body dying on that marble floor — to watch it be taken away by tendrils of shadow.
Once the memory came to pass, sobs echoed throughout the room. Helion being the loudest as he ran a hand down his face, his form shaking in his seat. Rhysand glanced towards his Inner Circle, watching his family relive that moment as well; eyes focusing on Azriel, who gripped the arms of his chair as his face wrinkled in anguish at the memory.
It had been a month ever since your death, a month since the sliver of shadows that once served the Spymaster had taken your body away — unknown to even Azriel on where they had brought your body to. And a month ever since more and more whispers of Koschei’s resurrection echoed throughout the Courts. The Death-God’s power vibrating throughout all of Pyrthian — it was difficult to not miss.
The High Lords gathered in Day Court to strategize on the impending danger of the Death-God. However, it was no secret on what had happened in the wards of Night Court. The loss of your light present throughout all of Pyrthian — every High Lord felt it.
Especially Helion.
He wanted nothing more to hurt and maim every member of the Inner Circle; but that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting — though he wanted it to be.
Helion reigned in his emotions, trying to calm the rage that boiled in his blood. Trying to clam the sadness he felt for the loss of you. He straightened up in his chair, letting out a shaky breath, looking back at the Night Court High Lord.
“… I regret that I ever had sent (Y/N) to your Court, Rhysand,” his tone small and disappointed, “Her powers were wasted on you and your Court. A Seer taking their life, being betrayed by the people she called her family,” His head shaking, a laugh, one so loud and so sarcastic escaping his chest that it echoed in throne room, startling the other High Lords, making Rhysand flinch in his seat. “What a damn found family you made. Betraying one’s mate, betraying a person who had served you for five-hundred fucking years over a female who barely has control over her own powers.”
Amber eyes darted to Elain, as he watched her flinch back, hiding behind the eldest Archeron sister, “What prophecy have you seen now?” the sarcasm very evident in his tone, “Have you seen what (Y/N) has seen? Have you seen the resurrection of Kosechi, as well? Your powers are nothing compared to (Y/N)’s.”
“How dare you talk to someone in my Court like — -” Rhysand started.
“You have no right to challenge me in my own Court, Rhysand!” Helion bellowed, hands slamming on the table, standing up as he glared at his once-called friend, “Do you realize what you have done?! Do you realize why there hasn’t been a Seer in millennials? Why (Y/N) has been the only recorded Seer in the history of Pyrthian? Because Seers have been hunted — by Fae, humans and Gods alike. They are so sought after, for their power, for the knowledge, for their sight. Seers have the power to uncover what is hidden, lurking in the darkness. They are the very light that unveils the darkness. They have been hunted to be exterminated for that very power…”
It had been the very reason why Helion had taken you in when you were a child, guarded carefully in the Day Court. To ensure the prosper of your power, the prosper of your light.
Amber eyes darted around the table, eyes staring at the High Lords that had situated themselves in this very room, listening to his tale before they stared back at Rhysand, “You, being the powerfullest High Lord if all of Pyrthian should have known that. And now, her body, one filled with Unknown-God-and Cauldron bound powers is missing…”
A huff escaped his lips in exasperation as he sat down back into his seat, “Her body should be buried here, in my Court, where she rightfully belongs to. But, no. And none of us could properly pray respects for the loss of her light…”
It was no secret that Helion had a soft spot for you. You were like his child, raising you since you were small, watching you grow and become a bright light within the Day Court. He knew how your light felt, how he basked in it as if it was the sun that radiated overhead.
And so when he had woken up that night in cold sweat, feeling the vanishing of your light — he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
“… — Helion…” Feyre tentatively called out to him, “You said her body is Cauldron bound? What do you mean by that?”
The Day High Lord glanced at the High Lady, staring her down before he nodded his head once. Leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, “That’s what both myself and (Y/N) believe. (Y/N) is one the strongest Seers I have met in my life, those few Seers that I have encountered, ones that have wanted to remain hidden, are no match to (Y/N)’s powers. Your little Cauldon-Made Seer is no match for her either,” he sneered at the middle Archeron sister.
"There has been little records of Seers in Prythian, we all know that. Not even my libraries had enough information about them and their powers. But, despite that, (Y/N) was able to hone into her powers with little instructions… You know that she doesn’t just see the future, she was able to see what was happening now. She was able to focus on parts of Pyrthian and tell me what is and what will happen.
“But during the war with Hybern, much like when Nesta felt the Cauldron, (Y/N) felt it too. We didn’t know why, but we realized she and the Cauldron were somewhat connected. Whether it be the Cauldron was reason why she has her visions or if the Cauldron was the source of her power, they were bound. A natural connection between the two of them. And when the Cauldron broke, (Y/N) had told me she felt the Cauldron’s power sought refuge with her, as if the Cauldron sought her light.
“After the war, she had asked for my opinion — she felt the remnants of the Cauldron’s power tingling through her. She told me she saw more visions, visions of the far off future that she had no idea when would happen, and that her powers were starting to become out of her control. She was starting to lose herself in her powers, lose her mind to it… I didn’t know how to help her…”
The Inner Circle remembered, weeks after the end of the war, (Y/N) had asked if she could return to Day Court for a few weeks. Rhysand had let her, thinking it was not important. Azriel, too, didn’t question on her reason why she wanted to leave.
It was when they started to not care. When they started to focus their attention to Elain — the Seer that had defeated the King of Hybern.
Helion let out a broken laugh, staring at the Inner Circle, “I’m sure you never knew, did you? On how broken she started to be after the war. You never knew how her sleep was plagued with visions, that she couldn’t even close her eyes without images flashing behind them. Of how she sobbed in bed, wondering if she was in a dream or reality. She couldn’t differentiate anymore… And you…” eyes focusing on Azriel, “You never felt her pain because you put up a wall between your mating bond. Did you know, Azriel…”
The Day High Lord’s tone was seething, remembering those day.
“Did you know, how she cried for you? She begged down the bond for you to come and help. Wanting your protection, wanting to help sooth the pain she had felt? Wanting you just to be there? But all she could feel was the wall you placed, ignoring her… abandoning her when she needed all of you the most…
“I sent her back, hoping that all of you would help. I sent her back with sleeping tonics, hoping to help her with her sleep. Hoping that her family and mate would help her through her toughest time. Hoping that you all would see her. But I can see that never happened. That no matter how much she begged for you all to listen to her visions, to see her in pain, you ignored,” his voice was laced with anger, disappointment.
No one said a word. The air in the room tense and dense at the revelation that Helion lamented. No one knew of what you had gone through.
Azriel felt his his heart burn in his chest, as if his siphons were burning his skin — he felt the remnants of the broken mating bond in his chest, aching more at Helion’s words.
He didn’t know, he didn’t see, he didn’t feel the pain you were going through. He had ignored the tug of the bond when he had that wall up. He had been too infatuated with the middle Archeron sister, wanting her to feel belonged in their Court — all the while alienating the person who had been with him through thick and thin.
And, yet, he couldn’t do the same for you.
Bright blue eyes closed as Feyre silently mourned and apologized to the Heavens, to the night sky where you might have been.
But she realized on the implications of what had Helion had told them — that you might have been the Cauldron-bound object that Koschei needed to escape that lake.
She looked up at Rhysand, and he to her as they communicated down the bond. Both of them realizing what could happen.
The gesture wasn’t missed by Helion as he watched them, waiting for them to explain what they might have discovered. However, when they did not say anything, a growl escaped his chest.
“What is it?”
Feyre and Rhysand looked at the Day High Lord, hesitance shown in their features, “… It’s about what (Y/N) had told us. You all saw it in that memory…”
Helion thought, playing the memory back as he watched remembered your face, the anguish of your features shining through his head, listening to your words — your vision of what might pass.
“… That Koschei needed something from the Cauldron to be released from the lake,” Lucien pointed out from his spot next to Helion, the russete eye looking at Elain before back to Feyre.
“What if…” Tarquin mumbled, “…Koschei found (Y/N)’s body? If you and (Y/N) knew of the connection to the Cauldron, that the Cauldron sought her power. He could use her body to be freed from that lake.”
Helion looked at the Summer High Lord, amber eyes wide at the realization, “… If that were to come to pass, we would be doomed. (Y/N)’s body is probably soaked in Cauldron powers. It would be so easy for Koschei to be freed, and no one would ever notice. It is not impossible, but since (Y/N)’s body has disappeared, it is possible for her to have fallen into his clutches.”
Kallias, in the mist of the conversation, was watching, observing, the only remaining Seer in the room. He leaned forward, bright blue hues staring the Made-Fae, as he rested both arms on the table, “Have you had any visions?”
Heads turned towards the High Lord of Winter at his question. It did not phase him, as he continued, ”I heard from your High Lady that you rarely said anything about your visions, since the Cauldron broke. So do tell us, what have you seen about the Death-God?” If she had her powers still, a Seer would be still useful in this situation.
Elain visibly swallowed, as all attention was on her once more. Brown eyes frantically glanced around the table, over to her sisters and then to Azriel who both looked at her expectedly.
A heartbeat later, and the Middle Archeron sister knew that she couldn't lie.
She shook her head, “I have not seen anything… since the Cauldron broke…” her words nothing but a whisper in the wind.
It was as if a pin dropped on marble floors, the silence in the room was penetrating.
A laugh broke the silence. Eris’ shook his in disbelief on the drama they were hearing, “So you’re telling us, you have been lying about having your powers. And that (Y/N), who has actually seen those visions had taken her life?” he glared at the middle Archeron sister, “For what? Because you needed a position in the Night Court? So that you can gain the Spymaster’s affection? To bed him?”
Elain shook her head again, brown eyes desperate as she tried to catch eye with her family, with Nesta, who just looked away, brows furrowed with anguish, “… I just wanted to be useful…” she whispered in fear, slumping down in her chair, “My powers… were the only thing that made me feel like I belonged… But I didn’t have them, and… I just, didn’t want to lose my family.”
“And yet, you were willing to let (Y/N) lose her family, her mate… and her life. Just to keep your own,” Thesan expressed, "That selfishness will be the downfall of Pyrthian."
Elain flinched at the truth thrown onto her face, eyes down-casting, silence taking over her form.
Before anyone could reprimand Elain for her actions, the grand doors slammed open, a dark mist blowing throughout the room. Frightened and confused screams echoed through the room.
Helion stood up, using his power of light to dissipate the darkness that tried to cover the room. Amber eyes glowed as he watched as a cloaked figure float into the room.
Eyes watched the cloaked figure as it settled its form onto the floor, bare pale feet touching the marble.
“… I would think… that if the Pyrthian High Lords would gather… they would invite a God to their meeting. But I guess, manners do not exist in this world…” the voice was grating and brittle.
The hood swept, as if eyes inside were looking at all the High Lords that were now standing up, all attention to him.
A eerie chuckle escaped the hooded figure, spiny fingers grasping the edge before slipping it down. White hair and black eyes were revealed, pale, sickly skin glowed underneath the darkness that had surrounded him.
The figure bowed, a mocking gesture to the High Lords.
“It seems, that you are unaware of who you are being greeted by…” a boney finger raised up and pointed towards Nesta, the eldest sister stiffening, “Though I’m quite sure you do, dearest sister…” he grinned at her.
Nesta gulped and looked at the uninvited guest. She knew who would greet her like that — only the Death Caver has echoed the same words, “You’re Koschei… aren’t you…”
Koschei grinned wider, head tilting to the side as he stepped forward, laughing as the High Lords ready themselves for a battle with the Death-God.
“Oh don’t be so tense, my High Lords…” he mockingly commented, sweeping a hand, “Please sit… Do not stop your meeting for dear little old me. Though it is such an honor for you to do so.”
He rounded the table, eyes making contact with each of the High Lord, black eyes sweeping over their forms before he stopped before Rhysand.
Violet hues and black sockets stared at each other.
“Though I do have to thank you, High Lord of the Night… You have gifted me the precious gift of life. Though, it was through the loss of one of your own… You might have known her. Cared for her… Loved her…” Koschei looked at Azriel whose hazel eyes burned at the Death-God.
He let out a low laugh.
Tarquin’s assumption was right — the Death-God had used your body to free himself from the lake, right underneath their noses. No one felt it, no one knew. And it had been too late to do anything about it; months too late to prevent the resurrection, months too late to find your missing body, months too late of not listening to you.
Koschei looked behind him, far past the grand windows, the familiar cry of the bird of fire and ash echoing through the lands of Day Court, heading towards them — Vassa had come to stop the sorcerer-lord from his destruction.
However, before she landed on the balcony, an arrow, made of shadow and darkness struck her, causing the great bird to plummet to the land beneath her.
Lucien gasped and ran towards the balcony, peering down to see if the mortal queen had survived the fall; but there was no sign of the cursed queen anywhere below.
“What a dramatic entry by Vassa, as always…” Koschei said with a sigh, before another chuckle escaped his lips, dark eyes boring into the empty spot beside him, “Don’t you think… (Y/N)?”
All heads snapped towards the Deathless God, your name slipping from his lips, as they watched a swirl of darkness materialized a familiar figure. Azriel watched, hazel eyes wide as he took in your form, whisps of shadows that had whirled around you — his shadows, one that had abandoned him ever since your death.
“…(Y/N)…” Azriel whispered in disbelief, his voice shaking.
There you stood, next to the Death-God, very much alive.
Very much like a Death-God yourself.
And it echoed in your outfit — tendrils of shadow made up your dress, covering you from head to toe, fluttering near your feet as if a gown swayed by the wind. In your hands, a bow and arrow made of those shadows — the very bow that had struck Vassa down from her flight.
That was where Azriel’s shadows had gone to — leaving him, following you to your death, and making you someone completely different.
Someone that was going to be the downfall of Pyrthian itself.
Tagging: @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @setayeshmohseni, @kindasleepycryptid, @f4iry-bell, @woodland-mist, @kalulakunundrum, @topaz125, @thelov3lybookworm, @hnyclover, @harrystylesfan2686, @anuttellaa, @ithan-holstroms-girl, @judig92, @venuseuripedis, @fairywriter-oracle, @thehighlordishere, @acourtofbatboydreams, @willowpains, @historygreekqueen, @dr4g0ngirl, @ayme301, @kemillyfreitas, @crazylokonugget, @abysshaven, @michaelharrypotter, @naturakaashi, @kittenbi, @namelesssav, @guiltyreader, @awkardnerd, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @quackitysdrugdealer, @thesunloveschips, @brieflyclassymortal, @justdreamstars, @isa1b2h3, @himesuedi, @fxckmiup, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @t0uch-starved-h0e, @mybestfriendmademe
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader#acotar angst#acotar x reader#acotar fic#a court of thorns and roses#( .one shot : pushed to the edge )#acotar fanfic#azriel angst#helion acotar#eris vanserra#rhysand#feyre archeron
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So, here is my humble request 👀:
Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.
When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.
Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.
So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.
I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻
Would That I -- Part 1
A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!
Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader
Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health
Word Count: 3,638
Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.
Part 2 Part 3
Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.
“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.
“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”
Rhysand cleared his throat.
“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.
“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”
His brow furrowed.
“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.
“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.
You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.
You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.
---
In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.
You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.
He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.
“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.
“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.
---
As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.
Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.
He loosed a breath.
“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.
“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“Is Cass--?”
“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.
“Ok.”
Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.
“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”
You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.
“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”
You scoff.
“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”
Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.
“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”
Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.
“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.
Rhysand sighed.
“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”
---
It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.
You sat up worried.
“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”
“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”
You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.
“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.
You snuggled up to your eldest brother.
“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”
Azriel tucked you under his arm.
“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.
---
Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.
He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.
Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.
“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.
“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”
Eris rolled his eyes.
“Just show me your plans, Ash.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.
“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.
In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.
He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.
It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.
When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.
Asher sighed,
“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.
“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.
“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”
“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.
“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”
“She is my mate.” Eris growled.
“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.
“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.
“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”
Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.
He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.
---
The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.
Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.
Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.
Disgust.
What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.
Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.
Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.
Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.
“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”
You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.
“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”
You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.
“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.
A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.
Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.
Would that you could be half as lucky.
Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.
---
There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.
“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.
“Eris will be there.” You said.
“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.
“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”
And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.
Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.
In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.
Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—
“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.
“What’s the magic word.”
“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.
A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...
#eris x reader#acotar x reader#acotar#acotar fanfiction#autumn answers#autumn writes#eris smut#eris angst#eris vanserra#eris vandaddy#azriel shadowsinger#night court#rhys acotar#rhysand#cassian acotar#cassian#cassian x reader#rhys x reader#azriel x reader#azriel smut#azriel acotar#azriel#fanfic#writing#enemies to lovers#angst#acotar smut#smut#eris acotar#eris headcanons
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These Violent Delights | An Eris Vanserra story
Summary: At a ball in Hewn City, you meet your match in Eris Vanserra
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)
Word Count: 7.6k
Previously called If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power. I changed the name to adapt if from a one shot into a series.
You had been born on a night like this, you think. The storm-streaked clouds line the heavens like flowering hydrangeas as they dissolve into a black abyss and the moonlight shines like pearls on the water where the horizon meets the Sidra.
Storm-streaked they had called you.
When you were a little girl, your father had told you that you had come into this world in the same way as the old Gods had. Born from the merciless depths of some unknowable blue-darkness; cruel and beautiful, and fearless.
Now fear is all you know.
The crack of forked white lightening against the darkening horizon pushes you further into introspective thought. The visions come with the quiet; flashes of silver and gold and the icy embrace of the water. That infernal cauldron and what it had taken from. It haunts you, even in dreaming.
Of late, the days seem to pass in a state of perpetual purgatory, marred by memories and the water– an unforgiving tempest that tears through you.
The water cleanses but it also devastates.
Your father had once called you water; the salt and the sea.
You had always wondered what that meant.
But here you stand-- a storm incarnate; volatile, half-wild and isolating. And who can become the water without inheriting its violence, or its loneliness?
The feeling of harsh violet eyes on you is enough to drag you gaze from your spot near the balcony and the storm as it rages outside.
“Are you ready, Nesta?” Rhysand’s voice is velvet night as it reverberates around the small waiting room.
A chill runs down your spine when you catch his eyes, glinting and violet in the dim light. You regard Nesta cooly as she tilts her chin upwards.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Nesta’s eyes are lined with kohl and looking at her is like looking into the eye of a storm.
She always had an austere kind of beauty that left you speechless.
Rhysand only nods simply before taking Feyre’s arm and approaching the large doorway. Nesta and Elain fall into rank behind them with practiced ease. It is you who hovers awkwardly in the background for a moment before taking your place in the middle of the formation. A solitary figure amongst them.
You swallow thickly and you catch the lingering scent of a night chilled mist as you bristle. A whisper of night wraps itself around you like a cold comfort. These days his scent seems to follow you like a shadow; though, you suppose when you’ve spent every night this week wrapped around him, trying to drown out your own thoughts, there is bound to be a trace of him that lingers there.
At last, the towering doors to the throne room yawned open.
