valkyriewarriors
i still got miles to go
court of angst and college tears
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Who We Could Have Been - A Mor & Nesta friendship
A little one-shot set during the first week when Nesta is in Velaris after entering the Cauldron. It shows the Mor that I wished we saw, the care that I wished Nesta received, and a friendship that was never allowed to grow <3
It scratched at the windowsill, a never ending scrape-scrape. Nesta pulled the pillow over her head, wishing the bird would make the dive from its nest and splatter below rather than having to endure another moment of it thrashing and cheeping from the nest. Even the feathers in the pillow were too loud to her ears, the scrunch of the sheets too much. She took a respite in the bathroom, glad for the cool water that she splashed on her face and neck.
Velaris was a hell. Being fae was a nightmare. Her body was alien to her, the movements foreign and lumbering like a newborn lamb. Nesta moved quicker now as evidenced by the number of times she’d overbalanced with her steps. It was not only speed. Her body was stronger. The soaked nightgown that she’d been brought here in had ripped in two when she tried to pull it off her body, so she’d been left naked and crying in the bedroom whilst searching for the promised robes that were within.
Maybe another might be glad for the speed and strength, but Nesta hated it. Her senses were amplified; the colours brighter, her hearing tuning in to every slight sound, she could smell when one of them was cooking at the other end of the house – and that always had a far richer taste than she was used to. For the first couple of days, all Nesta could stomach was dry toast. It was all too rich, too heavy for her new-found palette.
A soft knock at the door came as it did every morning around this time. The others left them alone, which Nesta was glad for. Hopefully, the blonde one would get the hint soon enough.
Morrigan never did.
The key in the door was useless because she used her magic to turn it back around, so Nesta had to wonder why they even bothered with locks in Prythian if people came and went as they pleased.
‘Good morning. How do you feel today?’
Nesta pressed her hands to her temples, the noise shooting through her.
‘Do you have a headache again?’ Mor took a step forwards. She tilted her head so blonde hair cascaded across her face. ‘Shall I send for Madja?’
‘I do not want that woman anywhere near me,’ declared Nesta.
That rotten healer had smiled at her and said everything was perfect. It was not perfect. It was far from perfect. It was long limbs and pointed ears and everything too damn loud.
She clutched her head, voice rising, ‘Will that bird leap to its death or leave me the hell alone?’
Morrigan’s eyes widened then she held up a finger. ‘One moment.’
While she departed, Nesta perched on a sliver of the mattress. Buried beneath layers of blankets, despite the warm spring morning, Elain slept soundly. She reminded Nesta of a girl from a story who pricked her finger and slept for a thousand years. To the fae, that was probably nothing. A blink of an eye and they welcomed a new millennium. She ran a hand against Elain’s face then shivered at the sound of her hair sliding over itself.
‘Ta-da!’
Mor held out a mass of fluffy, white fur.
‘What am I meant to do with that?’
The woman had no bearings on propriety. She crowded Nesta’s space as she placed the two balls of fur against her ears. Her fingers were warm on the points of Nesta’s ears, but she still felt revulsed by somebody touching them. They were a reminder of what she was.
When Morrigan stepped away, it was… better. The sound was muffled. Less intense.
‘Ear muffs! I forgot to give them back to Viviane last time I visited her, but if they work then they work.’
Nesta could finally breathe. The brightness and taste, she could manage. The bombardment of sound had been a constant battle that had been wearing her down.
‘Does that feel better, Nesta?’
She didn’t know why but she felt heat building in her face as tears prickled her eyes. ‘Yes.’
Mor touched her hand. ‘This is new ground for us too. We don’t know the ways in which you’re struggling so I’ll need you to be vocal.’ Her fingers slipped into Nesta’s. ‘You're not a burden for telling us what you need. I know it’s scary. I can’t imagine how you feel. But I’m here. We are all here for you – and Elain – for as long as it takes.’
The final portion of the dam collapsed and a flood of tears broke through. She was not one for weeping or embraces. Tears were to be briefly shed alone then forgotten about. Servants were forbidden from coddling them – and her mother was not the sort to do it either. Yet, when Mor instinctively moved forwards and wrapped her arms around Nesta, she was so grateful for that touch. To not be the one having to hold it all together. To have a moment where she didn’t need to worry about Elain.
