#short answer is i understand every beatrice except the one that matters most lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missarcheron · 7 years

Text

Under Dancing Stars II

Guys, thank you for the positive feedback! Never would have thought that so many people could be interested in this story. Tagging @dayanna-hatter, @dreamingofazriel (same lol), @searchingforbellarke (also same), @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername, @watermelonwiggle17 and @a-court-of-misery-and-foreboding . If anyone else wants to be tagged, just message me!

Here’s the link to Chapter One and to my other writing :)

Have fun with the chapter. It’s still sloooooow but big things are coming. For now, enjoy Cassian being bitter.

Chapter Two: That one damned kiss

“Benedick: O God, Sir, here’s a dish I love not! I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. (exits)

Pedro: Come, my lady, come, you have lost the heart of Signor Benedick.

Beatrice: Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile, and I gave him use for it- a double heart for his single one. Marry, once before he won it of me with false dice; therefore your grace may well say I have lost it.

Pedro: You have put him down, lady; you have put him down.”

- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

When Cassian woke up again the next day, his first thought was that something seemed different- that he carried an unspoken sentiment in the back of his mind, some truth he’d forgotten, some truth that was the reason for this nervous excitement low in his stomach-

The thought was there before he could stop it. Nesta.

She was back in Velaris. Back at court. Sleeping, at this very moment, somewhere in the castle- probably close to Feyre’s rooms… perhaps on the same floor as him right now, and that meant-

But it meant nothing. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Cassian cursed lowly while he sat up in his bed. Nesta was his first thought in the morning now, it seemed.

He’d thought he was past this.

He looked around, still feeling groggy- he’d drunk too much last night, for whatever reason- and realized only after a few moments that the giant longcase clock next to the door already showed half past nine. He was too late for the breakfast. Rhysand and his father had invited the king’s closest friends and advisors to a lavish brunch in the royal quarters, and everybody would be there- the Inner Circle, the king’s closest friends, the royal family.

Nesta would attend as well. Not that Cassian cared.

He jumped out of bed, hastily putting on some clothes while simultaneously trying to tie his hair back behind his head. Or should he leave it open? He drove a hand through it, examining his reflection in the mirror, and then cursed again. It did not matter what he looked like. It did not matter what anyone at that breakfast thought about him. He was not trying to impress anyone. Anyone.

Especially not Nesta.

When Cassian finally arrived in the royal eating hall, the breakfast was already in full swing. Three great tables had been pushed together and almost collapsed under the excessive amount of food they carried. Around thirty people had to be there; Cassian spotted Rhysand first. He was sitting next to Azriel, both of them howling with laughter at something that was probably either dirty or very stupid. Or both.

“Cassian”, the king called out when he entered the room and walked towards the empty spot next to Rhys. “I thought you were not going to make it.”

Everyone at the breakfast table turned around to look at him. Except one brown-haired head at the other end of the room: Nesta continued to eat without acknowledging he’d entered or that there even had been any disruption of the meal.

“Forgive me”, Cassian answered. “I went to bed too late last night.”

“Not exactly a good habit for a young man like yourself”, a different voice scoffed. Nesta did raise her head at that: it was her father, Lord Philip Archeron, who had spoken. “Is that what the youth does nowadays? Drink and dance themselves unconscious every night?”

Cassian did not take offense at the words as he sat down next to Rhys. Lord Philip was one of the king’s oldest friends and known to always speak his mind, harsh at it may be. As the future father-in-law to Rhysand, he sat right next to the king today.

“Is that not what we did when we were young, Phillip?”, the king laughed. “Let the young people be.”

Cassian’s own father, Lord Taras, set his glass down. He was placed on the king’s other side. “I do not see, Archeron, in which way this would concern you”, he said coldly. “Other than to discredit, once again, my family’s name.”

“Are we there again with the conspiracy theories, Taras?”, Lord Philip asked heatedly and leaned forward. “I am not the one whose children lack the manners to appear at breakfast on time.”

Everyone at the table leaned forward as well. A little drama was always welcome. Lord Philip and Cassian’s father hated each other; whenever they were close, they started to fight, mostly in a very ugly manner. Cassian sank back into his chair. He hated seeing this.