The throne room is lined with black candles and evergreen wreaths frame the doorway, and moonflowers climb up the high, onyx pillars like ivy. And on each side of the aisles there were two magnificent banquet tables, piled high with food enough to feed a city. Though it was not to be touched without express permission from the High Lord.
A ripple of dark power reverberates through the mountain as The High Lord and Lady enter the throne room. You swear you feel the mountain wail in their presence. It is a powerful thing and you feel something within yourself begin to stir with it.
A cold rage as it makes a home in your chest.
The courtiers pale as they approach, parting like the tide as their High Lord and High Lady brush through them, crowned in silver crystals and garbed in midnight black robes.
Rhysand looks beautiful you think as your eyes find him in the procession-- he stands tall against you all, his hair perfectly quaffed and the rich scent of mandarin and night-blooming jasmine seems to follow him.
All that pales in comparison to Feyre; the dress she wears is like tangible shadow. Gossamer thin silk and tulle that glitters with flecks of silver starlight, all gathered about her waist with a thin belt that accentuates the swell of her stomach.
The room beholds her with baited breath; a sense of awe and ire.
She looks like the visage of some ancient Goddess of the moon; pale and beautiful in the silvery light.
You sense a shift in the air as they approach the dias and Rhysand’s shoulders tense; he is a picture of male pride. There is a dangerous quality to it that chills you to the bone. A cold violence that feels almost kindred to you. Feyre’s full red lips part and she smiles until it seems to dampen Rhys’s anger as he reaches for her as they climb the steps of the onyx dias.
Keir’s face is twisted in a half-grimace, somewhere between astonishment and anguish. Behind him the Eris Vanserra remains fixed in place, his face set in a painfully neutral expression as he regards the High Lord and Lady.
Motion from behind you beckons you to move as Nesta and Elain fall into step with you and begin to pace the length of the aisle and approach the dias.
All three of you are dressed in Night Court black. A symbol of your place amongst the royal family. A warning of the dark power which you all possessed. Stolen and gifted from that cauldron. A reminder of your value. It is a carefully rehearsed routine as Nesta takes her place between you both, the flare of her skirts bushing against the marble floor with each long stride. You and Elain flank her sides like two wraiths.
Elain looks sallow in black, you think as you catch her eyes. A poor initiation of the coldness you wear so well etched onto her beautiful face and steely determination in her dark, rich eyes.
Nesta outshines you all tonight-- her golden hair braided into a crown atop her head and a delicate crown glints in the lantern light, slender spikes jutting forward in a dark corona. Her wicked eyes glinted like cobalt in the light. She’s dressed all in black. The gown itself is skin tight and embroidered with intricate silver brocade, twisting vines and moonflowers adorn the velvet bodice, tracing the curve of her breasts and sinking low, to her navel where the silver thread gathers about a sapphire that matches the crystals on her crown.
Nesta is a cruel beauty; enough to bring a God to his knees.
And Cassian looks about ready to sink to his knees before her as you regard him on the dias.
Nestas moves with a feline grace, expressive and smirking as she takes her place between Cassian and Elain on the platform.
Feyre and Rhysand sink into their thrones with a measured grace and from your stop between Elain and Azriel you can see all the eyes in the room as they flit from one member of the Inner Circle to the next.
But it is the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra that you meet in the gathering crowd. He offers you a courteous nod and the ghost of a smirk graces his full lips and you send a scathing look in his direction in return.
You hope he feels the bitter sting of your coldness as your eyes try to find anything else in the throne room to focus on.
Azriel rolls on the balls of his feet as the silence settles in the room and he inches so close to you that you feel the scarred pads of his fingers brush the exposed skin of your back.
“You look good in black,” his voice is impossibly quiet, almost inaudible as he dips low enough that he is speaking into the shell of your ear.
A cold chill runs up the length of your spine.
“Thank you, Shadowsinger,” You say simply, a feral smile on your lips as you bare your teeth to him.
A laugh sharp and cruel rings through you and Azriel’s hand tangles in the lengths of your hair tugging sharply.
“You are most welcome,” Azriel agrees, his voice is like shadow and wind as it graces your ears “most welcome indeed.”
Azriel steps back into line as Rhysand stands to address the crowd.
Your own spine straightens as though it is muscle memory by now. Obedience. To bend and break as the High Lord and Lady saw fit.
Rhysand looks like Night Triumphant as he regards his uncle with a strange union of cruelty and cordiality. Recently Rhys and Feyre had softened slightly with the people of Hewn City. Keir in particular. They can’t afford to isolate him from court politics-- in case the need arises for his Darkbringers to fight again. Hence the fact Rhysand even abides his presence at all. Rhysand’s cruel gaze lingers just a touch too long though. A careful reminder of the fate he’ll earn if he ever decided to go against Rhys.
It’s been months since you’ve been to Hewn City, longer since you involved yourself in court politics. Longer still, since any whispers of the Trove or Briallyn reached you. Though you aren’t naive enough to believe it is over.
None of the Inner Circle are.
That is why you find yourself in Hewn City tonight. Swathed in the sallow light, and painted like a pretty whore; all red lips and dark eyes, with trembling hands, wanting nothing more than to be back in that little cabin with your sisters by your side-- as you were when you were girls.
Feyre rises to her feet to join Rhys and she addresses the crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”
The crowd seems to hum in acknowledgement and then they bow in a show of deference.
Or blind obedience.
Your eyes meet the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra once more, and it is you he looks at when he kneels.
Keir slinks forward, offering your sister a low bow, “Allow me to extend my congratulations, High Lady.” His voice drips with false flattery as he dips his chin in a show of esteem.
Eris Vanserra moves like a predator as he stalks forward, offering your sister a devastating, cultivated smile that feels almost authentic. “And allow me to extend my sincerest wishes, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.”
Rhysand’s mouth curls into a wicked half smile, his eyes darken to an amethyst color as she speaks “I’m sure your father will be most pleased for us.”
The implication that hands in the air is a dangerous one and you can feel the color drain from you at the terse exchange. A few more beast of silence and--
“Music,” The High Lord calls out and the orchestra from behind the mezzanine begins to play lightly, the sounds of lyres and harps ring through the air.
Feyre once again addresses the crown, every inch the High Lady, “Go--eat--enjoy.” The crowd of silent courtiers disperse throughout the room as they aim to take their places at the tables.
Each banquet table is piled high with an obscene amount of food and you find yourself feeling ashamed of the blatant opulence before you. When once you had nothing. Now you live without wanting. It makes you feel ashamed. How your old self would resent this wasteful indulgence.
Turning away from the feasting courtiers you turn inwards towards the thrones on the dias.
Now only Eris and Keir remain standing before the High Lord and Lady. You notice how neither of the men has deigned to acknowledge Morrigan’s presence behind the thrones. She looks ethereal and savage as she smirks down at them, her lips look as though they are stained wine red.
Blood red, you think.
The Illyrain’s at either side of you and your sisters look more like beasts carved into the dark stone of the mountain than anything else. Azriel and Cassian are clad in black armor, each adorned in ruby and sapphire to match their siphons that glow faintly in the low light. The brothers look as though they are the visage of some Gods of old; statuesque and hard-faced as they regard the Autumn Prince.
Cassian in particular looks like he might invoke some of that ancient power to stop Eris from dancing with Nesta tonight. He had not objected but, how could he? Rhys was his brother and his High Lord. Obedience is easier than the alternative.
And the fate of The Night Court-- his home-- could rest on Eris’ alliance. So he will bite his tongue in the knowledge that what Eris offers is a chance at defeating Briallyn and Koschei.
From your spot you watch the Autumn Prince with piqued curiosity. He will not stop looking at you and it is infuriating.
It brings a cold anger bubbling to the skin's surface; all biting fury and icy violence.
The conversation between Keir and Rhys seems to come to a natural end and the lull in the conversation has the whole room falling into silence, waiting for their next order. Like puppets.
And your sister the puppet master, pulling the strings as she commands, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance--”.
The courtiers like a midnight sea part and pair off in swathes of dark silk and velvet. Even Keir retreats into the crowd and pairs off with a dark haired female.
Eris turns on his heels, the wrap of his riding boots against the floor echo through your head.
“Before you join in the merriment, Eris,” Rhy’s voice is a velvet drawl as he presents a long black box, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”
You swallow hard and step forward. Procuring the box from Rhysand you press forward, one long stride that brings you face to face with the Autumn Prince and for the first time you truly look at him.
A night-kissed wind envelops the pair of you, enough to wrap behind Eris blocking the dias from view of the dancing courtiers.
Eris Vanserra is devastating; he has a cruel sort of beauty, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut into you, but his eyes are soft and unwavering. He is a strange juxtaposition.
Eris arches a brow at Rhysand and you flip open the carved lid of the box. Eris stiffens, his voice low and dangerous.
“What is this?” he asks, somewhere between disbelief and wariness.
“A present,” Rhysand clarifies and you catch a glimpse of ruby and gold on the hilt of the dagger.
You refrain from grimacing at the truth you are confronted with. Rhysand and your sister want to sell off Nesta like a broodmare and her Made weapons with her.
A truly beautiful piece. And dangerous too.
Like Eris, something in you calls.
Eris’ hand hovers over the open box and he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You sense its power, then?” Feyre asks voice dripping with a sense of smugness that does not suit her in the slightest.
Eris nods carefully, his eyes flicking to the High Lord and Lady before finding yours again.
“There’s flame in it,” he says, hand still hovering over the weapon. As if something in him senses its true power. He closes the lid abruptly. “Why give it to me?”
Feyre smiles lightly and shrugs, “You’re our ally.”
Feyre rests a protective hand over the swell of her stomach, “You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It’s only fair to grant you a weapon that operates outside of those rules too.”
You stand transfixed by the twitch of his jaw and the bob of his throat as he considers her words.
“It is truly made then?” He asks, carefully. His eyes never leave yours and it is your voice that answers his question.
“It is, My Lord.” your voice comes out all cold and gravelly, unlike yourself.
Rhysand speaks again though the beating of your heart renders him almost mute, “From my personal collection. An heirloom of sorts.”
“All this time,” Eris’ voice is dark and thoughtful, “ all these years you possessed a Made weapon and you kept it hidden.”
“Even during the war,” Eris says more to himself than anyone else.
There is a dangerous sense of anger and skepticism in the air as Eris examines the weapon again, his hand once more runs over the length of the dagger, his fingers barely ghosting the cool metal.
“Don’t take our generosity for granted,” Feyre offers in warning, her voice quiet and threatening.
Eris stills and nods in acknowledgement. He extends a smile that looks courteous enough to be genuine and once more allows his finger to run over the smooth length of the blade. “Thank you,”
“Might I leave it in your safekeeping while I dance, My Lady?” Eris’s voice seems distant and far away and it takes a moment for you to realize that he is speaking directly to you.
You look at him coldly, unable to muster the warmth of genuine affection when he is looking at you like that. It is infuriating. That someone so cruel might also be so insufferably handsome.
“Yes, My Lord.”
Feyre nods to Rhys and Eris in acknowledgement and against your better judgment you let your eyes linger over the graceful curve of his calves and up over the contours of his muscled thighs, all the way up over the broad expanse of his chest and finally becoming entangled in the unbound curls of copper hair as he sweeps it over his shoulder.
Devilishly and devastatingly handsome. Sun-blood handsome.
Feyre’s soft lilt brings you back to reality as she says “Use it well, Lord.”
Your sister's smile curves into a soft smile at Eris and extends a hand to him, “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me quite unwell.” Feyre makes a show of looking between the two sisters who stand in line with Cassian and Azriel.
Elain, at least, has the good grace to give the impression of seeming interested. Nesta though looks bored. As though she is only half listening. As though they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.
Perhaps it was the way that Nesta’s grey eyes had drifted away from the dancing sea of courtiers, or the forlorn look on Cassian’s face as he stood on the dias, but either way it made you realize something. That maybe the Illyrian General meant more to Nesta than she would ever let on. More than that dagger-- more than magic or power or court politics.
Feyre notes the direction of Nesta’s stare and then looks between you and Eris. The corners of her lips twitch in nervous anticipation as her eyes settle on you.
“My lovely sister shall take my place.” Feyre nods to you and for a moment you let the icy wrath in your stare settle over her before dipping your head to her.
Eris’ throat bobs as you assess him with that same cold gaze. A slender hand takes the Made dagger from you and you hold out a hand to him.
He extends a sculpted arm out to you, his large hand wrapping around you as you yield to him. His long, deft fingers brush against yours; his skin is warm to the touch and even in the pallid light it is clear and pale, with golden hues that compliment the warm depths of his eyes. Your chest grows taut and you feel emotion course through you with the force of a raging tempest.
You loose a breathy gasp and for a moment you exist somewhere outside of yourself. You hear Eris’ voice, a warm, low timbre as he utters your name. He offers you his arm as you descend from your spot on the onyx dias. The sound of your slippers echo in the silent chamber. Eris’s face is set in a painfully neutral expression and you try your hardest to mirror it. Hoping he will not see the storm raging inside of you. You think of Nesta and the way she moves with such thoughtful grace and so you copy it; your chin tilted high and each step becomes a glide as you reach the edge of the marble dance floor.
The eyes of the courtiers fall onto you.
You feel the heat of Eris stare as it burns into the side of your face-- you feel a pair of violet eyes on you too. A cold chill spreads through you when his talons scrape dangerously and then you see him in your mind's eye. What a dangerous turn of events.
Dangerous? You had never considered yourself as something dangerous.
Nesta might have seduced Eris, but you will bring him to his knees. Rhysand’s cold tenor rattles around your mind and for a moment you see him standing at the precipice of a cliff as the storm rolls in, and the jagged rocks below look like the opening of a Helmouth.
There is no doubt that Nesta is more beautiful. With a feline sort of beauty; long legs and a graceful neck, all angular and steely eyed. Nesta had inherited the aristocratic sort of beauty that your mother possessed. You had always been half-wild, unapproachable and--
Well, it is your mother’s voice that resounds in your head, of two sisters one is always the dancer and one the watcher.
Tonight the roles reverse as you take your place in the middle of the dance floor. You will bring him to his knees.
You catch Azriel’s eye as the instrumental music fades into momentary silence. From his spot on the dias he looks like a dark God; and he looks like he might just tear Eris to blood ribbons when his hand wraps around your waist.
Eris brings you so close to him that you're pressed against him and as the harp begins to play, high and sweet, he smiles softly at you. As if the notes of music wrap around you, you raise your palm to his flat and open, an invitation if he has even seen one.
The low stringed instruments usher in the music like a coming storm, a summons to the dance in a rushing of music, like water. You remind yourself to smile wickedly at Eris as he slides a broad hand over the curves and divots of your waist and hips. You lift your head high and, looking up into his perfect face you bare your teeth to him. All ruby red lips and pearls and he smiles so wickedly that you’re not sure who is supposed to be seducing who.
Those strange amber eyes-- so haunting in the faelight.
The harps and lyres sing so beautifully in the air and when the violins begin to play, it feels like a siren song in the air. A beckoning. As your body moves with the ebb and flow of the dancing tide.
Eris leads you into the waltz, he moves with practiced ease. He knows every note, every trough and swell of the music, each nuance and note.
Nesta would outdance you everytime. This you know. She moves like the music becomes her. And in so many ways it does. Her body bends to the will of the orchestral sound, and it bends to her too.
So you will have to play it differently.
The music sweeps you up in it’s tide, and as the music swells you decide to surrender yourself to the water. Let it wash all over you. Your body, once rigid and taut, goes pliant in Eris’ arms. You let the orchestral sound drown out your doubts and give yourself over to it. To him. His fingers ghost the line of your spine and he pushes you further still, against him. So close that you feel your heartbeat in tandem and your body bends to his will.
It is easier to bend than to break.
Better to relinquish control than have it taken from you.
Eris’ eyes widen and soften then-- as if he feels it too-- you feel his hands loosen before tightening again around you. Somehow different now. Somehow, strangely, comforting.
He moves with such grace and skill, his body reacts to every fluttering note and pause in the music. And the whole time his eyes are on you. And you can’t look away. The dark, warm depths of his eyes like a slow-burning fire that consumes all in its wake.
You find the faces of your family in the crowd and you see that their normally composed demeanor seems to have shifted, their eyes wide and jaws slack as you move with the tide.
Tonight you are the storm and the fire will bend to you.
You will bring him to his knees, you think. As the music washes over you.
Has there ever been such a haunting and mournful sound in all the world? Your name falling from Eris’mouth perhaps.
The snippets of the music Nesta had described to you, from her memory of the Veritas, paled in comparison. It flows and swims around you, filling you like water, and if you let it, it could be enough to drown you. To sink into the depths of the high-arching song.
Eris smiles again when you fall into step with him so effortlessly, like you are an extension of him.
One soul in two bodies.
His broad hand tightens over the flare of your hip, his fingers flexing before digging into the malleable flesh. The smile you give him feels much too vulnerable and genuine to bring you any sort of comfort.
Eris' amber eyes shine with feral delight and you see yourself reflected in his eyes; you look like sin personified. The dark material of your dress gathers about your waist, held in place only by velvet ribbon and a few embroidered onyx crystals. The deep cut of the dress is so low that it bares the ample curve of your breasts and your strain to catch your breath because of how tight the dress has been laced.
The person you see in Eris’eyes looks like the incarnation of some ancient deity; dark and cold, and cruel. And beautiful.
Eris’ broad hand spreads across the middle of your back, pressed firm between your shoulder blades and you burn beneath him. As the music lulls and flutters his gaze locks onto yours and flame simmers in those dark topaz eyes and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. Cat-like and feral as he dips you low, supporting your weight in his arms. His face comes to hover over yours and you’re transfixed by his unyielding stare.
Beautiful and haunting eyes.
One hand is wrapped around his neck and the other you bring to touch his cheek with the tenderness of someone who has never truly been touched. His face falters and something akin to raw vulnerability flashes in his eyes.
Bring him to his knees.
In one swift movement Eris sweeps you so that you are standing upright, pressed so close to his chest that you feel each groove and divot of his sculpted chest. You place that same hand over his blazing heart and as the music filters into stunned silence, Eris eyes you with feral delight.
For a moment, as the heaving in your chest subsides you allow yourself to remain in his tender grasp. His fingers ghosting the curve of you hip and the small of your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the skin there.
The faces of the courtiers turn upon you.
You, this once-human female, barely out of girlhood, who had been thrust into this world of dark power and politics.
Who stood before them now, coloured in the murky green hues of Hewn City.
Storm-streaked girl.
It is like being born again and the mountain trembles in your wake.
The eyes of your High Lord and Lady land on you and Eris at the foot of the dias. Rhysand rises in his seat and his violet eyes meet yours and something wicked and enchanting flashes in them. Feyre regards you with a wild smile and she laughs before tipping her head to you in acknowledgement.
And in a show of secret defiance you plunge into the deepest curtsey you can manage; your chest still rising and falling with a dramatic flare, and your skirts pool around you like inky shadows as you sink low onto the marble. You dip your chin ever so slightly, never quite breaking eye contact with the cruel violet gaze that assesses you with a dangerous glint.