‘Let’s go for a chat,’ the woman said against her cheek.
‘Elain,’ began Nesta.
‘Elain is asleep. We won’t be far.’
It was against her better judgement, but Nesta followed. In the week since they had been taken from their beds, Nesta had barely seen beyond the four walls of the bedroom. She’d cloistered herself in there, unable to take any more change. It was a prison. A prison to fester.
‘We’re quite high up in the house, so we won’t winnow yet if the noise is too much. Velaris can be… loud,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Do you paint like Feyre?’
‘No.’
‘A shame,’ said Mor as they walked through a red-walled corridor with brightly coloured rugs strewn about haphazardly as if they had too many that they didn’t know what to do with them. ‘Velaris is known for its artists’ quarter. We’ve got lots of markets too if you’re a food lover.’
Disappointment grew in her. ‘Not particularly.’
‘No matter. What do you like to do, Nesta?’
Upset my sisters. Ruin my future.
‘Read.’
Could nothing dim Morrigan’s cheery disposition? Her eyes had blown wide with delight. ‘Oh, do I have the perfect place. Wait. Maybe not today,’ she pondered aloud. ‘Lots of priestesses. Lots of noise. But,’ Mor took her by the hand like she was a child’s plaything. ‘Yes! Let’s go.’
Nesta tried not to frown as she was tugged along the corridor then down a set of steps. Something sweet was baking in the oven, the smell wafting towards them. But it was not the kitchen that Mor towed her towards. They reached a set of double doors where Mor gave her a knowing look.
‘Behold,’ she whispered, pushing open a door.
Rows and rows of books filled her vision. It was a library. A personal library stacked with shelves, each one begging Nesta to run her eyes along it and choose a title.
She moved to take a step then held herself back.
‘It’s okay,’ Mor reassured her, touching her arm. ‘Go in. Have a look. Take as much time as you need. I need to get something – unless you want me to stay?’
‘I can be alone,’ Nesta replied.
The library was warm with wedges of sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. The books in its path had spines damaged by sunlight so the leather was fading. Nesta stood in the light, letting it soak into her bones. Her finger trailed along one shelf, tracking each book and wondering which to read. There were sections on the arts, history, geography, poetry, foreign books – and even a whole section dedicated to fiction. Father always said it was a waste of time. Nothing could be learnt from a story. Mother despised reading entirely.
Why must your head be filled with words? A husband will not take to being outwitted by his wife.
Their scoldings could never staunch her desire. Nesta had read in secret, had stolen books from father’s collection at night and returned them in the morning. She’d begged the housekeeper to buy her them and she’d find the money from somewhere.
When Nesta was already a chapter deep into a heavy, ancient book about the history of the Night Court, Morrigan returned.
‘I bring snacks,’ she announced.
A handful of cakes had been artfully arranged on a plate, their icing colourful and appetising.
Mor caught her gazing at them. ‘Take one. I brought them for you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’
Why did it feel like a weakness to admit the ways in which she was struggling? It wasn’t Nesta’s fault that she was in this life. Not her fault that it was new and scary.
‘Everything tastes so strong.’
Morrigan gave a murmur of understanding. ‘Feyre suffered with that. She just had to push through and get used to it, I think. I wish she was here. She’d be a better help.’ Mor just shrugged, letting the words roll away. ‘What about tea? Can you manage that?’
One of the strange women appeared from the shadows, as if she had always been there. Nesta was sure that sometimes she blurred at the edges as though not quite real.
‘Is that alright, Cerridwen?’
The woman nodded then vanished again.
Mor leaned forwards and rested her chin on a closed fist. ‘What are you reading?’
‘A history of this court.’ Nesta swallowed. This woman was trying to make conversation, trying to help. Being prickly would only push away the help. ‘All I’ve ever been told is that faeries cannot lie and they will enjoy hurting us. I don’t know anything. I don’t know how long you live, who are your enemies – if you can lie.’
‘We can lie. We can touch iron. We can step across a circle.’
‘What a list of talents you have,’ came a drawling man’s voice.
Oh. It was him.
As Cassian approached, carrying a tray of tea, Nesta’s body coiled tight like a snake ready to strike if he came too close.