To his relief, the king slammed his fist on the table before his father got the chance to reply. “Phillip! Taras! I will not have you ruining this morning for all of us! I don’t understand why my two closest advisors can’t get along.” He turned towards Cassian’s father. “Taras, the Lord Philip is the father of your future queen.” He nodded at Feyre, who had paled visibly during the hostile exchange. “I ask you to respect him accordingly. And Phillip!” He turned towards him. “You’re one of my oldest friends and I will soon call you family- to my great joy. But if you and Taras can’t find a way to make peace with each other, I will find a way for you, do you hear me?”

The king fell back into his chair, clearly upset. “Now, don’t you all look at me like that!”, he barked. “Eat, eat!”

Everybody automatically grabbed their knives and started talking loudly again as if nothing had happened.

“I can’t believe they are still doing this”, Mor muttered to Cassian and grabbed the coffee pot. “They’ve known each other for ages, and they still don’t get along.”

Cassian stabbed the pork on his plate as if he wanted to kill it all over again. “I just wished they would not fight in public”, he grumbled. “Lord Philip is Feyre’s father, and I love Feyre. She’s Rhysand’s bride. It’s awkward for me because people will think I share my father’s opinions.”

Mor stayed silent, and Cassian had to think back at what he’d told her yesterday- how he and Nesta had always been pitted against each other by their fathers when they were children. How come that he’d never felt a similar sentiment towards Feyre or Elain? They were daughters of Lord Philip, too.

Without even wanting too, he looked once again over to Nesta. She sat next to some old war generals, and she looked tired and a little flushed. From both sides, people were talking to her. She just stared straight ahead.

Cassian had the sudden desire to walk over to her place and punch those generals in the face. Didn’t they see that she didn’t want to speak to them?

Feyre, who was placed across from Cassian, caught his attention and smiled at him. “Those two. They will never get along.”

“Yeah”, Cassian mumbled. “I guess.” He was still occupied with the question why he’d never quarreled with Feyre or Elain. Obviously, the thought alone was ridiculous: no one in their right mind would every say anything unfriendly to gentle Elain. (Feyre was a different story.)

He’d not been honest with Mor yesterday, then. He’d never been mean to Nesta because of some feud between their fathers. He’d been mean to her because- because-

Gods. Here he was, thinking about her again. He really had to stop. Cassian forced himself to listen to some story Azriel was telling and tried to shove Nesta out of his damned thoughts.

But he could not help it- his gaze always slid back to her.

***

Nesta felt like she was burning on the inside.

Everything about this breakfast was horrible. Her father had started fighting with Lord Taras, Cassian’s father, and now the generals around her all wanted to know what she thought about that. Also, could she maybe tell them about her time north? Had she visited the great lakes? Had she seen the famous prison? Why had she left, anyways? She was short of yelling the answer in their face. I didn’t leave. I was forced to go.

To make it worse, Cassian was joking around with Mor the whole time, and that somehow infuriated her, even though she had no reason for that.

“Nesta Archeron”, the king said suddenly. “I am happy to welcome you back at court.” The attention shifted to her; Nesta sat up as tall as she could and lowered her head in thanks. “I am glad to be back, your grace.”

“Congratulations on your win yesterday”, he continued. “You are truly the finest horseback rider in the whole Night Court.”

“She got lucky”, Lord Taras murmured silently. “Everybody knows my son is the best.”

Nesta’s father had heard him. “Are you questioning my daughter’s talent?”, he asked loudly. “I must say, am once again surprised by your inability to admit to your losses.”

“You better watch your tongue”-

“Father”, Cassian interrupted. “Please.”

Nesta heard the tension in his voice. She had her own hands balled into fists. It was bad enough that there was some focus on her because she’d been away for so long; but this open unfriendliness between her father and Lord Taras just put her in the plain spotlight. Didn’t her father consider Feyre at all? Couldn’t he keep it together, just for her sake?

The king turned to Cassian now. “What do you think about Lady Nesta’s talents, then?”