A laugh of dark joy bursts from Eris beside you who in turn, offers his own small bow before capturing you again in his firm hold as the orchestra begins to play again.
Your mother had always wanted a Prince for Nesta, and yet, here you were-- beautiful, cruel and merciless, with the Autumn Prince sinking into the cold depths of your eyes.
Everyone who has ever loved you has underestimated you. But looking into Eris’ eyes you see something kindred to you.
You will bring them all to their knees.
Eris' amber eyes gleam with want as he takes you in again and you loose a shaky breath as he leads you into the next dance.
The music is soft and light, the strings sing a song so aching and mournful that you feel once again overcome with it. All of your violent coldness, all that biting fury, rendered a useless ruse as the music becomes you.
Eris might be the monster they all say he is, but looking at him now, in the soft light, you see something else.
“Trust Rhysand to keep such a beautiful creature to himself.” Eris’ amber eyes study you carefully.
You school your face to remain neutral, with just a touch of scorn as you bite back.
“If beauty is all you can see, My Lord” You say, your voice dark and taunting, “I fear you have missed the point entirely.”
“Intelligent too,” Eris chuckles darkly and wraps a wisp of your unbound hair around his forefinger, “and dangerous.”
You don’t deign to reply though Eris continues his assessment of you, his eyes trailing over you, afire with dark promise.
“I’ve seen you before though,” Eris asks as he steps into the next part of the song, “haven’t I?”
His eyes narrow on you and you think back to the last time you saw Eris Vanserra.
“At the High Lords meeting,” You say quietly, your voice thick with shame as you recall the meeting some months back.
You had been little more than a wraith then, when the dreams of drowning in that cauldron plagued you nightly, a girl gulping on a woman’s grief. Now those dreams only come with the coming of a storm. A warning or some ill-fated omen.
“The time since the way has changed you.” It is not a question but a statement.
You don’t smile at him like you should. Instead you meet Eris’ burning stare with a measured look of your own, “For the better, I hope?”
Eris thinks for a moment, as if looking for the right words to express his meaning.
“You are a Goddess.” he says slyly gesturing to the dress as the skirts brush against him, baring the slit in the thigh to him.
“Then kneel to me.” You say, not missing a beat as Eris laughs wickedly and brings his mouth to hover over the shell of your ear.
“It seems you came to play the game tonight, afterall.” Eris says, his voice a low murmur in your ear.
He spins you again, quick and violent before you crash back into him again, “don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”
“But I should believe you?” You ask, arching a brow to the cruel prince.
“You shouldn’t believe anyone here, Little fox.” Eris tips his head towards the dias where Mor watches the pair of you from her spot besides the High Lord and Lady.
“The Morrigan knows the truth,” Eris insists, “though she has never revealed it.”
“Why?” You ask curiously.
“Because she is afraid of it.” Eris’ voice is tempered and quiet and he casts the Inner Circle a look of his own, “they all are.”
Your mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk as you press yourself further into him, “You don’t do yourself any favors with this mask you wear.”
“Don’t I? I’ve managed to ally myself to this court, under constant threat of being discovered by my father-- do you have any idea what he’d do to me if he found out, Little fox?” Eris asks, the fire within him lighting and flickering in his amber eyes. “I ally myself with this court, I offer aid when I can, I placate Rhysand with ceremonies and shows of deference. Why do you think that is?”
Eris dips you again and the fan on his unbound hair brushes against your bare shoulders.
“Because there’s something in it for you.” It isn’t a matter of question. You know it to be true and you see it in the way that Eris regards you with a mixture of fondness and caution.
“Because there is something in it for me,” Eris confirms, “and tell me, what is in it for me?”
“What is it that you want, My Lord?” You ask, fluttering dark lashes at him and the music swells.
“What is Rhysand offering?” Eris counters and leads you further into the center of the floor.
“Nothing that I have the power to grant you.”
Eris laughs, the sound like silk on your skin and you shiver as he brings his lips to graze your ear, “I very much doubt that, Little fox?”
You swallow thickly and a surge of dark power pricks at your skin. You let him see it; all that cold rage, and the violence of the sea.
Eris' face twists but not from fear and a strange look of reverence shines in his eyes.
The waltz comes to a close and as the music fades into the chatter of the courtiers he whispers into your ear once more.
“They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you are something else entirely.” His breath is hot and sacred on your neck, and a broad hand strokes the bare skin of your back and you find yourself arching into him.
Eris takes a step back from you, holding your hand above your head and turning you slowly as his eyes roam the curves and contours of your body, “You are wasted in the Night Court,”
“Truly wasted.” His voice is a low whistle as you stop in front of him now.
“And where might I be used more effectively, My Lord?”
Eris chuckles again but before he can answer--
“Get your hands off her, Eris.” Azriel’s voice is like cold death that cuts through the spell that Eris has you under. His wrath comes off him in waves that crash against you, halting your movements.
The dancing sea around you seems to cease to move as Eris and Azriel lock eyes.
Eris straightens his back and he closes his hand over yours-- gently, almost protectively-- and he locks his eyes onto Azriel.
Hazel and amber meet and shadow and light seem to dance in the air. The courtiers wait with baited breath.
“I don’t take orders from the likes of you, Shadowsinger.”
You stifle a snarl as you look at Azriel. Who does he think he is? He has no claim over you. He had made that much clear when you started this thing. A means to an end. A placeholder for another sister.
“Am I to understand that you’d like to dance, Azriel?” You ask cooly, trying not to let your violet rage show in the darkness of your eyes.
“Yes.” His voice is insistent and thick with jealousy and the promise of violence.
Before you can pull yourself from Eris’ protective grip, Azriel is tugging on your wrist and bringing you into his side.
Eris bares his teeth to Azriel and fire dances in those strange amber eyes. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”
Azriel laughs darkly and his shadows become a violent wisp of dark that wraps itself around you in a possessive manner.
You swallow down the shame that you feel when Eris looks at you -- like all the power you had just moments ago has been ripped away from you, and now you are just another piece on the board to be bought and sold as your High Lord saw fit.
A pretty whore, painted like some dark Goddess.
You band an arm across Azriel’s chest as he lunges forward in a flurry of movement.
“It’s alright,” you offer Eris an apologetic smile, “I’ve taken too much of your time already.” You say diplomatically, taking Azriel’s hand in your own and pulling away from Eris.
Feyre and Rhysand had given up one of Nesta’s Made daggers in the name of Eris’ continued alliance, surely, one interrupted dance will not jeopardize it.
Eris offers you a taut smile and he bows his head to you, “Very well then, we’ll play later, Little Fox.”
Eris doesn’t so much as acknowledge Azriel as he ventures towards the dias again.
Azriel holds you in place, one hand wrapped around your shoulders and he searches you as if looking for signs of injury. His touch is cold and biting.
“Happy now?” you roll your eyes at him.
Azriel stares coldly at you, his face set like stone, as if carved into the dark stone of the mountain, “not in the slightest.”
You glance hesitantly over his shoulder and see Rhysand and Feyre each sharing a look of subtle fury. Azriel will no doubt be on the receiving end of a mental lashing. If Azriel has cost them this alliance it comes down on you too-
“He touched you and I-,” Azriel’s voice is weighted and serious at the same time you speak out.
“Whatever has passed between us,” you say gesturing between you and him, “it has to end, Azriel.”
If Azriel felt anything at all but cold indifference his face does not show it.
“Because of Eris?” Azriel asks incredulously, his tone full of venom.
“No, of course not,” You say truthfully, “because we are fools to think this will ever be enough.”
A beat of silence lingers in the air between you.
“For either of us.”
Azriel takes a moment to think about it and you see the recognition flash in his darkening hazel eyes, he looks over his shoulder in Elain’s direction. Carefully, measured, he looks at you again.
“You want Elain.” You say matter of factly, even with a hint of sadness, “don’t deny it-- and I…” your voice trails into nothing. An errant whisper of power.
“And what do you want?” Azriel asks, his voice once dark and cruel is something akin to familial.
“I’m not sure yet.” you say thoughtfully, looking back to the dias where everyone regards you and Azriel warily.
Azriel softens and he lets go of your arms and hides his scarred fingertips in the pockets of his dark colored tunic. He runs a hand over his face in regret and looses a shaky breath before laughing again.
“Rhys is going to fucking slaughter me.” Azriel says and you laugh quietly, muttering in agreement as you link arms with his and lead him through the dancing sea of courtiers to the wine table.
Azriel takes a goblet in each hand and offers one to you. The wine is dark and red and stains your lips like blood. The taste is woody and spiced, it tastes a little like Autumn. Azriel leans into the onyx pillar and angles himself away from the prying eyes of the courtiers as they dance.
You’re at his side and move so that his body obstructs the view of Rhysand and Feyre, shunning their ire.
“How pissed do you think they’ll be?” You ask grimly.
“With you?” Azriel asks, cocking a brow in confusion. You only nod and wait for him to continue. Azriel swallows a large mouthful of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of a scarred hand “not at all, you did them a favor-- practically had Eris on his knees.”
“Good.” You meet his eyes and for the first time tonight you feel as though you might just have something to offer.
“Be careful with Eris,” Azriel says gently, his hand on your arm, “not everything he says is to be trusted.”
“But I can trust you?” You ask, thinking back to what Eris had said earlier in the evening.
“Always.” Azriel says.
The orchestral music comes to a dramatic close and you see Nesta and Cassian dancing happily in the crowds. Elain remains on the dias and you catch her eyes as she watches you and Azriel with careful, wide eyes.
“Come on, Shadowsinger,” You say defiantly, pushing yourself from the onyx pillar, “time to face the High Lord.”
Azreil huffs indignantly and pushes away from the pillar, abandoning his goblet and stalking his way to Elain’s side on the dias. She smiles softly at him and you see some of the tension in Azriel’s shoulders dissolve into nothing but a contented ease.
You approach the dias with a quiet reproach and as you meet Feyre’s eyes she croons at you, her smile is once of a brilliant radiant light that spills from her. A stark contrast to the cold darkness that you carry so well.
Eris' voice is dark and serious as you approach The High Lord, his jaw tightens when Rhysand regards him with a cool violet gaze.
“I have my reasons.”
You’re not entirely sure what they’re talking about and when you take your place next to Feyre she places a hand on your arm in comfort. Though it does nothing to settle the acid churning in your stomach nor the storm that is raging inside of you.
“Care to share those reasons with us?” Rhysand asks, picking at an errant thread on his beautiful dark tunic.
For a moment his eyes glaze over, muted violet as he speaks mind to mind with the Autumn Prince.
Rhysand’s lips twitch lightly and you can see that whatever words passed between him and Eris has pleased him greatly-- at least given him the upper hand so that he doesn’t feel threatened but Eris’ commanding presence.
Eris steps forwards again and adds, “Bestides, it is a bonus of course, that in doing so, I would be getting what has been owed to me even since my betrothal to Morrigan.”
Rhysand studies Eris and then casts a fleeting glance along the line to you, standing dutifully at Feyre’s side.
Like the docile, and obedient sister he wants you to be.
A conduit of his dark power. A piece to be played in this game of power and politics.
“Anything I want-- anything at all, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me it all in exchange for the Archeron girl as your wife?”
Azriel, still somewhat territorial, lets loose a low growl that rumbles like thunder through the air.
Eris doesn’t deign to even look in his direction-- instead those haunting amber eyes linger on you. His eyes are soft and dark, burning into yours, and you find yourself caught in the unyielding, all consuming fire that is Eris Vanserra.
Eris turns back to Rhysand. “Not as far as my heir, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against the human queen? You’ll have them, and anything else you might ask of me.”
“Just for her?” Azriel’s voice is cutting and suspicious as he hones in on Eris Vanserra.
“The girl, and, when the time comes, you’ll aid me in seizing the Autumn Throne from my father.” Eris adds, his eyes shine with that slow-burning fire, “and then you’ll have all the armies you desire.”
Rhysand and Feyre share a look of pure delight, irreverent to anyone else but you see it for what it is. Feral delight at their victory.
“I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”
I said bring him to his knees, darling. What dark magic is this? What have you done to him? Rhysand’s voice is like night-kissed air in your mind.
Feyre’s laugh rings through you like birdsong and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls onto your lips.
You’re about to speak when you catch Eris’ eyes; those strange amber eyes. And then you feel it.
A bond that grows taut and reverberates through the hall, like a ripple of power and a golden thread bridges the distance between your body and his.
“Mate?” Eris’ voice strains with the weight of it, and you feel like light goes all through you, as though you are little more than a shadow or a memory as you allow yourself to sink into the dark waters that live within your mind's eye. “My mate.”
Your name breaks apart in his mouth and in a flash of violet and murky blue you’re greeted by the storm as it breaks over Velaris. On the horizon, dark and ominous as it approaches. You reach the balcony and wade out into the violent night, waiting for the storm to stake its claim to you.
You were born on a night like this, you tell yourself. Like the Gods of old; born from the storms and the seas, to withstand the hardships of this world. To be cruel and merciless and beautiful.
You whisper it, until you feel that bond in your chest grow taut, strained with the distance between you. And as Eris’ emotions run like water into you, for the first time in a long time you allow yourself to feel.
To yield to the storm as it breaks against you with all the force of a great tempest.
#eris x reader#eris x you#eris vanserra x reader#eris vanserra x you#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris fic#eris headcanons#pro eris vanserra#eris vandaddy#acotar#acotar x reader#acotar fanfiction#acotar smut#acotar fanfic#azriel x you#azriel x reader
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I am ash from your fire
Summary: Eris retires after a long night to find his mate, the princess of the night court, in his chambers upset.
Author’s note: Rhys is a jackass in this one. Honestly this was supposed to be Eris comforting reader but idk how it flipped at some point and sometimes you just gotta go with where the story takes you 🤷🏼♀️ also I’m headcannoning that Eris reads anything and everything he can get his hands on
(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)
Eris feels his shoulders sag ever so slightly, allowing the formalities of his stature to soften slightly as he moves further into his private chambers.
The only place in the Forest House he can at least somewhat relax. The hues of brown coating the walls, the paintings of hounds and forests covering the walls have been a comfort since his youth.
It was one of the few places Beron never entered. The High Lord would never sully himself by entering into his children’s chambers. No, he’d have word sent to them so they can come to him.
Eris walks towards the bookshelves, long fingers softly gliding over the edges of the leather bindings. His personal library was extensive - books of maps, histories, biographies, all subjects expected of a first-born heir. But also books of poetry, fantasy, and intrigue.
Eris was always a voracious reader, that need for escapism a constant in his life. His hands move on their own accord, searching for something to lose himself in when his ears perk up at a noise in his bedchambers. Unsheathing a dagger from his hip, he moves towards the room, seeing a shadow of movement underneath the door.
He reaches the door, slowly moving his hand to the handle. Once it’s in his hand, he turns it quickly, throwing open the door and pouncing on top of the person in his chambers.
His dagger is held at their throat, determined to find out who sent the risk before disposing of them. A laugh bursts out from under him, his dagger so close to their throat it knicks their throat at their laughs.
“That’s one way to say hello.”
His grip on the dagger falters momentarily, the sweet sounds of his mate’s voice causing him to loosen his hold. He pulls the dagger back, sheathing it back into his pants.
He brushes the hair from your face, taking in your amused look, his other hand going to inspect the slight knick on your throat.
“My precious fox.”
The nickname rolls off his tongue, his senses on high alert at your unexpected presence. He can sense something is off with you, and his eyes roam your body for injury.
Coming up short of any injuries sans the knick he just gave you, he sits on his haunches, grabbing your hands, helping you to sit up. You sit on your legs, keeping a tight hold on Eris’s hands, playing with his fingers.
You pull off one of his rings, sliding it on and off your own fingers, the warm metal soothing your cold hands.
He watches you for a moment, watches your fingers play with the rings he wears every day. He’s never understood your fascination with them, a nervous habit perhaps. He watches as you move the gold ring onto your thumb before pulling you into his arms. The feel of you settles him, and he can finally breathe deeply for the first time in weeks.
He holds you, pressing his face into the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair. He pours what love and devotion he can down the bond, enjoying your presence before he can bring himself to ask why you’re here.
The two of you usually meet in his private cabin, miles and miles from the cruelties of the Forest House. He can’t recall if you’ve ever even been in his private chambers.
You pull back from him, shuffling around so you can sit in between his legs, back pressed to his chest. You know you have to tell him why you’re here, but you can’t look at him while you do it.
You’re not sure what you’ll find from him as you recount your tale.
You take in a breath, deciding to tell him what happened instead of letting him wait.
“Rhys found one of your letters,” you say, not able to look at him. “I was called away while I was reading one of them. It was foolish - I always hide them before leaving my room.”
Something warms in Eris’s chest at the thought of you, courts away from him, pouring over every word in the letters full of love you’d exchange between each other.
Much like he did every night.
“We got into a big fight, and he uh-“
Eris watches the tear slip out, sliding down your face.
“He told me I was no sister of his.”
Eris can’t help the snarl that comes from him, and you gingerly place a hand on his thigh, a motion he knows is grounding the both of you.
“What did his little lackeys have to say?” He spits out, unable to hide his contempt for them as he asks.
His dislike of Cassian and Azriel was no secret, but it took you a long time to coax out of him what about them he disliked.
“Truthfully, I found out how Illyrians treated females and it left a foul taste in my mouth,” he had told you once. It was all you could coax out of him, and perhaps that’s all there was to it.
At his core, Eris defined males by how they treated the females in their lives. Perhaps he assumed that Cassian and Azriel were the same as the other Illyrians and did not want to press further.
“They uh weren’t there,” you reply, “no one else was there. Perhaps he sent them all away so he could throw a fit.”
You laugh a little, thinking of just how red Rhysand’s face had gotten during your fight. You feel Eris’s head lay against your own, his fingers tangling into the strands of your hair.
“He was yelling, screaming about how I was defiling the family name by being with a Vanserra.” You sigh. “Then he began screeching about how you’re awful, you’re terrible, and ‘what about Mor’ and blah blah blah.”
“How’d you respond?” Eris asks, hands idly moving to hold onto yours in a soft grasp.
“I told him to ask Mor about what actually happened that day.”
He hums, allowing you to absentmindedly play with his fingers as you speak.
“He said that Mor would never lie to him. That she would never lie to any of us.” You blow out a breath, “then he said I had been cursed by the Mother to be mated to you.”
Eris knew the words were not your own, but the sound of them on your lips still stung deep in his chest.
“That’s when I told him to fuck off.”
Eris looks down at you as you peer back up at him, adoration, love, and a hint of sadness shines onto you through his gaze.
“We fought back and forth for a while after that. Then, after realizing I wasn’t giving up so easily, he gave me a choice.”
“My family name, my title, my claim to the throne, or you.”
Eris’s grip tightens. You two had spoken about what the worst outcomes would be if you were found out. Neither of you had ever expected Rhys to disown you.
Rhysand, who adored his little sister more than anything. Rhysand, who insisted you were an integral part of his life. Rhysand, who constantly ensured you were safe and happy.