Mor gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘I’m helping Nesta to understand how fantastic we are.’
‘Oh, you’re a historian? When did I miss that?’ Cassian came around the back of Nesta’s chair, taking a deliberately longer route to get to the space on the table, before putting down the tray.
‘And you’re a waiter now?’
Cassian threw Mor a wink as he poured the tea for the two of them. ‘A male of many talents.’
His eyes slid to Nesta, cataloguing all of the changes in her. She’d not seen him since he was bleeding out on the floor in Hybern’s castle. She remembered the twitch of his fingers, the jerk of his bloody wings.
‘Your wings have healed,’ she stated.
Cassian slowly – ever so slowly – dipped his chin like he was in disbelief that she’d noticed they were not ruined ribbons hanging behind him. ‘They’re not as they were. I need to practise flying. I’ll, uh, be flying here often to strengthen them.’
His eyes dipped to her lips as she brought the scalding cup to her lips only to have something to do with her hands.
Those words hung there. An offer if she wanted to take it. He’d come here again if she wanted to see him?
‘Shoo,’ said Mor. ‘I have an in-depth history of the Hewn City to tell Nesta and I won't have you spoiling it with stories of how amazing you are.’
Cassian held up his hands. ‘Nes, if you want to know about brave warriors, I’m waiting.’
Long after Cassian departed, Nesta was still on a cloud somewhere. Mor’s words hardly registered although at any other time, Nesta would have been riveted with the history of Morrigan’s family. Her mind was caught on a pair of hazel eyes and a teasing grin. Cassian hadn’t commented on the ear muffs she wore or that she was even out of the bedroom.
For hours they talked, conversation swirling from serious discussions about the political alignment of the Night Court to the best boutiques for clothing and embarrassing stories about Cassian – of which Morrigan had plenty. When Nesta finally gave in to the squirming guilt that encouraged her to check in on Elain and be with her, Mor insisted she take a few library books with her and also insisted that Nuala and Cerridwen would be happy to make her whatever food she wanted as long as she asked them.
‘I’m really glad you came out of the room,’ said Mor, linking her arm with Nesta’s on the walk back. ‘Same again tomorrow?’
Tomorrow. Tomorrow meant a future. It meant no longer hiding. It meant accepting that this was her life.
Nesta offered a short smile. ‘I can do tomorrow.’
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Ruhn x Lidia (Crescent City)
Art: DreamworldDweller
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You Love Our Permanent Chase (And the Bite of Our Bark)
A/N: Down to the literal wire, but a very happy holidays to @freakingata! It is I, your Secret Santa! It has been so lovely getting to know you these past few months, and I've loved writing this fun Nessian fic for you 🥰 I hope you enjoy soccer star Cassian and the holidays shenanigans he gets up to with his work rival Nesta 😉 (cc: @acotargiftexchange)
Word Count: 9,337
Read on AO3
Nesta hates Cassian Valdarez.
She doesn’t care that his play helped carry Velaris FC to the top of the league standings year after year. She doesn’t care that his save against Hybern during penalty kicks sent Prythian to the World Cup final. She doesn’t care that he’s beloved by the nation, and she certainly doesn’t care that he was considered one of the best goalkeepers in the world before a shattered knee ended his career.
Because when Nesta looks at Cassian Valdarez, she doesn’t see the friendly, likable soccer superstar that everyone else seems to see. Instead, all Nesta sees is a cocky, arrogant, insufferable man who’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
Nesta worked hard for years to get where she is. She worked hard in high school to earn a scholarship to one of the best universities for journalism. She worked hard to graduate top of her class for her degree. And she worked damn hard interning with barely two pennies to rub together until she was finally promoted to reporter and anchor. She thought she had finally done it. Thought she’d finally made a name for herself and achieved her dream.
Thought.
But then Cassian Valdarez had all but strolled in, the network more than happy to pant at his feet and offer him the job.