Nesta stared at her own plate, at her uneaten food. She felt Cassian’s gaze on her. “Lady Nesta has an exceptional talent when it comes to riding”, he said calmly. “One that far surpasses mine.”

Lord Taras grumbled darkly at that.

“Lady Nesta”, the king continued. “I heard you were taught my Master Andras himself in the north?” Andras was one of the most famous knights in the Night Court; he’d taken Nesta under his wing when she went north, even though she had been everything but friendly to him in the beginning. They had travelled through the northern woods for days, talking, racing. She missed him endlessly.

“I did”, she answered quietly. “He was an amazing teacher.”

“Did he also teach you the way of the sword?”

Gods, would this interrogation never end? “He did”, she said. “But he also noted that my talents lie elsewhere. I still need to practice a lot.”

When she looked up, she saw Cassian’s brows drawn together in confusion; he hadn’t known that. But of course he hadn’t. All those unsent letters where she’d told him about Andras still lay locked up in her small secretary.

The king clapped his hands. “Isn’t it fortunate, then, that the very person you beat in the Noble’s races yesterday is considered to be one of the best sword fighters in all of Prythian? Cassian, you will take on Master Andras’ role and continue teaching our Lady Nesta.”

What?

Nesta stared at the king in shock. It wasn’t so much that the king proposed her to train- every girl in the night court could fight at least a little. Vera, Rhysand’s little sister, was considered one of the best fighters in the realm and could beat even beat her older brother in combat. But Cassian? She remembered they had trained together when she was younger- just sometimes, just in jest- and it had never ended well, either in yelling or deadly silence.

Except for that one time, of course. But she didn’t need to remember that right now.

Her father and Lord Taras both started to argue at once.

“That’s completely unnecessary”-

“My son has better things to do”-

“How could he ever teach her when he can’t even show up to breakfast on time”-

“Enough!”, the king thundered. “If the two of you can’t get along, perhaps your own children will! It’s decided. Cassian, do you understand me?”

“Perfectly”, Cassian answered. He was gripping his coffee cup so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

“Yeah”, Nesta mumbled to herself. “This is just perfect.”

***

Andras, then. Cassian had known there was some secret lover; why else would she have stayed in the north for so long? Andras was older than her, for sure, but what did that matter? He was a legend. A living myth. Still good-looking, even though he had to be forty now, charismatic, funny- it all made sense. Why she’d never sent any letters. Not because she couldn’t find the words: She’d forgotten about him. While he was here in Velaris, thinking about her day and night.

Missing her.

“Argh!” Cassian brought his sword down with as much force as he could , making Azriel retreat a few steps. They’d been sparring for half an hour now. Training was the only thing that would help him after that damned breakfast; he needed to get lost in the sound of clashing steel and the feeling of sweat running down his bare back. Azriel feigned to the right and changed his move in the last second, but Cassian was quick enough to block him. “You’ll have to be faster than that, brother”, he grinned. Azriel only narrowed his eyes and attacked again. The small training hall around them was completely empty; it was reserved for Rhysand and the Inner Circle. The other nobles and soldiers trained down in the courtyard or in the great training hall the king had inaugurated last year.

Cassian’s thoughts wandered back to Nesta. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too judgmental. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t taken lovers over the years, as if he’d stayed away from women just because of that one moment between them- that one kiss.

That one, damned kiss.

He remembered it perfectly. The memory had burned itself inside his brain. It had been the day before she’d left for the north, before she’d left Velaris; the sky outside had already been dark when he’d found her all alone in this very training room, practicing her moves. She didn’t notice him at first, and he got the rare chance to look at her without having to pretend that he was somehow annoyed or disinterested.

“You’re doing it wrong, sweetheart”, he called out to her. “The entire move. You need to widen your stance and hold the sword on shoulder level.”

Nesta froze, then took a deep breath and turned around. “Get lost, Cassian.”

Cassian strolled through the hall until he stood before her, detaching his dagger from his belt and putting it onto a commode next to the training platform so that he’d have a better range of motion. “Want me to show you?”

“What part of ‘get lost’ did you not understand?”

“So you don’t want to know how it’s done correctly?”, he asked.

She quarreled with herself- Nesta was a perfectionist, and Cassian knew that doing a move incorrectly would eat away at her for days.