He threw all that away the second he said you would never give up your tiara collection for Eris.
“Oh, my little fox.”
He peers down at you, your eyes wide as you peer up at him, your face upside down.
He knew he’d never get to love you wholly, unabashedly, publicly. He always knew something would come between you. He lets his gaze linger, memorizing the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheeks. His fingers move and, without his prompting, they start gliding across your face. They move as if he were studying it, preparing himself to have to recognize you in blindness.
To only see you in the darkest hour of the night, when his fingers can retrace these patterns, and pretend you’re next to him again.
He could, he thinks. He’d recognize you anywhere. His breath is shaky, knowing he will have to wait until you two are gone from this world to be together.
He would spend the entirety of his afterlife searching for you, in whatever form you took. If you were nothing more than stardust, a gentle whisper on the wind every Starfall, his flame would burn higher that day, reaching out for you one last time.
He resigns himself to these last few minutes with you, but he doesn’t feel the despair in his heart mirrored in your own.
You feel hopeful. You feel open.
He can’t ask, but you know he needs to hear it.
“I am no longer the Princess of the Night Court.”
Hot tears pour down his face, and he struggles to keep his mouth closed to keep from gasping at your decision. A tear falls onto your face beneath his, splashing across your cheek.
“I am officially without a name, without a home, and with no title,” your voice full of more determination than Eris could imagine, “I humbly ask if you could provide these things for me.”
A strangled sob breaks from him, and you twist in his arms to hold him. Surprise takes over your face, utter shock cascading through the bond before you can stop it.
Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, a master of masks and facades, always playing the sly courtier three steps ahead. Never in all the years have you known him have you ever seen him so emotional.
Eris looks to the ceiling as you throw your arms around him, embracing him tightly. The heat from his hands was clawing at your back, but it didn’t burn.
You shushed him as he continued crying into your hair, the sight of him becoming undone such a shock to your system.
“I apologize, my love, deeply and truly.”
His hands stay on you, every inch of you needing to make that contact with him.
For so long, his life revolved around choices he was not privy to, choices that were not his. He was a pawn in an ever tiring game, one he was trying to make his way out of.
He presses you into him, unable to believe that someone, anyone, especially you, would choose him.
You chose him. You chose him the day the bond had snapped, and you chose him now, when everything was on the line for you.
He knew that he would make the same choice, putting everything on the line for you, preparing to finally take down Beron.
“I choose you too.”
#eris x you#acotar fanfiction#eris vanserra x you#eris vanserra x reader#eris x reader#eris x y/n#eris vanserra x y/n
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Could you do headcanons on the Bat Boys + Lucien and Eris where reader puts them on a sex ban? Like how would long would they last until they start basically begging reader to let them touch reader.
I feel like Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t last that long and start trying to find ways to get reader give in lol.
Sex Ban with the ACOTAR Men…
a/n: this was actually really funny to write
nsfw under the cut (18+ please)
Rhysand:
He’s lasting maybe a week. MAYBE.
Rhys would also be cocky enough to think that you weren’t serious about banning sex
And then he’d be shocked when you follow through
He’d pretend to be unbothered
But he’d quickly turn to endless flirting to try and make you change your mind—mostly with his daemati abilities.
You’d be at an inner circle meeting or at lunch with friends and he’d send mental images of him fucking you, or you on your knees for him, etc.
“I bet you miss feeling me inside you,” he’d say into your mind.
You’re not leaving the bedroom for a couple of days when you finally lift the ban
Cassian:
Poor Illyrian baby isn’t making it more than a single day
He has a high sex drive so this would be a nightmare for him LMAO
He definitely pouts. Not obnoxiously, but he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind, placing wet kisses along the crook of your neck, murmuring how much he wants to feel you wrapped around his cock.
And when you say no, he continues telling you all the filthy things he wants to do you, smirking as he scents your arousal.
Tons of lingering touches—a kiss on the cheek, or a light squeeze on your ass as he walks by you.
When he’s finally had enough he’ll press his hardness into you from behind, practically whining.
And the way he nips at your ear makes it almost impossible to deny him.
Azriel:
He could wait for quite some time, honestly.
He has the self-control for it!!
However!! The longer you make him wait? The longer he edges you when you finally give in.
MAN he would have a field day when you finally lifted the ban.
He’d waste zero time in tying you up, be it with rope or his shadows.
For Azriel, he gets a lot of pleasure just from watching your pleasure. So he’d bring you to the edge, be it with his tongue, his cock, his fingers.
Only to pull away at the last moment. He wouldn’t stop until you’re begging him.
And boy does he love to hear you beg!!
Once he finally lets you come, he’s overstimulating you too.
He’s a lil mean but we love it.
Lucien:
Like Azriel, I feel like he could wait quite a while.
But he tries his absolute hardest to get you to break!!
Whispering what he wants to do to you when the two of you are at an important meeting or out in public, where you can do nothing about it.
Walking around the house shirtless—bonus points if he just finished showering or working out.
He definitely gets a bit more touchy than usual, constant hugs and kisses.
But when he’s finally had enough, this male is not above begging.
Good luck walking the morning after you finally give in ❤️
Eris:
He could go maybe two weeks before he becomes feral.
Definitely uses touch as a way to try and get you to give in.
Heated makeouts, his tongue exploring your mouth, as his thumbs caress your nipples; grinding against you, etc.
And then he’ll grumble when you deny him.
“Don’t forget how easily I can turn you into a mess,” he’ll say.
He definitely proves that statement when you end the ban!!
When you finally end the ban, he draws at least 3 orgasms from you back to back, and makes you beg for each one.
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acotar headcanon#acotar fanfiction#acomaf#acotar smut#smut#female reader#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#rhysand x reader#rhysand#Lucien Vanserra#Eris Vanserra#Cassian acotar#acotar Cassian#Cassian x reader#Eris Vanserra x reader#Lucien Vanserra x reader#Rhysand smut#Lucien smut#Eris smut#Cassian smut
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Bartering for a Life
Eris x Archeron Sister Reader, back by popular demand! Same storyline as Cauldron of Fire, but can be read independently for the most part! I really like this theme, but I feel like I’m mostly critiquing the Inner Circle lol I took a lot of shots at them this time - a little uncalled for but I got carried away! In this fic, Feyre & Rhys try to convince Eris to return you to the Night Court
Word Count: 6.2K
Warnings: Family angst maybe, soft Eris, none really lol
You woke with dread, pulling the sheets over your head and swallowing yourself in darkness. The sun had just barely started to rise as the clouds parted just enough for a few beams of light to break through your bedroom windows.
Eris stirred beside you, reaching for you under the blankets and pulling you into his chest. You slinked around him, hooking your arm around his neck and sliding your leg between his, an action not unnoticed by the sleepy male, as he smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.
“What’s got you up so early?” He whispered, nuzzling his nose into your messy hair. “I surely thought you’d sleep far longer after last night’s activities.”
You hummed, tracing a finger across his shoulder blade. The warmth of his fiery veins seeped welcomingly into your hand, the cool Autumn air still swirling across your skin. “I had a nightmare,” you replied, not completely true.
“The nightmare is yet to come,” he huffed, wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your bare chest pressed tightly to his. You grumbled incoherently in response, a curt curse slipping past your lips. “You know,” Eris offered. “We don’t have to go. I’ll gladly burn that monstrosity of a house down, should you give me the go ahead.”
You shook your head against him, ruffling the sheets - Eris pulled them tighter around you. “If we go and they see how well I am, perhaps they will leave us alone.” You and Eris had received a multitude of letters from your sisters, daily, begging for you to come home. They thought Eris held you as prisoner, torturing you for information about the Night Court, about Feyre and Rhys, about their power.
You spent almost a year with Eris, the first few months in which you’d be left wholly alone. They’d broken contact with you once you willingly left their precious court. It wasn’t until you and Eris had set your date to be married, for you to take your place beside him on the throne, that they had resumed contact.
Desperate pleas to return home, where you belonged. You laughed when you read the first letter, how wrong they were. How they still couldn’t see how toxic their court and inner circle truly was to you. Feyre had both of her sisters, the ones she liked better. It took a special invitation from Rhys - extended to Eris, not you - that you’d decided to act. An invitation to the River House, to be exact: their own private home. It was a request for you both to join them for brunch, to all be together one last time before the wedding, in which Rhysand would offer your betrothed anything he wanted in return for you.
“How political,” the male whispered, fingers tracing deftly down your back. “You will make a fine High Lady.”
You tilted your head up to kiss him, to which he happily captured your lips in his. “And as a wife?” You whispered against his lips.
“Utterly irresistible.”
____________________________
After you’d spent the morning with Eris in a long, drawn out bath and dressing each other in your most exquisite clothes, you were ready to step foot in Velaris for the first time since you’d left. Eris pressed his palms down his blood red jacket, smoothing out the gold embellishments. As you turned to face him, he held your coat out for you and slung it over your shoulders. The thick wool was heavy, draping nearly to the floor, as you bundled yourself up for the Night Court winter.
Eris took your hands in his, warming you instantly. “You can still say no,” he reminded you, gazing down at you sweetly under his eyelashes. “I can think of much better ways to spend our day.”
“It took me nearly an hour to drag you out of the bath,” you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. “Now that I’ve convinced you to dress, we have to go. Otherwise all of my efforts would have gone to waste.” With a satisfied smile you gazed up at your future husband. His red hair swirled around his temples and you admired how his eyes sparkled with that same fire.
Eris smirked. “Half the fun is taking your clothes off.”
With a tut, and failed attempt to hide your growing smile, you shook your head. “Once we get back, I will let you take my clothes off.”
“No,” he sighed, hand dropping yours to run his hand along the collar of your coat, pulling the thick material between his fingers. “When we get back, you will take them off for me - ” his hand dipped below the hem of your coat, playfully tracing along the neckline of your dress, dipping a finger underneath, lighting a fire against your collarbone. “Layer by layer.”
He pulled the breath from your lungs as his finger danced over your flushed skin. You swallowed sharply, knees trembling with anticipation. Your eyelids nearly fluttered closed as he worked his way up your neck. Eris’s warm breath tickled your skin, leaving you surrounded with his scent: the last burning embers of a bonfire, the crisp fall air.
As soon as Eris leaned forward to press his lips to yours, you snapped out of it. “Eris,” you hissed, palms laying flat against his chest to keep him standing arms length away from you. He had already worked your coat half off, cloak falling loose from one shoulder.
He smiled down at you with pink tinged cheeks. You could have sworn you smelt his arousal. “Not so easily tricked,” he said coyly, twirling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. “I’m looking forward to your show later.”
You rolled your eyes, huffing a breathy laugh as you fixed your coat. “If Rysand doesn’t manage to kill you at brunch.”
At that, Eris took your hand, readying to winnow you to the house. “I’d like to see him try.”
Warm air swirled around you and you buried your face into Eris’s chest. His hand snaked around your back, holding you against him as you both appeared in the snowy streets of Velaris. Eris’s hand slung through your hair, brushing lightly against your scalp as his hand rubbed your back. The winnowing always made you dizzy, perhaps you hadn’t had enough time to adjust to your new Fae body, or merely hadn’t gotten used to the winnowing powers yet. You weren’t sure if you ever would.
You stepped away from Eris, the cold already biting at your nose as you swiveled around, spotting the River House not far off. You slipped your hand in Eris’s warm one and trudged your way through the freshly fallen snow. “It’s fucking freezing,” Eris said, kicking at the snow with his boot. “Who would choose to live in this?”
You laughed, peering up at him as your shoulder brushed his. “You know, when they were all warning me of all the terrible things about you, that first time we danced together in the Court of Nightmares, nobody mentioned you complained this much.”
A small smile pulled at his lips, he hadn’t felt a genuine smile in years. Not since you’d shown up. “Consider yourself lucky.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand. “I could simply not talk to you at all. Which, conveniently, is how I like to keep things with these Nightmare dregs.”
At that you rolled your eyes. A part of you was thankful, afterall. Eris had not turned out to be the male they’d made him out to be. He cared for your wellbeing, ensuring you were always comfortable and well fed in the Autumn Court. Beyond that, though, you’d broken down his walls, and he yours. You were able to confide in him, laugh with him, and hold him in your arms. He held you back just as tight, spending every evening with you.
The two of you strolled along the icy Sidra, the wind blew harshly off the water. You walked up the grand entrance to the River House, the cobblestones coated in white, not a footprint or trace of life to be seen, save for the glowing lights and smoke from the fireplace.
It was a house built on forced love. Two souls barred together by the Mother, forcing the two physically together despite any cognizant force. Despite what Feyre said, how much she told you of - and constantly physically showed - her love for Rhys, you still didn’t know how the Mother would will together two beings in Feyre’s darkest moments, as she lay dying for another male. She hadn’t been mated to Tamlin, yet she endured three months of pure torture for him. She’d fallen in love with Rhys only after he enacted their bargain - a visit every month. If she had learned to love Rhysand when she was stolen away to the Night Court, how come she couldn’t believe that you could love Eris after willingly going to Autumn?
Feyre was luckier than she knew. You’d wondered, in that moment, what happened between Eris’s parents. How fate was not always so kind as to mate you with the most powerful High Lord, with riches and glory galore. How your older sister had managed to end up with the alleged most accomplished general in Pythian history. Elain, gifted with some supposed magical powers, gifted a kind mate who she wouldn’t even spare a glance at. You wondered how it had been for those who had found their so-called mates, High Lords and esteemed generals alike, yet suffered greatly because of their powers and titles. Your heart ached for the Lady of Autumn, and all the tortoure she’d endured at the hands of her mate.
But through that, she had given you the greatest gift of all.
You supposed the mates worked out well enough for your sisters - for everyone in the Inner Circle. So they must have assumed it was that nice for everyone else. If you’d had a mate in the Night Court, they could hold him over your head like they had done for Nesta. How they wouldn’t allow her peace or a place to live, even, until she accepted him and only him into her bed.
They lived ignorantly in their grand River House, gaudy carpets and the smell of oil paint. All while the remainder of the Court of Nightmares suffered at the hands of Morrigan’s father, left to rot like the scum of the earth every other court thought them to be. You scoffed aloud as you climbed the stairs.
While you’d never be able to argue with the imbeciles of the Night Court - that they were as bad, if not worse, than Autumn - you’d taken pride in your new court, the court that would someday belong to your future husband, and you. If Rhys and Feyre wanted to remain blind to their own faults, that would be fine. They were hypocrites and there wasn’t anything you could do to change it.
But you wouldn’t sit idly by.
So, as you and Eris stood in front of the grand black door, you were prepared to tell them exactly that.
Eris glanced at you, white clumps of snow stuck to the loose strands of his hair, and offered you a firm nod. His cheeks and nose were red, contrasting harshly against his pale skin. He squeezed your hand and raised his other hand to knock, knuckles inches from the door, waiting for your signal.
You bit your lips and swallowed the lump in your throat, the nervousness that bit into your chest. You inclined your head, maybe only a centimeter, but enough for Eris to proceed, offering three sharp knocks against the solid door.
It swung open immediately, no doubt Azriel warning the High Lord and Lady upon your arrival the minute you’d winnowed in. Feyre stood in the doorway, a bright smile pulled across her lips, as she greeted you quietly. She stepped to the porch in nothing but her socks and sweater, and wrapped her arms around you. You would have stumbled backwards, if not for Eris’s hand pressing into your back, holding you steady. He cocked his brow at you, no doubt surprised at your sister’s hello. “You look well,” she said, her bright eyes scanning your face.
“I am,” you replied curtly, trying your best to start off on the right foot. While you and Nesta had always been close, coping with the aftereffects of the Cauldron very similarly, you’d seen first-hand how her apathy and coldness toward your youngest sister had affected her. You promised yourself you’d enter her court on a new foot - after all, they were the ones that presented you with the opportunity to dance with Eris, and to choose your new future for yourself.
“Come in, please.” You took one step in, Eris following quickly behind you, his hand not leaving the span of your back. Feyre’s gangly crew stood in the entryway a few feet back, all at attention, lined up in the hallway, as if this was well rehearsed.
Elain broke out in a quiet sob, tears welling up in her eyes and palm covering her mouth. Her own red-haired mate was nowhere to be seen, no doubt still an outcast among the group. Nesta stood beside her, stoic and firm, the silver fire in her eyes noticeably missing. Cassian stood behind her, mirroring the way Eris stood behind you, with his arms crossed and wings splayed widely. He flexed the muscles in his arms, shirt tight around his broad chest. Eris stood a bit straighter, challenging the Illyrian,a few inches taller than the black-haired male. Azriel lingered behind the lot of them, shadows swirling around him. While he’d never been one to attack you, insult your trauma after the Cauldron, or outwardly comment on your relationship with Eris, he’d never defended you, either. But you often thought of him as a friend, and felt deep down the two of you had some parallels, trapped in the Night Court with no sense of belonging.
Rhysand stood oh so casually, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His wings were nowhere to be seen and instead of dressing casually, like his mate wearing one of his sweaters, he wore the normal black jacket, material that no doubt cost more than what any of the others sported. That’s why Eris insisted on dressing you in your finest gown, it was something between the High Lords, the sense of who looks more powerful… even if it was just a meeting between family.
The two of them were to be brothers soon.
Feyre took your coats and ushered everyone down the hall, urging you all to be seated in the dining room, as brunch would be brought out soon. The others moved first, begrudgingly turning their backs to you to be seated. Nesta wrapped a slim arm around Elain, pulling her to her side and dragging her away by her side. Cassian stared at the Shadowsinger, then nodded his head toward you and Eris, indiscreetly telling his brother to keep tabs on Eris - or you - or probably both.
As you walked down the hall, you felt the eyes of hundreds staring at you. You hated being in that house. How Feyre had painted her most intimate moments with her mate and family, and had plastered it up on the walls for all to see. Every image, hers or not, was bolted large and high, leering eyes absorbing every detail.
The birth of baby Nyx. Nesta in the Rite. The Valkyries. The Illyrian males atop the mountain. These moments were not hers. They did not belong to her. Yet she was privy to every meeting, every conversation, every life event through that gods damned Daemati power.
There were no private moments shared in this Inner Circle. Not like what you and Eris had. If you’d stayed here, and by some Cauldron's blessed miracle you found a male or had one of these life altering experiences - been swooped up in the Rite or another war - every moment would be put on display for everyone else to see.
You noticed how Eris visibly cringed at each painting, how he shuddered as Feyre’s blue-grey eyes seemed to follow him down the hall. He leaned in close, lips nearly brushing against your ear. “Where are the paintings of you?”
You could have laughed, had it not been so tense. “Trashed.” Eris hummed in that insulting mocking way he so often did. It wasn’t a lie though, Feyre had painted you with the sisters curled up in the tattered bed at the cabin. But it was hidden away. Of all the memories strewn along those walls, that was not accepted. Perhaps Feyre couldn’t look at you now that you’ve ashamed and embarrassed her and her mate at their own ball. After all, your portrait was the only one noticeably missing. You scanned over the familiar faces, each of your sisters, Feyre’s new brothers, Morrigan, even Amren and Varian.
Eris’s hand brushed against yours. “I’d offer you hundreds of paintings if it weren’t so vain. Even I’m not that narcissistic.” At that you smiled, almost unsure if he was joking. Your heart swelled though, as you knew Eris would give you the world if you asked.
There were only two remaining seats in the dining room once you’d made it down the hall. It was so unlike the Court of Nightmares or the Autumn Court. No grand table, rows of empty chairs on either side. It was a narrow room with only ten seats.
You and Eris both were delighted to see Morrigan waiting at the end of the table. She held a babbling toddler on her lap, orange food smudged across his mouth and dribbling down his chin. His black hair curled away from his face, bright blue eyes that seemed to be exact copies of Feyre’s. You frowned, heart tightening a bit as you watched the baby flap his tiny bat-like wings. Your sister had been so excited for her family to grow, for all the Archerons and Illyrians to be together as a whole unit. Only for you to break her dreams of having a whole family.
At least, that’s what Rhys had said when you left.
Eris pulled one of the chairs out for you, which you took, and found yourself seated next to Nesta, Cassian to her other side. Eris sat beside you, which put him at the corner of the table, far too close to Rhys, who sat at the head.
Feyre strolled in and sat across her mate, calling in the servants, who brought out steaming hot trays of food. They placed them all at the center of the table simultaneously and left immediately. You glanced to Eris, who seemed unimpressed at the action. You weren’t expecting such a formal brunch, servants and so much prepared food, something you grew familiar with in the sophisticated Forest House. You’d been invited for a casual family brunch, so you’d thought.
You took a spoonful of porridge - the tray that was placed closest to you - and poured yourself some tea. You hadn’t managed an appetite all morning, since you woke up with the dread of this visit four hours ago. The table was utterly quiet, only the sounds of forks and knives scraping porcelain plates, and the giggling baby echoed off the walls. “This is Nyx,” Feyre said, running her tattooed hand over his black hair, gazing down at him fondly.
You smiled at your baby sister, so young and once so innocent, with her perfectly healthy child. “He’s beautiful,” you replied truthfully. You were happy for her - you tried to be, at least. Everything she’d wished for had come true. She had a home and a doting husband, a winged baby and large home, a whole new family. Feyre smiled in thanks, returning to tending to her son, cleaning his chubby cheeks with her napkin. You hadn’t met the heir to the Night Court; she’d only been a few months pregnant when you left for Autumn.
Everyone ate in silence until the High Lord spoke up. “Have there been developments on any gifts from the Cauldron?”
Eris choked on his water, a sight you’d never seen. He gaped at Rhysand, amber eyes shimmering with fire. He couldn’t stop himself from stifling a laugh, taking every offense to Rhys’s words. “That’s what you care about? You haven’t seen her in nearly a year, you’ve been allegedly so worried about her well-being, begging her to return to your precious court, and that’s the first thing you ask her about?”
Rhys’s jaw set, but he was cut off. “Every one of us was given something, it’s surprising that (Y/N) wasn’t. Unless she was and is hiding it.” You’d never heard Nesta come to Rhysand’s defense before. You weren’t sure you liked the sound of it too much.
“You’re starting to sound more and more like Amren,” you muttered, taking a sip of your tea, gazing down at the brown liquid before you.
“Funny you should mention that,” Cassian grumbled, stabbing his fork into the thick slab of meat on his plate. “Since you’re in her seat.”
“I’m sorry she and Varian had to make the sacrifice to miss brunch to make room for us,” you replied, setting your cup down a bit too harshly, eliciting a sharp noise from the glass.
“A sacrifice I was ready to take, as well,” Morigan mumbled from across the table, eyebrows raised at Cassian.
Before Eris could jump back in the conversation, Rhys stood at the end of the table. He pressed his palms against the wood, earning silence from the entirety of the room. Your eyes flitted to Feyre’s as she swooped Nyx up into her arms, holding him against her chest, rocking him back and forth. She shot Rhys a pleading look, to which he understood immediately, and nodded at her. You saw Elain wipe at the tears that streamed silently down her rosy cheeks.
“Join me in my office,” Rhysand said to Eris, barely able to even look at the male’s direction.
Eris stared blankly at Rhys, still seated, back immaculately straight. He dropped his hand to your knee and gave it a light squeeze from atop your dress. He turned when he offered you that same hand, standing and pulling you upright beside him. “Surely the matter at hand will be discussed with (Y/N),” he replied, ready to follow Rhys out of the room.
Rhys narrowed his eyes at the red-haired male. “I think this deal would be best discussed High Lord to…” he trailed off, you weren’t sure if he was outright intending to offend Eris, or simply couldn’t finish the sentence. You decided it was something of male ego, to flex his superior position.
Eris smiled the same smile the Autumn courtiers taught him so many years ago. “High Lord and High Lady,” he corrected. “To Autumn’s heir apparent, and his High Lady,” he replied smoothly, ushering you away from the table to stand before Rhys.
You had to admit, Eris calling you his High Lady made you stand a bit straighter and hold your head up a little higher. The male oozed confidence, always so calm and collected. You’d never seen him without the upper hand or at the mercy of the other High Lords. He knew these kinds of conversations were just duels of wit, and he was never the first one to back down.
Rhys bit back whatever comment was bubbling up as Feyre stood across the room. Nyx was once again in Morrigan's arms, and Feyre moved to join the three of you at the opposite end of the table. “Then let’s talk.” She smoothly walked past Rhys, not without giving him a warning look. You could tell they were mind-speaking, as they so often did, simply based on the twitch of Rhysand’s eyebrow and the plea in Feyre’s eyes.
You followed them down the hallway, Eris’s hand falling to rest on your hip as he huffed out a breath of annoyance. Your sister shuffled anxiously, thick socks gliding against the wooden floors. Rhys walked a half step behind her, as if ready to pounce between her back and Eris, should he choose to misstep.
Your fingers twisted before you, hands clasped together in nervousness. Being around the Inner Circle made you want to drink; something they so often did together, a pit that you and Nesta had fallen deep into. You wished there was a drink in your hand, something deep red or dark brown, to hold in your palms to hide your fidgeting.
Feyre led all of you past large black doors, which Rhys was quick to shut and ward. He sat behind the great desk and waved a hand over the surface, clearing away all the papers and maps strewn across the top. Feyre took a seat on his lap, propped up against his chest, legs crossed over his thighs. His hand snaked around her waist and her hands immediately fell to meet it.
You sat in the armchair on the other side of the desk, Eris in the seat beside you in a matching chair. You sat on the edge, hands held firmly in your lap, resisting the itch to reach out to him. Eris, ever so proper, sat tall in his chair, legs spread ever so slightly, boot-clad feet pressed firmly against the floor. His eyes washed over the artwork around the office, the Illyrian mountaintops and the sky on Starfall. He was caught up on the large portrait behind Rhysand, though, the larger-than-life self portrait of the High Lady. Lifeless blue eyes that stared straight back at him, her tattooed hand curled under her chin, and a glimmering crown atop her head.
Why there ever needed to be two of her staring into his soul, he would never know.
“The charade is over, Eris,” Rhysand began indifferently, lounging in his seat. The tone in his voice could have made you flinch, as it was the same one he used when he first dismissed you to Autumn. It’s her choice if she wants to go with you. “You’ve made your point in taking (Y/N). All we’re asking is that you release her back with her family.” Your choice, indeed.
Eris smiled, not an inch of him moving, remaining impossibly still as he countered the High Lord. “Does she look like she needs to be released?”
All eyes flitted to you, studying. You felt them scrutinizing your every flaw, from the quirk of your brow to the frown on your lips. You sucked in a breath and remained levelset, eyelids falling forward as your mask fell into a cast of pure boredom. You’d been watching Eris closely lately, picking up on his own mask of disinterest.
And he was quite impressed.
“You gave me the option to take Eris’s marriage proposal on my own free will,” you reminded Rhys, who, he himself, seemed impartial to what you had to say.
“He made the offer, (Y/N),” Rhys began slowly, emphasizing each word. “To keep the alliance between our courts for the upcoming war. And - ” his purple eyes flitted to the red-headed male. “ - should he need backing in a certain internal war.”
You swallowed your tongue, willing the Mother to give you the strength to not drop your facade and stare at Eris. He shot back immediately, though his words remained unrushed. “I do not need your assistance in dealing with my own father. And in regards to my future wife, she was never meant to be a tool in the game. I proposed because I want her by my side in the Autumn Court.”
“There is no need to return with him, (Y/N),” Feyre chimed in. “You have a room here, a life and family. Elain has been utterly beside herself since you’ve left. And Nesta has been so different without you.”
Different. Of course, without her drinking buddy or someone to bitch about Rhys to. She’d changed before you left, right at the time she had become mated to Feyre’s war general. She ought to have been glad you left, no longer the thorn in her side tying Nesta to her old life of sleeping around and drinking herself into a coma. Without you, she had been able to be molded into the female warrior they wanted. “They both seemed well to me.” Again, not entirely true, but at least Elain was out of her room, no longer shut away from all people and food, and Nesta was… out and about with her male companion.
“You missed her mating ceremony,” she added, after dipping into your thoughts.
You nodded. “I remember when she was disgusted by him and that word - ”
“She was apprehensive,” Feyre interrupted, leaning forward off her husband’s chest, not leaving his lap. “Look at her now, happily mated, married, and living her own life here in Velaris, on her own free will.”
“And that’s how I am living now, Feyre,” you replied, raising your voice more than intended. Your hands fell to the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the plush fabric. “The only difference is that I am not in your court. And I chose Eris.”
“It’s not real, (Y/N),” she interrupted. “He’s not your mate.”
“For some powerful High Lady, you are still somehow so blind. The Mother gives you a male you’re tethered to for the rest of your gods forsaken life and suddenly everyone needs to live the same way as you?”
“You don’t know everything, (Y/N),” she added, trying to settle herself back down in Rhysand’s arms. He watched the two of you, deciding some things were better left for siblings to resolve on their own. Afterall, he and his brothers had far harsher ways of dealing with their problems. “There is such a thing as fate. You’ll meet someone here that you actually love - ”
You narrowed your eyes at your younger sister but couldn’t bite your tongue. She really did live in her own little world. “Is that what you were telling yourself when you were dying for Tamlin? That you loved him and it was your fate to suffer - ”
“Enough, (Y/N),” Rhys cut in, eyes darkening and brow narrowing. “I will not have you speaking to my wife - your own sister, I might add - in such a way. And you ought to know that name is not to be mentioned in my home. I’ll only be advising you once.”
Eris rolled his eyes and couldn’t stop himself from teasing the couple. “Such a welcoming family, I wonder why she ever would have wanted to leave.”
“The only reason you were brought here,” Rhys continued. “Was to call off the alliance between our courts. You said it yourself, it’s unnecessary. You can leave (Y/N) out of it and take care of Beron yourself.” Eris remained silent and utterly still. You never wanted the Daemati gifts, but in that moment, you’d kill for it. He didn’t reply, perhaps he was weighing his options. “I will make it worth your while.”
Rhys refused to look anywhere but at Eris, not daring a glance at your eyes. Your heart lurched up into your throat, and you forced yourself to breathe slowly through your nose, working past the increase in your heart rate. You could feel the blood swirling in your ears, the room suddenly growing hotter the longer it took Eris to reply. “There is nothing you could offer me,” he stated simply, as if it were the only logical answer.
Rhysand conjured up a black box atop the desk, large enough to spread the whole surface. He opened it up and suddenly the room lit up, a silver glow casting over his features. “Three Made swords,” he explained, turning the box to face Eris. “The power of the Cauldron in each one. The silver flames that no longer exist anywhere else in the universe.” Feyre bit her lip.
Eris waved his hand at them, not even bothering to look inside. “You can keep your cursed blades.”
Rhys shot Feyre a look, as if to say I told you so, but continued on. “Then name your price. Money? Jewels? Diamonds?”
While in any normal instance, the male beside you would have loved to toy with Rhysand groveling to make a deal. He would have asked for land or riches from the other courts. He would have teased the male until they reached an agreement Eris knew would be near impossible for the Night Court to fulfill. His red eyes watched as Feyre toyed with the cuff links on Rhysand’s sleeve, waiting with baited breath for him to succumb to an agreement.
But when it came to you, Eris was in no mood to barter.
He stood and brushed his hands down his jacket with a huff. “(Y/N) is not a piece of property to be traded. She is far superior to anything you might offer - or any of you at all. It is an insult to think I would accept such meaningless trades, and an insult to my future High Lady and your sister that she is an object to be purchased.” Eris held a hand out to you.
Rhys stayed silent, defeated - maybe. Ready to give up - definitely.
You rolled your eyes and grabbed Eris’s hand. Feyre wasn’t about to plead with Eris to let you go. She simply sat atop her mate and let him handle it. He handled all matters. The same way he handled Nesta’s out-of-control drinking, by making Feyre cry at the breakfast table surrounded by her newfound family. She probably had to beg him to organize this meeting.
At the root of it all, Feyre didn’t want you back. She wanted her perfect little happy family together. She wanted Elain off her back, wondering what you were up to in Autumn; she wanted Nesta to quit drinking away her sorrows on evenings she missed you.
She didn’t miss you - she probably enjoyed the silence and the spare change in her pocket. You were no longer picking fights at bars, sleeping with random males, or ruining the reputation of the High Lady of the Night Court. You could only assume that the morning breakfasts were much happier while you were gone, no longer forced to have any conversations on how you were a toxin to the court.
“Remove the wards,” Eris ordered, peering down at Rhysand and Feyre. Rhys looked half like he wanted to snap at the Autumn heir, probably for some final satisfaction, or simply to prove that Eris couldn’t order him around. But with one look at Feyre, her eyes fallen to the floor below, completely done with the conversation and the two Fae standing before her, Rhysand waved a hand and lifted the spell.
Eris bitback his snarky farewell comment - something about revoking their invitation to the wedding (which he would gladly do) - and winnowed you away without so much as another glance at the High Lord.
His arms wrapped around you when you’d landed in Autumn, the soft sound of the crackling hearth surrounded you as Eris had taken you right to your bedroom. He pulled you tightly against his chest, bowing his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head.
You selfishly dreamt what the pull of that mating bond felt like. The one that so easily swayed Feyre’s decision, that had her head filled with nonsense and shrouded her free-will. The one that so securely bound your sisters to their mates, and the lady of Autumn to her husband way back when. Something so primal and desperate, that you’d be mated to someone you hated, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.
You looked up at Eris, meeting his soft red eyes and the frown that pulled across his lips. His brows were pulled taught in frustration, pity perhaps. You were almost embarrassed at the charades the Night Court had pulled to try to have you sent back to their court, if you weren’t already outright offended by their gesture. His fingers drew back and forth against your back, through the thick material of your dress, reminding you that he was a constant, and that he wouldn’t let you out of his arms, nor trade you for any amount of money or treasure.
Your arms wrapped around him and you dragged your hand up to the nape of his neck, running your hand through his hair. You couldn’t muster a false smile, not even in reassurance that you were feeling alright. You weren’t, but he knew that and already accepted it. He had his own shitty family to deal with, he was no stranger to the feeling. He leaned forward into your touch, dropping his cheek against the top of your head and hugging you tightly.
You wondered if you could grow a mating bond. That if perhaps you could come to realize you’d met your perfect equal, your exact opposite, that you could feel that same innate tie in your chest, have that otherworldly pull to one another. You twirled a red curl between your fingers. Perhaps you’d one day have that with Eris.
#eris x reader#eris vanserra x reader#eris x you#eris vanserra x you#eris/reader#eris vanserra/reader#eris fanfic#eris vanserra fanfic#eris fanfiction#eris vanserra fanfiction#eris acotar#acotar#eris/you#eris vanserra/you
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Another Love - Alternate Ending
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Based on this ask
Original here
Summary - Azriel knows you'd never leave his side, no matter what, but when his new situationship with Elain takes over his every living moment and he takes advantage of your feelings, you make the only decision you can to save yourself only for him to hurt you in a way you never thought he could.
Warnings - ANGST, fluff, swearing, neglect, abuse of feelings, mentions of death, slight grovelling, lots of sadness, feminine rage
Word Count - 6.5k jeez
The clock ticked away, idly counting the seconds by, seconds that turned to minutes, and minutes that turned to hours, hours that Azriel had seemingly forgotten about the promise he had made to take you to the theatre.
The cobalt blue bow in your hair, that you had chosen to perfectly match him, swayed sadly as you moved about your room with a heavy heart, hanging up the dress you had bought especially for the occasion and changing into something more comfortable to wallow in self-pity.
It had become normal, his lateness, his nightly visits became later and shorter until they had stopped all together, well, that is until he needed something from you, and you would give him whatever he asked for, no matter how much it hurt you.
You had been a part of the Inner Circle for over 500 years, you were one of the originals, growing up in the camps with Rhys, Cassian and Azriel, Rhys' mother protected you fiercely, and you were very close to Selene, your chosen sister. You were the one they turned to for everything, you were wise and brutal, an incredible warrior and tactician, but also soft and kind; you were the blue break in a sky of storm clouds, you were the spring breeze that cut through the edge of winter, you were everything.
A thing Azriel knew all too well.
It didn't surprise you when Azriel had become fond of Elain, like it didn't surprise you when he had pined after Mor for all those years, completely looking over you in the process. Elain was a soft and fragile thing, she was quiet and graceful, and Azriel was completely besotted by her. A fact that made your heart curse your stupidity, cursing the hope you had willed into it that maybe he would finally see you.
It was no secret that you and Azriel were the closest out of all of the members of your growing family, you had shared 500 years of respect and adoration for one another.
Azriel was by your side when Selene had so brutally lost her life, he had held your hand through the depression and brought you back to life. Azriel knew every single thing that you loved and hated, he knew what every facial expression meant, he knew every tick of your body language which silently conveyed how you were feeling. Azriel knew you better than anyone, even better than he knew himself. The map of you laid etched bare on the back of his hand, a map he used to scour daily, but now barely even glanced at.
It wasn't so one sided.
You knew Azriel better than anything, and you knew a lot. 500 years of life pointed to a rich knowledge. You were the one who cleaned him up after a mission, you're the one who mended his broken bones and washed his turmoil away. You were the one who helped him overcome his insecurities with his hands. You were the one his shadows shot to at family dinners. You were the one who sang him to sleep when his demons had become to much. There was nothing you wouldn't do for Azriel, even if it meant standing on the side-lines until he wanted you.
Moonlight streaked along the floor of your bedroom, cascading across the pale blue of your comforter and drifting along the edges of your antique furniture. The dress you had wanted to wear to the theatre hung off the frame of your mirror, rippling softly in the gentle breeze that entered through the slightly ajar window.
It was silly to feel upset, you knew Azriel didn't owe you any of his time, but you had really thought he would pull through, especially after you had told him how much you missed spending time with him.
Interrupting your damaging thoughts, your door opened to reveal Azriel, who looked annoyed and not at all in knowing of his lateness or the promise that now lay in tatters in your chest. From the look on his face, you knew instantly that Elain was the one who plagued his mind, she was the cause of it every time he had come to see you recently.