But then she just shrugged. “Whatever. It’s too late. I can still learn it tomorrow, and someone else can show me.” She laid her sword down next to his dagger and took a deep gulp of the water bottle some servants had set up for her. “What are you still staring at me?”, she addressed him gruffly when she’d finished drinking. “Am I holding the bottle incorrectly, too?”

But he was not staring at her because of that. He was staring at her because she was beautiful. Nesta only wore a loose-fitting shirt drenched with sweat that clung tightly to her back, and it distracted him immensely. Her hair had come undone and was falling over her shoulder to frame her face. He’d never even seen her with open hair, Cassian suddenly thought; she always tied it back. She looked younger without the braids. Less severe.

“There’s a ball tomorrow”, he said suddenly, not even knowing why. “Are you going?”

Nesta had started cleaning up the training space and eyed him warily now. “I might be. Why?”

“Want to save a dance for me?”

“A dance?”

“The waltz.” Cassian wanted to slap himself mentally. What was he doing?

Nesta stared at him, obviously suspicious. “What?”

Now that he’d started it, Cassian forced himself not to back down. “The waltz, sweetheart. Or are you afraid I’m going to outshine you with my incredible dancing skills?”

Nesta drew her brows together. “I did not know you had any dancing skills, to be honest.”

“Is that a challenge?”

For a moment, he saw a smile play around her lips, but it was gone instantly, replaced by the usual wall of ice. “I can’t”, she said curtly. “I will share every dance with- with Lord Grayson.”

Cassian laughed. “Sure.”

She looked at him haughtily. “I will. Sorry if that bothers you.”

He tried to pretend he didn’t care, but he failed. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Lord Grayson and you?” Cassian wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “But he’s- stupid and conceited and nothing like you!”

Nesta turned fully towards him, eyes blazing. “Well, that is how it is! What do you care?”

“I care because you’re lying! You wouldn’t ever share a single dance with Lord Grayson, not to mention letting him accompany you to a whole fucking ball. I know you too well for that.”

“You’re impossible!”, she said loudly. “Who do you think you are to judge me like that?”

They had both stepped closer to each other during the argument. “So you’d rather share a dance with him than me”, Cassian stated bitterly. He had no idea why that suddenly made him so mad. He hadn’t planned to ask Nesta to the ball. He’d just come her with the purpose to annoy her. That she was going with Lord Grayson, though, couldn’t be true- it had to be a joke. Cassian didn’t believe her a single second. There was a different reason she was telling him this.

“We both know you weren’t serious when you asked me to a dance”, Nesta said. “I’m not stupid, Cassian.”

That threw him off for a second. She thought he’d been mocking her? “I was serious”, he growled. “I want to dance with you tomorrow.”

“Why?”, she exclaimed. “You constantly tell me that I’m stupid, annoying, or an ice-cold bitch, you try to make me look like a fool whenever you get the chance and you wouldn’t ever ask me to a dance!”

He’d said all of that, and more. But Cassian was too angry right now to admit that. “I am serious!”, he repeated loudly.

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you!”, she snarled. “One reason why this is not another way to trick me into thinking you actually care about me”-

He leaned forward and kissed her.

It was nothing, really. The softest touch. A breeze of wind. Barely even there. But his heart suddenly beat faster than it had ever done before, not in training, not in battle.

He drew back instantly, suddenly afraid. Why had he done that? Was he stupid? Did he want her to hate him? Some part of his brain wondered why she hadn’t yelled at him yet, why she was staring at him wide-eyed like that-

Nesta gently put a hand around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. And just like that, Cassian lost the ability to think. Everything just went away. His hands found their way to her hips while the world narrowed itself down to the sensation of kissing her; she moaned slightly when he drove his tongue over her bottom lip. Cassian had never even heard such a noise from her.

He didn’t want to hear anything else from now on.

“Nesta”- he growled. She broke their kiss for a second to look up at him-

Then they were kissing again. Cassian slowly backed her up against the wall, not able to keep his hands still, wanting to explore her body: her breasts, her waist, her hips- it didn’t help that she was only wearing that thin shirt. It didn’t help at all.