Huffing, Azriel trudged to your cream living area, propping his feet up on the antique table you had asked him to be careful with far too many times and sinking into the cushions. He hadn't spared you a glance as he entered, he didn't note his colour in the form of a bow in your perfectly styled hair, he didn't see the sadness in your eyes laced with that naïve hope that he may have turned up to apologise for being late. He didn't see you.
"What happened this time?" You inquired, wrapping yourself tighter into your robe and sliding into the seat beside him, tucking your legs underneath you and propping your head in your palm as you stared at him.
Azriel was beautiful, scars and demons and all, the height of his cheekbones, those hazel oceans of a thousand emotions, the golden skin and arched brows, the curve of his muscles under his second skin, everything about him was intoxicating.
"Lucien," Azriel through his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose, "I was so close to kissing her, so close, Y/N. And then Lucien walked in, he ruined it."
The revelation had stung, he'd never admitted to you to being close to kissing Elain before, it was always a myriad of stolen glances and ghosting touches, of hushed words laced with a million differing meanings. But never a kiss.
Azriel paid no mind to the hurt that radiated from you, he knew it was there, he always knew it was there but he couldn't focus on it.
Only an idiot could be blind to the clear feelings you had toward Azriel, the way you looked at him was not the way a friend looked at another friend, no matter how close they were. Azriel knew that he could never truly push you away, no matter how much you were hurting you'd never leave, he knew that, he knew you'd always be there for him to fall into.
It was so awfully wrong, but he lapped in serenity you gave him, in that unwavering loyalty, and he had no intention to stop drinking from your fountain of love.
"Lucien is her mate, Az. He's bound to not like whatever it is that's going on between you," your voice was gentle and full of understanding, your hand rested on his shoulder and he felt any anger disappear almost immediately. That's what your touch alone could do to him, bring him immeasurable peace.
"I know," he sighed, opening his eyes and turning his head to the side to look at you, a small smile tugged at his lips when he noticed how pretty you looked, with your hair parted just how he liked it, and with a bow tied neatly at the back, "I still think that the cauldron was wrong," your face faltered when he immediately continued on his weekly rant, "It gets it wrong sometimes, we know that. It's wrong, it has to be."
All you wanted was for Azriel to be happy, he deserved it more than anyone you knew. Rhys had found Feyre, who you adored tremendously. Cassian had found Nesta, who had become a very good friend of yours. So, you couldn't blame Azriel for believing that Elain was fated to be his, three brothers for three sisters. Even you had to admit that it made sense, The Mother moved in mysterious ways.
You plastered a smile on your face, you vision catching the satin of your new dress moving softly against the breeze, "Maybe it is," Azriel hummed at your words before continuing on, listing everything he adored about Elain.
"I wish sometimes that she was you, you know? That her and I could be like this, with no one watching over us, to be able to spend time alone and do whatever we wanted to do and talk about anything," it was like he didn't realise what he exactly he was wishing for.
Azriel wanted you to be Elain, so that he could have the life he dreamed of. Elain. Not you. Elain.
You weren't good enough for him.
"I hope you get to that point one day, Az," your voice was strained from holding in your strangled sobs, "I'm tired, can we talk about this more tomorrow?"
"Sure," Azriel smiled at you, rising from his seat and heading to the door, standing in the doorway and looking back at your form still glued to your spot, "I like your bow, Y/N. Blue suits you, always has," and then he closed the door behind him, you waited a few moments before letting your sobs flow through your lips and ripping that damned bow from your hair.
Azriel would never see you the way you begged to be seen, and you couldn't sit around and be the one he fell back to when life wasn't going his way.
More days had passed, more days of Azriel complaining to you, more days of Azriel wishing that Elain and you had switched paths so that he could finally get what he was owed.
Azriel didn't care for your tear stained skin, he didn't care for your weary eyes whenever you spoke of Elain to you.
It was awful that he knew exactly what he was doing, he was abusing your relationship with him, he knew you'd never walk away from him, he knew you'd never be able to put your foot down and tell him to cut it out.
The idea of a mate had him completely obsessed, obsessed to the point that he became blind to what was right in front of him, what had always been in front of him. That blind faith in your loyalty crumbled in his fingers once Rhys had told him that you had decided to purchase your own home in the city, a home away from them all.
"What?" Azriel had asked from his place at the dinner table, bewildered by the news given to them once he had asked where you were.
Nesta knew the exact reason why you had decided you separate yourself from them, you couldn't handle the rejection anymore, and you couldn't begin to heal from the decades worth of heartbreak under the same roof as Azriel and Elain. Nesta knew you held no ill feeling toward her youngest sister, you were too kind for that, you knew it wasn't her fault that Azriel came to you each time something went wrong in their situationship, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
"She left, Az," Mor had cried when Rhys had pulled her to one side that afternoon to tell her that you had decided to move into the home that Rhys had bought you after you had made it clear that you needed your own space, and Rhys had spent an hour trying to convince his cousin that your decision was not impacted by anything any of them did.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Azriel asked his brother who frowned, Feyre grabbed Rhys' hand and squeezed it in hers, "She can't just leave, Rhys."
"She has every right to after everything she's done for all of us, she deserves some peace," Rhys spoke calmly, snapping his fingers and allowing the sentient home to rid the plates and serving dishes from the table.
Azriel was speechless, he felt a frantic pull in his body, one that was poisoned with desperation at the thought of you being anywhere else than under the roof of the River House, the home you had spent a century redecorating and perfecting, paying special attention to each room to make it feel as homely as possible.
He didn't believe it as his chair groaned against the floor and he took off up the stairs toward your room, pushing his way through the doors to find it completely empty. No pictures hanging on the walls, no lines of hooks containing an array of ribbons in different hues, no dresses draped over your mirror, no antique furniture. It was all gone, and the scent of you that was usually so strong that it drowned him was a whisper in the atmosphere.
You had left.
Anger bubbled within him, how could you leave without saying anything? How could you move out of your shared home without a single word? How could you leave him after 500 years at his side?
Azriel flung open the doors to your balcony, a balcony plush with fresh flowers and greenery, he flexed his wings and hurtled himself into the starlit sky, allowing his shadows to peel from his body and search every inch of Velaris until they returned to him reeking of your scent and pulled him down to a small townhouse along the bank of the Sidra.
It was a charming home, pale brickwork, large bay windows, golden light emitting from them, and a large garden full of rich wildlife and botanicals. Your scent flowed from the closed oak door, lavender and honey with a hint of firewood and he found himself following that smell up the winding path until he was knocking on your door.
Golden light flowed from the home as you opened the door. You were dressed in denim overalls that were spatted with cream paint, you hair was loosely bound on the top of your head, and your face was full of uneasy surprise as you looked at him, "Az, what are you doing here?"
Azriel pushed past you and stood in the centre of your hallway, listening to your deep exhale as you closed the door. The space was pretty, it was very you, the walls were half painted cream from their original sage colour that you were obviously painting over, the coving was white and saturated with intricate little sketches of leaves, the carpet was a rich brown and had clearly been laid that day from how interrupted it looked, the only pattern on it being the imprints of your bare feet. Azriel didn't stop his shadows as they extended from him and scoured each part of your new home, nodding with approval and curling around your fingers in understanding adoration.
White sheets were draped over your perfectly placed furniture, to protect it from the paint no doubt, and the same tarp lay at the foot of the walls to protect the carpet. Music drifted softly about the room, and boxes upon boxes of books lay open, with some of them idly placed on shelves to get them out of the way to be sorted properly at a later date.
"It's true? You've really left," he noted the intricately presented kitchen, white cabinets and exposed wooden beams, just like you always wanted.
You rounded him, walking into your new living space, bending down to pick up one of your plant pots before placing it on the window ledge, your back faced him but he could see the pain in your features through the reflection in the window, "Yes, I live here now."
"No. No. You're coming home with me, this is ridiculous," his heart was beating a mile a minute, he couldn't think straight, all that was consuming him was the reality that his fear had come to fruition, that the one person he believed would never leave him had actually walked away.
"I'm not coming back, Azriel," you told him softly, and he saw your shoulders rise and fall with each deep inhale of breath you forced your lungs to take.
Then you turned to him, in the middle of the home that you were trying to make yours, a home away from him, "I thought you'd never leave me. You can't leave me. You're my best friend, I need you."
"No, you don't. You need someone to fall back onto when life isn't going your way, that's all I am to you now," you felt your heart breaking, you felt it shattering in your chest, "I can't be the one you turn to when something becomes between you and Elain. I can't be the one you wish was her. I can't do it anymore, Az. You've taken advantage of me for too long. You promise me the world and show up empty handed. You don't realise I even exist until you need someone to complain to and I just can't do it anymore."
Azriel knew every word you were saying was the truth, he knew he had been using you, but he never expected you to actually walk away from him, you were supposed to love him too much to leave.
Your heart was in the palm of his hands and he knew it, he knew you'd spent hundreds of years falling deeper in love with him each passing day whilst he pined for someone else. The fact of your departure made a bitter monster appear in his mind, he allowed it to tug on the venom in his heart, he allowed it to control him, "Aren't you supposed to be in love with me?"
Azriel watched your eyes widen and a breathless gasp fall from your lips, "You know?"
The Shadowsinger scoffed, "Of course I know. Only a fool wouldn't be able to see it," he saw your face contort into painful sorrow but did nothing to stop himself from saying, "I've known for years. I've known that you'd never leave, you've always been the one that I come to for anything I need and you never complain or tell me to leave. You made it easy to take advantage of you."
A tear slid down your cheek but Azriel made no move to wipe it away, "I want you to leave."
"I'm not leaving without you."
Fire roared in your eyes, "You have no right to command me after what you've knowingly done. I honestly thought that you didn't know, that it was innocent and that you just needed my advice. Now I know that you've willingly abused my kindness, Azriel, you can rot in hell," the tears didn't stop flowing from your eyes, your voice was strained and sore, your chest was so tight that you thought it may stop beating all together, "Get. Out!"
Azriel had left you then, he had left your door wide open and soared into the skies, leaving you in the home that was now tainted by his deceit.
It had been months since Azriel had seen you, Nesta and Feyre had practically forbid him from going anywhere near your home, that being from the land or sky. But that didn't stop him from allowing his shadows to slither under your front door or linger in the streets, he was desperate to know how you were.
Azriel hated himself for what he had said to you, he hated himself for taking advantage of you. In some way he tried to justify it, you were too good for him, he didn't want to ruin you, but it was clear that he already had.
Your absence had left a void that no one could fill, not even Elain despite her efforts, even the thought of her made his stomach drop and sickness swirl to the point where he couldn't bring himself to be around her. All Elain did was remind him of how he failed you.
Azriel had tried writing to you since you wouldn't see him, he gave the letters to Feyre and Nesta, the latter of which still saw your daily, and grew colder toward him with each passing moment. Even Cassian did nothing to hide his disappointment in him, and Rhys had some very telling words to express once Feyre had told him the truth of what had happened in your home that night.
Nothing was working, things with Elain were strained and difficult, the problems between them so raw and everyone's opinions so disapproving that it created a distance between them that was unmanageable.
Then it dawned on him that nothing was working with Elain because it wasn't meant to. The person who was meant to be his had been under his nose for 500 years, and now wanted nothing to do with him.
Cassian had pulled Azriel from his thoughts by stepping through the threshold of his room, "Are you coming to training?"
"Tell me how to fix it," Azriel lifted his head from his hands and turned his head toward Cassian who sighed in reply, moving to the bed to sit beside Azriel, "I need to know how to fix it."
"Only you can figure that out, Az," Cassian spoke to him, throwing his arm over Azriel's shoulder before continuing, "Y/N loves you Az, she has for 500 years. A few months apart won't change that. You're really fucking stupid for this though, she's the only one of us who knew the exact right thing to do and say every time. Y/N deserves more than the basic requirements of respect, she deserves the world in the palm of her hand and a person who loves her more than he loves himself. Don't bother her unless you can do that."
It was the anniversary of Selene's death, and the day hadn't gotten any easier for you to deal with.
Rhys and you had made a habit of doing something together each year, though, Azriel was the one to accompany you when Rhys had gone Under the Mountain. The location was sacred to you, you and Rhys would bundle yourselves up in blankets and watch the sun set over the Sidra, you'd rehash old memories and stories, ones that you both knew the script to by heart, but that never got old.
Your High Lord had tried to convince you to come home, but didn't push you when you had told him no. Your life had began to feel rather empty without the family antics that consumed your day-to-day life.
"I miss her," you had told him sadly, your head rested on his shoulder as the sun tipped her toes into the water in the distance, the sky grew darker each passing minute.
Rhys hummed, holding you closer to his side, "So do I," he replied with equal sadness, you had all grown up together, you basically were his sister by blood, and when you both had lost her, it only made him clutch to you more, "She'd nail Az's balls to the wall for sure."
A laugh passed through your lips before it died in your throat, you had done your best to not think about Azriel despite him owning your soul, you had done your best to heal from what he had done, but even then, you missed him more than anything, "How is he?"
It was the first time you had asked about him since before you had moved to your new home which was now fully decorated and yours, thanks to Rhys, Feyre and Nesta who made it their priority to help you settle, "He's-" Rhys couldn't lie to you, he was never able to even when you were younger, "-Not great. He misses you, he hates himself for what he said to you that night."
"I'd hate myself too," you had hummed, shifting to stand on the stone ledge where you and Rhys had sat, wanting a better view of the sun as it began to disappear against the horizon.
A familiar cold kiss pecked at your ankles and you looked down to see those shadows you had missed so dearly meandering around where you stood. Cedar entered your lungs and you shivered in painful delight as his warmth curled around your back.
"Y/N," his voice was deep and rough, it was pleading, you looked to your side and found that Rhys had vanished. That damn meddler. "Please look at me."
Not able to say no to that voice, you indulged the Shadowsinger and turned on the balls of your feet to peer upward at him. Azriel had his wings neatly tucked behind his back, his hands dangled at his sides, and his head was hung low. He looked terrible.
"Why are you here?"
Azriel clenched his jaw, he didn't expect you to be happy to see him, but it didn't stop the self hatred from growing in every single cell of his body, "I know how hard today is for you, I just wanted to see if you were alright."
"Well I'm fine, so you can go now," you made a move to walk away, to take the path down the edge of the Sidra to your home which had become your haven away from reality.
Though, you didn't get very far, perhaps two steps before Azriel's fingers curled around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and pulling you back to him, "Y/N, I don't even know how to apologise in the way that you deserve. I don't know how to say sorry and make you feel like I see and hear you."
"What I did was disgusting, I hate myself for it. I never should have taken advantage of you like that, you've done everything to help me the entire time that I've known you and I ruined everything for someone I don't even want. I've always wanted a mate, you know that, and I got so carried away with wanting it that I completely ignored the only person who's ever truly loved me for me despite all of the horrid things I have done. Elain isn't you, Y/N. No one compares to you. No one makes me feel safe like you do, no one makes me feel alive like you do, and no one can make me hope for death by their void like you do."
"I am yours, Y/N. I always have been. I couldn't be the reason you ever got hurt, I couldn't be the one to risk extinguishing that glorious fire in your soul. You are the only one I cannot bear to lose, the thought of losing you terrifies me, it always has, and instead of protecting you, I took advantage of you and pushed you away because I would rather hurt someone else with everything that I am than hurt you with just a a part of it."
"I'm so stupid for ignoring you, I'm a prick for using you as my security blanket rather than let you in, you know me better than I know myself, you love me more than I could ever imagine, and it terrified me because I couldn't let myself love you. I couldn't let myself taint you."
Azriel lifted his hands, cupping your face in his palms and you could see every inch of despair within him, that conflicted flame dancing within his soul, "I'm not asking you to forgive me, I don't think I will ever be able to forgive myself after what I've done to you. I'm not asking for anything from you. I just need you to know that no matter how severe your storm, I promise I won't leave your side, I'll stay with you through the howling winds that whip my cheeks raw and red. I will stay and hold you when the night leaves you shivering and give you space when when your searing heat pushes you into a fiery rage. I will stay and love you in whatever way you crave, whether that be from next to you or from wherever you cast me to."
"Azriel-" tears flowed freely from his eyes and you knew he meant every word he was saying. Every single word was being plucked from the core of his essence.
"I know that you're scared, and that you don't trust me. I'm scared too. But you're the only one I can face love with because I only want to feel it with you. At the end of the day I want it to be you and me, I want your early mornings and late nights, I want you on your good days and bad. I will never stop wanting you. I will never stop needing you filling my lungs like oxygen and giving me life."
Azriel dropped his forehead onto yours, and you felt your own cheeks dampening from your own tears at his words, "I love you, Y/N. I will always love you, even if you don't want me to, even if you decide to walk away from me I will not stop loving you. I am so thankful for you, and I know I haven't shown that, but if you give me one more chance, I will show you exactly the man you have made me into. I will give you the world you have always dreamed of. My soul is yours until you stop loving me. Please. Please."
There was a silence as you contemplated his words, maybe he did mean them, but it still didn't detract from the clear fact that he had knowingly abused your love of him, that he had knowingly taken advantage of you.
"No," Azriel physically winced as you removed yourself from his embrace, his forehead and fingers crying at the loss of your touch, his shadows retracted like they had been burned, withering away before his eyes.
"No?"
"No, Azriel," you wiped your cheeks free of your sadness which had turned into rage, "You can't come here on my hardest of days to confess your love for me after abusing me endlessly, after overlooking me our entire lives for others. I will not be your second, third, or last choice. If I'm not your first choice then I don't want to be a part of it at all. I loved you, Az. I loved you more than my lungs needed air to survive, I would have done anything for you. I did do everything for you. And this is how I'm repaid, by being consciously used to inflate your precious ego?"
"Y/N, no, it wasn't like that," he reached for you and you took a step back, the stars illuminated the sky in their richly elegant glow, and you could feel Selene wrap her heavenly arms around you and tell you to stick it to the man.
"But it was Azriel. It was like that. First it was Mor who you pined after for decades, I could deal with it then, I knew how much you wanted to be loved and cherished, and with Mor, you never came to me and complained, it was like you didn't even want her. But then Elain, you made me so small and insignificant, you had the gall to wish she was me, you knew I loved you and you chose to say that?"
"Y/N, please-"
"Stop fucking talking," you hissed, "I do not live to serve you, the purpose of my life is not to be your maid and mother and nurse so you don't have to lift a finger. I am not your therapist or path to live out your pathetic picket fence dream. I am Y/N, I was your best friend, I would have given you everything and I did even when you gave me nothing and I am done. I am done being the thing you can throw aside and pick up when you want to feel good about yourself. I'm done."
Your body felt ten times lighter, like you had just off loaded all of the rage that had been stacked within your mind and soul directly to the person who deserved to know just how vile they had been to you.
"I never want to talk to you again. I'm not sorry, the only one to blame for everything falling apart is you and your whimsical other-worldly dreams. Grovel your heart out, Az, you're never going to know about my life from here on out. I forbid it."