She moaned again when he lowered his head to place a trail of kisses down her jaw, down her neck; and Cassian thought that his was all he wanted for the rest of his life. Nesta. Like this. In his arms. Moaning.

He forced himself to be gentle, to kiss her slowly even when he just wanted to rip her damned clothes off. She suddenly slipped both hands under his shirt, driving them over his abdomen, and he lost even that last pretense of self-control. Cassian gripped her legs, about to hoist her up against the wall-

The door to the training room opened.

They jumped away from each other in an instant. Nesta had only time to straighten her shirt before Amren and Elain entered, talking quietly to each other. Cassian tried to control his breathing.

“Oh.” Amren stopped when she noticed them. “Are we interrupting something?”

Yes, you are. Please leave. Now.

“No, of course not!” Nesta shook her head in a very bad attempt at pretending that everything was fine. “Cassian was just-“

“I was showing her a move”, he finished.

Amren raised a brow. “Without weapons?”

“Hand to hand combat”, he explained curtly.

A slow grin played on her lips. “I see.”

“Cassian needs to leave now, anyways”, Nesta said. “Bye, Cassian!” She shoved him into the direction of the door.

“Bye”, he murmured, and practically stumbled out of the training room, avoiding Elain’s confused glance. When the door fell shut behind him, he just stood out there in the corridor for a few seconds.

What the hell just happened?

“Cass. Cassian. Cassian.”

Azriel’s voice ripped Cassian out of his thoughts and back into reality. He looked up. “What?”

“I could have killed you three times these past minutes. You’re clearly not focused on our match.”

Cassian let his sword sink. “I’m sorry. I’m just”-

“Nesta Archeron”, Azriel said. “That’s the issue, isn’t it?”

Cassian rubbed his hand over his face. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” He’d been so invested in the memory of kissing Nesta that he hadn’t given the match any attention at all.

Azriel laughed. “You’re such a lost case, brother. You were staring at her throughout the whole breakfast.”

“I wasn’t. I don’t care for her.”

“Tell yourself that.” Azriel went to pick up his shirt. “All I know is that I’ve been catching you more than once these past weeks on your balcony, obsessively staring at the northern gate of the castle. As if there was one carriage in particular you were waiting for, carrying a certain Archeron sister back to court.”

Cassian snorted. “Please. I was just checking up on the guards.”

“From your balcony?”

“Is that forbidden?”

“It’s pretty stupid.”

Cassin threw his water bottle in Azriel’s direction, but he missed. “You can’t deny it”, Azriel laughed. “You’ve been acting strange ever since Elain said that Nesta was coming back to Velaris. And Mor told me about your conversation yesterday.”

Of course Mor had talked. That woman couldn’t keep anything to herself.

Cassian grumbled darkly, “I don’t care about Nesta, I’m not thinking about Nesta, and this conversation here is over. You’re all tattletales, by the way.”

Of course, he thought to himself later when he was back in his rooms and smoking a cigar out on his balcony, that was a giant lie. He hadn’t been doing anything else but thinking about Nesta today. And he would have admitted that to himself- would have addressed it during his talk with Azriel, even- if he hadn’t been so sure that Nesta didn’t care for him at all. There existed proof enough for that. Somewhere buried under a hundred letters, somewhere in his bureau, he still kept her note; that fucking note a servant had brought him the next morning after he’d kissed her, alongside with the dagger he’d forgotten in the training room that day.

Cassian, you forgot your dagger yesterday. I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you personally. I’m moving north for a while. I don’t know when I will be back. Then some part that was crossed out, making it impossible to decipher what she’d written there. I will think of you. Be safe. Nesta.

Just like that, she was gone.

That kiss between them, and then she was gone the next day. Without any explanation.

He’d spent the next three years convincing himself that he felt nothing for her. Whenever he took other women to bed. Whenever her sisters spoke of her. Whenever anybody mentioned her name.

And then- only one day, only one race, only one small conversation- that was all it took for those suppressed feelings to emerge again. To torture him.

But he had to tell himself this whenever he thought of her: She obviously didn’t feel the same as him. And probably never would.

109 notes · View notes