And then you left, you had left Azriel stood on that rock looking the most broken you had ever seen him, even his shadows had fully retreated into his body, wounded by your words and ashamed of their master. They had just lost their favourite thing in the world.
He had continued to try and get your attention in the weeks that followed, appearing on the streets and trying to speak to you to which you wholly ignored, he had showed up at Rita's and tried corner you, begging you to just listen, but you looked right through him.
Rhys had agreed to give you a different position, one that would mean less opportunity to bump into Azriel. You had become an emissary to the Night Court, Rhys' most trusted one at that, and you travelled Prythian and kept bonds alive and strong between the courts.
The Inner Circle were mostly just polite to Azriel, they respected your decision, some even admired it, and Azriel stood and watched as Elain accepted the bond with Lucien, feeling foolish for ever believing that he was deserving of such a sacred thing.
Every time you had returned home, Azriel would have all manners of gifts delivered, from pastries to fine jewellery and dresses . It had gotten so out of hand that you had to scream into Rhys' mind to get his brother to stop. You had kept your word, you didn't speak to him even when you did see him.
And soon enough he stopped, he didn't linger in the streets or on the bank of the Sidra, his shadows no longer followed you, no more gifts arrived at your home that was bursting with new wonder. Azriel had finally realised that no amount of pleading words or pretty things would bring you back to him. You were gone.
The hope that had filled his heart, that had broken the shadow shrouding his soul, when Rhys had announced that you were joining them for dinner that evening, was enough to bring some happiness to him. Azriel had been a ghost of himself, wallowing in self pity and loathing, completing his missions to a far more gruesome degree before returning home and tending to his own wounds. No one was there to help him anymore.
You were ethereal, you had stepped through the door with a happiness he hadn't seen in your in decades, your skin was glowing and your eyes were bursting with happiness. You were dressed in a ornately stunning forest green dress, one that he had never seen before, and you sat in your usual seat, that one that had laid empty for thirteen months wedged between Feyre and Nesta's chairs, the one they glanced at longingly each day.
Yet again, you avoided Azriel, but not obviously in a sense, you just negated to recognise his presence entirely. The only thing you did recognise were his shadows that pecked your wrists, and he willed you to look at him, instead, you only smiled at the shadows and that was enough to make them feel validated and still loved by you.
Rhys had asked how you'd been and you didn't relent on sharing your tales from your travels across the continent, from the libraries in the Day Court that Helion had given you access to, to learning the healing powers from the top healers in Dawn, you were enriched with knowledge and you were loving every moment.
"I do have some news," you spoke and if Azriel hadn't been listening to your stories, which he certainly was because it made him feel like a part of your life again, he was definitely listening to you now.
Azriel noticed the blush creeping up your cheeks and the bashful look in your eye, he watched your chest rise and fall shakily as you tried to form the words to tell them what you needed to. Azriel knew that look, because that's how you used to look when you were thinking about him.
"I found my mate," you had admitted, and your eyes found him for the first time in over a year, they held sympathy within them, and he felt all of the air rush from his lungs.
Your look only lasted a couple of seconds before Rhys wrapped you up in his arms, laughing joyfully at the news as the rest of the room, even Elain and Lucien, stood to congratulate you, everyone but him.
"Do we know him?" Feyre asked, her blue-grey eyes brimming with happy tears, all they wanted was to you to find your happiness, in whatever way that would be gifted to you.
You nodded, a love-sick smile on your face, "You do, we've already accepted the bond, and I know you may not approve but I need you to, for me? He's coming tonight, I want you all to meet him."
Rhys kissed your forehead and Azriel felt the fire rage within his chest, he'd give anything to have your skin under his lips again, "Of course," the door sounded and Azriel felt as though he was in a fever dream.
You had a mate. His Y/N had found her mate.
You had inhaled deeply and squeezed Feyre's hands in your own before you left the room, the muffled muttering of your voice conversing with your mate sounding to Azriel's left. He knew they were glancing at him, but they didn't say a word, and he didn't meet their gazes, he didn't look up until your scent mixed with another's entered the room. The perfect harmony of lavender and pine, of spiced oranges and honey.
"I believe you all know Eris," he heart dropped to his stomach and Azriel felt the room spin as he looked toward you, toward Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court, who gently laid his hand on your hip and pressed his lips to your temple.
Eris had become an ally after overthrowing Beron, Mor had forgiven him for his past transgressions, Rhys had even considered him a friend. Eris Vanserra was your mate.
The room audibly gasped and rushed to you both, hugging and congratulating you, so unbelievably happy that you had found your person, "The moment I saw her in my court I knew it was her. It snapped for me before she realised it, but I couldn't have anyone else whilst knowing that this beautiful creature was out there fated to be mine," his eyes were full of love, unblemished untainted pure love, and yours twinkled in reply as you unveiled the large sapphire on your ring finger, "Y/N is set to become my High Lady. I promise you all that I will cherish her every moment of every day. I am so irrevocably in love with her and I just know that our souls will find one another in every universe we may wander into. She's my everything and I will always choose her. Always."
Azriel watched you, doing his best to simmer down the fire raging within his heart, he looked at your bright smile and sparkling eyes, he roamed your glowing skin and inhaled your mated scent, and then his gaze fell on the barely there swell of your stomach and he decided in that moment that you were divine and untouchable, and that he would finally let you go if it meant that you'd be happy and breathe the life that you were meant to own.
A life full of the love that no one deserved more than you.
Authors Note
I think I like this version better..
@saltedcoffeescotch @fxckmiup
#imagine#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar imagine#fanfiction#maasverse#rhysand#mor acotar#cassian#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#azriel fic#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#feyre x rhysand#feyre archeron#nesta#elain archeron#elain x lucien#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader#rhys acotar#azriel angst#sarah j maas#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar x y/n
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A Court of Fire and Desire: Chapter 5
Chapter 5 is now uploaded on AO3!
Did she despise him, or did she love power so much that it rendered his existence inconsequential to her? A mere stepping stone towards her goal? But what was that goal, precisely? With her being Alistair's daughter, it was easy to assume power was the aim, but then again, when the globmire had attacked, she hadn't defended herself. One would expect someone of her power to incinerate the gruesome creature with a mere thought, but she had stood there, almost as if she was unable or, perhaps more bafflingly, as if she didn't know of how to.
#acotar#autumn court#eris vanserra#acotar fandom#lady of autumn#beron vanserra#eris x oc#eris vanserra fanfiction#acotar fanfiction#eris gets served#he's a bit of an asshole in this one#but sexy asshole
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Forgotten Starlight (Eris Vanserra X OFC) Part Four
TW: mention of violence, mention of imprisonment, blood
***
For a few days, nothing happened. Rowena adjusted to living in what she had discovered were Eris’ private quarters and after Narvla’s visit so did a wealth of dresses that were tailored to accommodate her wings. Rowena didn’t second guess it once she felt the rich velvets and satins caress her skin. And for a few days it was enough to just delight in new clothes, copious space, and more books than she had seen in years, but she was lonely.
Beron had let Eris have just one day to rest before he called his eldest to his side. From the time Rowena woke up to the time she closed her eyes, she was alone. She knew she wasn’t trapped in these rooms but she didn’t want to leave them without Eris. She didn’t know what or who laid beyond his warded doors that only a select few people were allowed to enter. It was on the fourth day that Narvla came bustling into the Eris’ rooms with a grim smile on her face followed by equally dower looking servants.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Rowena asked nervously as she laid her book aside and thoughts of Eris being in danger made her blood fill with fear.
Narvla wasted no time and spared no comforting words when she spoke to the young female. “Beron knows. He wants you before him in the next hour.”
Rowena’s heart sped up and she sprang from her seat and raced behind Narvla into the room that Eris and her had begun to unintentionally share. The next hour had no less than half a dozen fae worrying, poking, and polishing Rowena until the female she saw blinking back at her in the mirror looked unrecognizable. Her hair had been pinned up and small gold and silver stars dotted her head like a crown. She had been slipped into a golden dress that shone like the sun and she stood as still as a statue.
“Rowena,” Narvla urged and smoothed a stray hair back into place. The worrying gesture of a mother. “We need to go. Beron doesn’t like to wait.”
Rowena straightened her shoulders and let the crown of stars on her head pull her up. She was the daughter of a High Lord once. She knew how to walk into a room and hold her head high. She had been the daughter of a High Lord once. She could do this.
As she was led down the winding halls of the Forest House Rowena felt old pieces of an old life fall into place. They were old and rusty and didn’t quite fit right anymore, but they were there and they would have to be enough.
“When was the last time you had to face a Court?” Narvla asked as she smoothed her own dress.
Rowena let threads of power illuminate her body. She let power she didn’t understand take over, “I was sixteen.”
As the doors swung open Rowena steeled her eyes until they were well honed violet blades that could cut down an army of fae. She let her body glow with power and she refused to look anywhere but at Beron. She refused to acknowledge the blood dripping from Eris’ bloodied body or the way his face swelled as he stood by his father and how her heart screamed for her to run to him. She kept her steps even and calculated. Refusing to back down from Eris’ calculating and cruel gaze. She imagined what it would be like for the High Lord of the Autumn Court’s head to roll from his shoulders. She wondered how she could make him suffer. She came to a pause at the bottom of dias where Beron has his throne and stood stock still even as the others bowed.
Beron snarled but Rowena didn’t flinch.
He leaned forward and looked her up and down like she was nothing, “People typically bow to their High Lords.”
“You are not my High Lord.”
“But you are a guest in my Court. It is the respectful thing to do.”
Rowena let out a huff of air and rolled her eyes, “The last High Lord who I was a guest of didn’t treat me too kindly. I’ve lost faith in the kind of hospitality fae of your status provide.”
Beron’s face changed as quickly as the turn of a falling leaf as a great deep laugh boomed from his chest. The sound was more jarring than any threat that could have spewed from his lips. Rowena’s wings twitched as though they would fly her to freedom without her permission if given the chance.
“I see your years of captivity have not dulled your tongue,” Beron purred and Eris tensed at his insinuation. Rowena, however, remained like a statue. Her face did not move a fraction, a practiced mask of indifference she had mastered throughout her life.
“As you can see my son has been punished for keeping you from me. I’m surprised you aren’t more concerned for his well being given how his scent is so intermingled with yours.” Beron pushed.
Rowena refused to rise to his bait but let her mind fill with questions about Eris’ intention. She wondered if that was why Eris had kept her so close and in his quarters. He had practically claimed her without ever touching her and she hadn’t even noticed.
“He shouldn’t have kept the information from you but I wasn’t under liberty to reveal myself to you. I haven’t found it in me to leave Eris’ quarters of late.” Rowena said smoothly, not wholly confirming Beron’s thinly veiled accusations.
Beron hummed at her reply and relaxed into his throne. “I feel I should tell your brother that his beloved sister is actually alive. That would be the right thing to do.”
“I would rather you didn’t.” Rowena said quickly. She had no desire to so Rhysand after all these years.
“Interesting. You are not keen on a little family reunion? It would be so sweet.”
“I am in no hurry to meet with my brother because he was in no hurry to find me. I owe him no loyalty.”
“And to my son?”
“He found me Under the Mountain and offered me freedom.”
“It was not his to give.”
“And it is not yours to take.”
Rowena and Beron were locked in a silent battle that neither would relent in. Rowena let her power pulse and something akin to fearful fascination flew across Beron’s face. In an instant Beron shot a blaze of fire towards Eris but before it could touch him a wall of starlight erupted in its path. The fire bounced off the shield and back towards Beron who reabsorbed his power. Silence fell over the throne room as everyone turned to Rowena who hadn’t so much lifted a finger to summon a power no one had ever seen before.
“What are you?” Beron seethed, fire licking at his hands.
Rowena cocked her head to the side and smiled cruelly, “Something you will never understand.” Because even she didn’t know where that had come from. Rowena let her eyes drift to Eris lazily like he was barely worth her attention even though she wanted nothing more than to grab his hand and run.
Are you okay?
Eris shifted his head and that was all Rowena needed to see. She turned back to Beron, disinterest painting her face. “Should we make a deal then?”
“What kind of deal?” Beron snapped. Clearly not liking that his one constant weapon would have no effect on Rowena.
“I will remain your guest here, with Rhysand being none the wiser. Then, when the right time comes, I will help you distract my dear brother with my miraculous reappearance. I’m sure that seeing his dead sister again will rattle him greatly.”
Interest sparked in Beron’s eyes as a wicked smile broke over his lips, “Fine. I agree. You have the protection of my court. And I get to use your existence to unsettle your entitled ass of a brother.”
Rowena didn’t wait to be dismissed and turned on her heal, waiting for the burn of a new tattoo to appear on her body. She had almost made it to the doors that led away from Beron and his throne room when his voice rang through the room.
“But I want more. Keeping you hidden in my court will cost me greatly. You are a valuable female. Your power is unique,” Beron said, greed lacing his every word, “I agree to your terms if you agree to one of mine.”
Rowena looked over her shoulder to Beron, desperate to leave. “What is it?”
“You marry Eris.”
Rowena drew in a sharp breath at his words. Even she could understand Beron’s motivations. She may have been captive and held away from the world for most of her life, but even Rowena knew the value of marriage like the one he was proposing.
Eris had opened his mouth to protest but Rowena spoke before he could.
“Fine.”
#Eris Vanserra#Eris Vanserra fanfic#Eris Vanserra fanfiction#Eris Vanserra X OFC#ACOTAR#TW Violence#TW Blood#TW Imprisonment
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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny III
Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Archeron!Reader
Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.
Warnings: none
a/n: hope you enjoy this one just as much as the others!
➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
Part III
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
“That was…weird,” Mor remarked.
You agreed. You had no idea what to make of Eris’s behavior. Feyre and Rhys seemed to be locked in a mental conversation, leaving the rest of you to silence. You rubbed at your arm, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. You didn’t want to create any problems for your sister but you also didn’t want to leave.
“He had a point,” Rhys finally said before looking at you with those violet eyes that reminded you far too much of a certain pair of amber ones. They both held too many secrets. “But I don’t think Beron will prove to be much of a problem as long as we keep his focus on other things.”
Feyre nodded along. “Besides, what is Beron going to do about it, anyways? Short of killing us, there is nothing to be done.”
You felt a flicker of fear but pushed it down. Rhys was the most powerful High Lord. Surely he would defend you and your sister if it came down to it. Feyre was also powerful in her own right and could fight for herself but you…
“We won’t let any harm come to you,” Rhys promised, his voice softening. “And what did I say about keeping those mental shields up?”
You turned red and quickly slammed the gates to your mind closed.
“I would like to stay,” you mumbled, sheepishly. “But I don’t want to cause problems.”
Mor waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Eris talks out of his ass most of the time. He probably just wanted to put us on edge. You being here is not a problem, doll.”
You didn’t feel comforted in the slightest.
“Well, if that's settled,” Rhys said, standing up. “I believe it is time for us to make our way towards the meeting room.”
You let out a breath, trying to settle your nerves from Eris’s display. Feyre gave you a small smile, linking her arm through yours. “Don’t look so nervous. There’s going to be some friendly faces in the crowd.”
You nodded, still feeling anxious about the whole thing. Although you hardly considered Vassa and Jurian your friends, at least you were familiar with them. Unfortunately, you were also familiar enough with Lord Nolan and his son.
Feyre placed her other hand in Rhys’s extended elbow and the two of them led you out of the chambers and into the wide corridor. Your breaths were still shaky once your group got to the staircase that would lead you to the meeting room with the reflection pool.
Feyre unwrapped her arm from yours and Azriel stepped forward instead.
“Azriel is going to escort you in,” she explained. “If you feel nervous, just stay by his side. Okay?”
You gave her a small nod and let them lead the way forward. When your group finally reached the top of the staircase, you were a bit relieved to see that the Autumn Court wasn’t present yet. Your eyes darted around the room, landing on all the various High Lords and their entourages, trying to place them in their respective courts.
“That right there is Tarquin,” Azriel whispered from beside you, following your eyesight. “High Lord of Summer.”
“And him?”
“Kallias, High Lord of Winter. His wife and mate, Vivianne, is the female next to him.”
“Another High Lady?”
“Not quite,” Azriel answered. He inclined his head towards a different group. “That’s Helion, High Lord of the Day Court.”
The male he nodded to was quickly approaching your group, a serpentine smile on his face. Gods, you were still not quite used to how beautiful the fae were. Helion looked like a God in his own right. His eyes passed over your group until they landed on you and lingered for a second longer.
You watched as he greeted Feyre, Rhysand and Mor before turning his head towards you and Azriel.
“Shadowsinger,” he nearly purred, “Always happy to see you.”
Azriel didn’t smile, didn’t move. In fact, he shot the High Lord an exasperated look as if this flirtatious behavior was all too common. That didn’t stop you from blushing when the High Lord looked at you and smiled coyly.
“And who might you be?”
He reached out a hand but before you could open your mouth, the High Lord was suddenly knocked to the side, stumbling over himself.
“My apologies, High Lord,” Eris sneered at Helion. “Perhaps you shouldn’t stand in the middle of a walkway.”
Eris strode away before Helion could even respond, his brothers trailing after him, glaring around the room. Your jaw nearly dropped at his audacity but you quickly schooled your face, watching Helion glare at their backs. He seemed to shake off the encounter quickly, his charming persona snapping back into place as your sister came up on your side.
“Helion,” she said, “this is my sister, Y/n. She’s here to help us discuss the peace treaty with the humans.”
Your introduction with Helion was short lived as Thesan called for the start of the meeting now that everyone was here. The first half of the meeting was just with the fae before the human leaders were to be brought in. Since you were primarily there for the humans, your thoughts drifted away as the fae leaders began their discussions.
Your eyes trailed over all the courts—taking interest in how different each fae looked depending on where they came from. But your gaze kept falling on one fae in particular. The red headed male sat behind his daunting father. He hadn’t once looked in your direction. Part of you was glad for it, because it would be embarrassing to be caught blatantly staring at him as you were. Another part of you longed for him to look your way… You had no idea where that feeling came from.
Eris was dressed far more formally than he had been the last two times you had seen him. He wore a dark green vest stitched with golden thread, tiny leaves embroidered along the seams, on top of a cream button up. A golden fox brooch was pinned at the neck of his collar, probably the Vanserra family’s emblem. His pants were an even darker green, almost appearing black and neatly tucked into his boots. Around his shoulders was a matching green cape coat embellished in gold detailing much like his vest.
His red hair looked like a raging fire next to all the green, his pale skin glistening in the soft lighting of the room. He was so distractingly beautiful, even with that familiar haughty smirk on his face. It didn’t matter that there were far more powerful, commanding fae in the room. Your eyes could not keep off him.
Like a moth to flame.
Eris’s honey amber eyes finally met yours and you felt something snapped inside of you. You gasped as a golden thread unraveled within you and shot out across the room—all the way to the male seated across from you….all the way to Eris.
Mate.
The word clanged through your head, drowning all other thoughts.
Mate.
Eris was your mate.
In your shock, you missed the warning look Eris shot your way. You gasped, loudly, drawing the attention of the room as you stood so suddenly, your chair was knocked to the ground behind you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, that golden thread thrumming with sparks of flame.
Your sister quickly rose from her seat, placing a hand on your upper arm to steady you. Azriel too had jumped up, his hand ghosting over Truth-teller, as if ready for whatever invisible threat was occuring.
Eris stood abruptly, almost panting. Your eyes never left those amber ones. Not even as they seemed to plead with you to sit, to hide, to disappear from this room entirely.
“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked, her voice hurried and filled with concern. Her eyes followed your line of sight and darted back to you and down to the hand you held to your chest.
Rhysand seemed to catch on to what was happening quicker.
“Azriel, get her out of here,” he ordered the shadowsinger.
A scarred hand wrapped around yours and a second later, you were engulfed in a wave of shadows.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
“Rhysand,” Thesan said, “Please answer for that display. What antics have occurred in your court to disrupt such a meeting?”
Feyre’s hands were shaking as Rhysand latched onto them, guiding her back to her chair softly. “Apologies, Y/n is still a bit sensitive to magic since coming out of the cauldron. You’ll have to forgive her sudden departure.”
“And here I thought you had moved on from your lying and deceiving ways, Rhysand,” Beron jumped in, his voice filled with wicked amusement. “It appears a congratulation is in order.” He turned to face his son. “It seems to me that a mating bond has just snapped into place.”
Eris’s face was unreadable as he sat back down, fists clenched at his sides.
“Explain yourselves,” Tarquin interjected, looking bemused. “How do you have another Made female in your court, Rhysand?”
“She is my sister,” Feyre declared. “And she was there the day Hybern forced all of them into the cauldron.”
“Why was she not included in the reports from that day?” Thesan asked, sitting up straighter.
“She was under our protection,” Rhysand answered. “She was hardly more than a child at the time.”
“Liar. She never came out of the cauldron,” Tamlin said, sharply, eyes narrowing. “Your reports never included her because she never came out of the cauldron that day.”
“Well, considering you all just saw her alive and in person,” Rhysand shrugged, picking a piece of lint from his coat. “Obviously, she did. Perhaps your head was too far up Hybern’s ass to see.”
Tamlin growled but was cut off by Beron.
“Where have you taken my son’s mate?” Beron demanded.
“That is none of your concern.”
“Rhysand, you cannot possibly keep her away from her mate,” Thesan said. “He is entitled—”
“He is entitled to nothing,” Feyre snapped. “The Night Court does not force females to accept mating bonds. As she falls under our jurisdiction, she has our full protection against any of your antiquated beliefs.”
“Leave it to the Night Court to spit on traditions,” Beron hissed. “A mating bond works both ways. As the other half falls under my jurisdiction, my son has all the right to invoke a blood duel if you wish to keep her from him.”
The Lady of Autumn looked alarmed at her husband’s words but said nothing. Neither did Eris, who seemed to be choosing his next moves very carefully.
“Wouldn’t be the first time the Night Court stole a female away,” Tamlin said, sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Oh please, spare us from revisiting your despair,” Helion chuckled, humorlessly.
“Have we all forgotten why we are here today?” Kallias cut in, his tone cold. “Must we argue over something that does not involve the rest of our courts? This meeting has already been derailed and some of us have better things to do with our time then listen to squabbles.”
“This is not over, Rhysand,” Beron hissed. Eris still sat stoically behind his father, not faltering in the slightest. “You and I have much to discuss after we deal with the humans lest you wish to start a conflict between our courts.”
“Fine,” Rhysand growled. “But prepare yourself and your son for disappointment.”
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
You paced in the sitting room in the River House, your heart still beating rapidly, your thoughts out of control. A mating bond. A godsdamn mating bond had snapped between you and Eris of all people. Eris, the male whose reputation followed him like darkened clouds. Eris, the male who had left Mor to die in the woods all those years ago. Eris, the Heir of Autumn, the son of one of the most ruthless fae in all of Prythian.
Surely it was a mistake. It had to be.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Elain suggested, gently, patting the cushion beside her on the couch. “Feyre will get it all sorted out. You needn’t worry so much.”
“How can I not worry? How can I not worry when Eris of all people is my mate, Elain?” You rubbed at your chest, already feeling an emptiness there now that you had been separated from him. “This must be a mistake. A trick, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Elain agreed, though she didn’t sound like she believed it for one second. “But there’s not much you can do about it now. Not until they return from the meeting.”
You let out a long breath and plopped onto the couch next to her. Elain brushed a hand through your hair, guiding you to lay down on her lap. “It’ll be okay, Y/n. A mating bond isn’t the end of all things. Feyre would never let that male get his hands on you.”
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Some part of you wanted that male. Not the Eris that the others saw. But the one you had seen in those secret moments between the two of you. The alluring fox behind the mask.
Your heart sang for him now that the mating bond had snapped into place. He hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest….like he had already known about it. Had it snapped for him? Had he known this whole time that you were his mate? Why wouldn’t he tell you? Maybe…
maybe he didn’t want you…
Hours went by. The whole night passed. You didn’t stray from the couch, neither did Elain. You appreciated your sister comforting you. You wished Nesta wasn’t on her mating vacation and was here to help you as well…maybe she would know what to do.
The door to the house opening had you sitting up, rubbing at your red rimmed eyes. Elain woke abruptly as well, wiping the drool that was dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Feyre, Rhysand and Mor strode in, all looking just as exhausted as you.
“Well, I’m glad that shitshow is over,” Mor said, falling on one of the settees dramatically.
A second later, Amren and Azriel came into the room, both wearing unreadable expressions. Amren’s silver eyes studied you for a moment before moving to Feyre and Rhysand.
“How’d it go?”
“Awful,” Rhysand sighed. “No one could come to an agreement.”
“Did the humans not want to sign?” You asked, purposefully avoiding the other topic.
Feyre shook her head. “No, they were…even less receptive than we thought they’d be.”
“What happens now?” Elain asked.
“We go through that again and again, I suppose,” Rhys answered. “Until a peace treaty is signed.”
The room fell into a heavy silence until you broke it, minutes later.
“And…and what of…” You trailed off, unable to say the words, unable to ask about the male that had been on your mind since you had been whisked away from the meeting.
“Beron will be visiting the Court of Nightmares tomorrow,” Rhys said, hesitantly, gauging your emotions. “To discuss what is to be done. It is unfortunate that he knows about the bond now because there is little Eris can do as long as his father is in power.”
“He can finally kill the bastard,” Mor grumbled into a pillow.
“We must tread carefully,” Amren said. “If Eris is forced to call for a blood duel against Rhysand, he will die and one of his brutish brothers will be next in line for the throne.”
“What!” You exclaimed. “A blood duel? Would he…would he really do that? Fight Rhysand even if it means certain death?”
Eris was powerful, sure. But he was still only an heir, not a full blown High Lord like Rhysand. He would be misted in seconds. Just that thought of it sent you into a panic.
“I’ll fight him in your place,” Azriel said, darkly, looking at Rhys but he shook his head.
“We cannot risk that,” Rhys said.
“Do you really think Beron would have his own son fight and die in a blood duel?” Feyre asked.
“Of course he would. One less person he has to keep off his throne,” Amren said.
“He’s a monster,” Elain whispered, staring at you with concern.
“Yes, he is,” Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So we must do as Amren said and tread very carefully.”
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
The next day, you stood in the foyer of the River House, dressed in a simple dark blue, silk dress. Your stomach was tossing and turning with nerves, scared of what would happen during this meeting with Beron. You hated that you were causing your sister and Rhysand so much stress, hated that you were in the middle of this conflict.
You wished you could turn back time. Wished you could go back to that moment the mating bond snapped so you could hide the realization better. You had always worn your heart on your sleeve and it had finally bit you in the ass.
You had no idea how today was going to play out.
You were certain of one thing, though. You ached to see Eris again. The mating bond had nearly kept you up all night. Feyre had tried teaching you how to block if off, but it was hard. Eris seemed to have no problem keeping his side of the bond locked down. It infuriated you to know he was probably feeling every single emotion from you.
“Are you ready?” Rhys asked as Feyre, Mor and Azriel slid into view.
Rhys and Feyre were dressed like they always were when making trips to Hewn City. Mor wore a scandalous red dress that clung to her beautiful curves and Azriel wore his Illyrian leathers, as per usual, all seven siphons on display.
You nodded, unable to even speak.
The next hour seemed to happen while you were stuck in a daze. Rhys winnowed you all to Hewn City and led you into the throne room where everyone was waiting. Word must’ve spread quickly of what had occurred. Keir escorted Beron and Eris into the throne room after the formalities were done.
You couldn’t find the nerve to look at Eris now that you were in the same room. You had shown your hand during that meeting and had caused an avalanche to fall in its wake. You felt guilty, ashamed and scared…so scared.
A dumb bunny, indeed.
Rhys and Feyre led you all to a private meeting room, shutting the door in Keir’s face as he tried to join. You sat, hiding your shaking hands in your lap, keeping your eyes on the floor.
“Well, I assume you have come to your senses by now,” Beron said, leaning back in his chair as if he commanded the room. “The girl comes with us. The Night Court owes Autumn a bride as it is.”
His glare focused on Mor for a moment and she scoffed in his direction.
“Not so fast, Beron,” Rhysand tsked, pouring himself a glass of wine. “We don’t owe you anything. It was your court that ultimately broke the marriage agreement all those years ago.”
Beron sat up with a sneer. “I believe it was broken the moment that girl decided to whore herself out to an Illyrian bastard of all people.”
You tensed in your seat, gripping the dress in your fists.
“Father, please,” Eris sighed, making you look up at him finally.
Beron glanced at his son before turning back to Rhysand. “You should be overjoyed that we’re willing to take the girl as it is, considering the beasts in your court have probably ran through her already.”
“Watch your mouth,” Feyre snapped.
The smell of burning wood filled the room and Eris flexed his hands, new scorch marks on the table underneath them. “Don’t speak of her like that.”
Beron laughed. It was an awful sound. “Right, my apologies, son. Don’t worry, those mating instincts will go away once you’ve fucked her for a near century.”
Your face turned bright red at the crude words. Eris growled. The sound was so primitive, so animalistic. It sent chills down your spine. Even Beron looked unnerved for a moment.
“You are not winning yourself any favors,” Rhysand purred, smirking at the older male. “Have you any dignity?”
“Have you?” Beron bit back. “You all but spit on the face of the Mother by keeping her away from her mate. This is more of a blessing for you then it is us. A marriage alliance with Autumn, one you do not deserve that we are graciously offering.”
“Let me make myself clear, Beron, since you refuse to listen,” Rhysand snapped. “Our court has no laws that require a female to accept a bond. You would really go to war over something like this? While our courts are still recovering from the last one?”
Rhys and Feyre had theorized that Beron was so adamant about forcing you into the bond not because he cared for his son, but for two other reasons. One, you were Made. They had all seen how powerful Nesta was because of it and Beron craved power above all else.
Two, it was another way to keep Eris in check. To dangle you over his head as a threat.
“Perhaps we should ask what she wants,” Mor interjected.
“What she wants does not matter,” Beron snarled. “She is mated to an Autumn male, by our laws she must accept.”
“She is a resident of our court,” Feyre argued back. “She does not have to accept it.”
“Then you leave us no choice,” Beron said, rising from his seat. He planted his palms on the table, staring at you all of a sudden. You crumbled into yourself. “Is that what you want, girl? You want us to declare a blood duel against your family?”
You shook your head as Rhysand stood, slamming his own hands on the table. “You would have your son fight in a blood duel against me, a High Lord?”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be against you,” Beron laughed, cruelly. His eyes fell on Feyre. “And it wouldn’t be my son. I will demand a blood duel against your mate. A mate for a mate. Very fitting, don’t you agree?”
Feyre versus Beron…. That bastard had planned this. You’d all been so concerned with Eris declaring a blood duel you didn’t even realize this would be a way Beron could kill Feyre as he wished in a legal way—as barbaric as it was.
And most of the other courts held the mating bond in such regard, you wondered if you’d find any allies against him for doing this beside Helion.
Rhysand growled, darkness leaking off of him,
“And I will just fight you in her place.”
Beron smiled. “Oh, but you see, you can’t. Once a blood duel has been declared you either surrender to the terms or fight. I don’t know where you got your information from but there are no place holders allowed.”
Your heart was racing in your chest.
Silence fell so heavy in the room your ears were ringing. All of this was all your fault. You felt tears line your eyes. You couldn’t let Feyre fight for you. You wouldn’t. Even though she could probably hold her own against him, he was ages older than her—more battle worn. She’d be at a huge disadvantage.
And Eris couldn’t do anything about this, not if it was his father who wished to fight a blood duel. He couldn’t order his father not to.
You couldn’t let her do this. You owed your life to her, you owed everything to her. It was time to start fighting your own battles.
“I’ll go,” you whispered, so quietly you wondered if you had even said the words out loud. “I’ll go.”
Feyre’s head whipped to you. “No, absolutely not.”
But you shook your head. “I do not want anyone fighting on my behalf. I will go with them.”
Beron’s grin grew into one that could rival the devil himself.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
“We will find a way out of this,” Feyre whispered into your ear as she hugged you. “I promise. Just hold out for us, okay? We’ll get you out of there.”
You nodded, pulling away to brush the tears off her cheek. You weren’t even going to be able to say goodbye to Elain and Nesta. Beron was demanding that you leave right away.
“I’ll be okay, Fey,” you murmured to her.
“Enough of the dramatics,” Beron called out. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Eris didn’t look at you as he held out a hand. You swallowed audibly and walked to his side, grasping it softly. You spared one last glance at your sister before you were winnowed out of Hewn City and into the den of foxes.
“Come here, girl,” Beron barked, now standing before his throne. “Let me get a look at you.”
You glanced at Eris but he just stood there, stoically, not meeting your gaze. You walked towards Beron, trying not to shake in fear.
The older male grasped your chin in his hand, turning your face from side to side as he examined you. Eris’s other brothers stood at the bottom of the dais, their wolfish grins doing little to make you less nervous. The Lady of Autumn was seated in a small chair to the side of the throne, her eyes not lifting from the floor.
“You look just like my other son’s mate,” he remarked. “Smaller, though. The runt of the family, I’m assuming. Pity. Were you not fed properly as a child?”
You weren’t even sure how to reply to that. You decided not to respond and Beron’s eyes narrowed.
“Hmm,” he mused, finally letting go of you. “Have you sullied yourself with those beasts?”
“Father,” Eris growled, stepping up next to you. “That is enough.”
Beron chuckled, mirthlessly, waving a dismissive hand. “Fine, take her away and get her out of those whorish clothes.”
Eris grabbed you by your upper arm and dragged you out of the throne room. You had to walk quickly, trying to keep up with his long legs as he led you down corridor after corridor. The Forest House was magnificent, beautiful. It was a shame that someone like Beron ran this court, you thought, as you studied the place.
Eris finally stopped in front of a room, yanking the door open and pushing you inside. You glared at him as he slammed the door shut behind him, crossing your arms. You were inside of a huge suite, it seemed. A lavish sitting room, with two doors on either side, likely leading to a bedroom and bathing chamber.
“These are my quarters,” Eris explained as he shrugged off his cape coat and tossed it on the red, velvet couch. He began to unbutton his vest as he faced you. “You are to stay here. Do not leave without an escort. Tomorrow, I will assign you two handmaidens to help you.”
Your eyes widened. “I’m…I’m meant to stay here…in your room?”
Eris let out a long sigh. “It is the safest place for you and I do not want to risk rumors.”
“B-but surely this is improper,” you stuttered. “We are not properly mated.”
Eris let out a cruel laugh. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t made such a spectacle at the High Lords’ meeting so don’t start complaining to me.”
You felt a flare of anger.
“You knew,” you grumbled. “You knew about the mating bond between us and you didn’t tell me! Perhaps if you had told me, I wouldn’t have even been in that room! I would’ve stayed home.”
“Unlikely,” Eris sneered, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a decanter on a bar cart behind the couch. He chugged the drink down, loosening his collar with his other hand. “You don’t seem to have a lot going on in that pretty little head of yours, bunny. Did you ever stop to think about why I might be hiding it?”
“You are such a prick,” you snapped. “I am not one of your little pawns. I am not a part of your stupid games! You should have told me!”
You went to whirl around but Eris grabbed your wrist, dragging you closer to him. You glared up at him, ignoring the way his heat enveloped you in its embrace.
“This is not a game to me,” Eris growled. “Have you any idea what you’ve cost me? Have you any idea what he will do to you if I so much as take a single step out of line now?”
You yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Have you any idea what this has cost me? I’m the one who's been forced out of my home—forced to come here!”
“And who’s fault is that?”
Eris slammed the empty glass down on the cart.
“Gods, sorry I couldn’t read your oh-so-clever mind! Sorry I couldn’t act like an emotionless shell of a person like you!”
“Watch how you speak to me,” Eris snarled. “I can make your life here a living hell, bunny.”
“I’m not scared of you, Eris,” you snapped. “You don’t fool me. I see the real you under that mask and you know what I think—I think it is you who is scared.”
Eris ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You know nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.”
“Then tell me! Tell me so I can help you! I know you do not wish to see your father in power much longer. Let me help!”
Eris grabbed your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. You hated how cold his amber eyes looked.
“No. Absolutely not. I will not involve you in the slightest,” he snarled before his eyes softened and his hand slipped to cup your cheek instead. “I cannot…I cannot bear to see this place make you cruel. Stay here, where you’ll be safe, bunny. Leave everything else to me. You were not made for this place. But me…You have no idea what kind of monster I can be.”
Eris’s hand dropped back to his side and he stepped away from you, heading towards the door. You were breathing so heavily, your lungs constricting your ribs against the dress you wore.
“Can we talk about this? Please!”
He said nothing, reaching for the handle of the door.
“Eris, please!”
His hand fell against the doorframe, flame licking at the wood—scorching it again. A growl rumbled through his chest and his head hung between his shoulders but he didn’t turn around, didn’t look at you.
“Do not,” he groaned. “Do not say my name like that.”
And then he was gone, leaving you completely alone.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
When you woke up later that night, you found yourself in an unfamiliar room. You sat up, realizing you were laying in a bed. You were certain you had fallen asleep on the couch, not wanting to even go into Eris’s bedroom.
The silk, dark orange sheets next to you were undisturbed. You rubbed at your eyes, getting up from under the covers. You were still in the dress you had fallen asleep in.
You padded over to the door, opening it slowly. You took two steps into the sitting room before you froze in your spot.
There, on the couch, was Eris. The fireplace was roaring in front of him as he slept, a lump on the floor by his feet. You blinked away the blurriness in your eyes to see what it was.
Ashera was curled up there, the dog you had met that day you had accidentally winnowed into the forest here. She slept soundly on the floor next to him.
You stepped back into the bedroom and closed the door behind you, quietly, not wanting to disturb them.
· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·
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