So now Nesta is stuck being a co-reporter, a co-anchor to the former soccer star. She’s forced to sit beside him and force a smile while they talk through the biggest plays and the biggest games of the week, the top news in soccer from around the world. She’s forced to listen to his deep timbre, to his drawl as he calls her sweetheart. It’s infuriating.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Speak of the devil. It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her annoyed groan. At least with Cassian standing over her shoulder, she’s able to roll her eyes in peace without him clocking the expression. She doesn’t even bother turning to greet him, to even lift her head and meet his gaze. Instead, she keeps her focus on the papers on the desk in front of her, organizing her notes until she’s happy with them. She hopes the blatant dismissal grates his nerves as much as his presence grates hers.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Cassian asks anyways, sliding into his seat beside her.
“Certainly not as good as yours.”
Nesta remembers the pictures, the headlines that took over social media like a blazing fire. Cassian with his curls disheveled around his face, his hazel eyes bright but hazy, a pretty blonde all but hanging off his arm while they stumbled out of a bar called Rita’s downtown. With bright red lipstick pressed against the golden skin of his cheek in a perfect mark, the photos painted quite the picture, and almost every headline included a cheeky play on words over the fact a former goalkeeper was scoring now.
“Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”
“Jealous?” Nesta scoffs, snapping her attention to Cassian and his stupid smirking face. “I just feel bad for the poor girl, that she had to spend a whole night with you. Must have been terrible.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that message along to Mor,” Cassian tells her, his eyes practically glinting in amusement despite the fake solemn tone he puts on. “Platonically, of course. In case you were curious.”
Nesta rolls her eyes again, turning back to her notes. “I don’t care.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
Cassian chuckles, the sound low and warm, and Nesta clenches her jaw against it. But before either of them can say anything more, the floor manager, Balthazar, steps over to the news desk. He quickly runs through some high level notes from the director, the makeup staff stepping over halfway through to touch up both their faces.
The routine of it all helps Nesta to focus, to center herself. She focuses on the words Balthazar is saying, on the brush skating across the skin of her face. She glances back down to her notes, and for a moment, the rest of the studio fades away. No longer is there the chatter of the camera crew, the movement of coworkers as everything is readied, the blaring stage lights overhead. It is merely the steady thrum of her heart within her chest, the air through her lungs with each breath.
It is merely Nesta in her element as they're counted in.
“Welcome to Velaris Sports and the Football Show,” Cassian begins, shooting a winning smile toward the camera. “I’m Cassian, here with Nesta, and it certainly was an interesting week for the world of soccer. Wouldn’t you say so, Nes?”
It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her reaction at the stupid nickname, to keep her face smiling toward the camera, even as her fingers flex against her notes. “It certainly was, and I think we’d both agree that one of the top things to happen this week was the Women’s National team’s showing against Hybern. It was clear that though the match was just an early qualifier for next year’s World Cup, those women are here to play. Emerie Marciano’s sipping tea celebration after her goal early in the second half will live in infamy.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Let’s check out that and other highlights from that game in case you missed it.”
~ * * * ~
When the call to cut finally echoes across the sound stage, that red recording light finally flickering off and the stage lights dimming to nothing, Nesta lets out a quiet breath. She takes a moment to close her eyes, relaxing fully back into her seat, back into herself, and lets her television smile drop away.
“Great show today, sweetheart.”
“Thanks,” Nesta mutters, pushing up and to her feet and straightening out her skirt. Whether Cassian notices the distinct lack of offering a ‘you too’ or not, she doesn’t know or care, gathering up her papers.
“I especially liked those extra tidbits about the Vanserra family you threw in. Great tie-in for that segment on Lucien Vanserra.”
Nesta doesn’t even bother swallowing down her eye roll. One day, she's sure her eyes are going to fall out of her head, and it's all going to be working with this man’s fault. She turns back toward him, offering a bland, mocking smile. “That’s what happens when some of us actually do our research.”
“Exactly,” Cassian agrees easily with a wide smile of his own, his hazel glinting. He leans back casually in his seat, stretching an arm back and across Nesta’s now vacated one. “That’s what I have you for. You be the brains, and I'll be the beauty.”
Nesta scoffs, settling Cassian with a final scowl before she turns on her heel and stalks off the sound stage. At least now she can settle back at her desk, put on her favorite podcast, and spend the rest of the day peacefully in her bubble away from Cassian while she prepares for their next episode. She needs a drink, a stiff one ideally, but it’s only the afternoon. She decides to settle for something sweet instead to help her through the rest of the day, beelining for the refreshments table set up back near the kitchen.
She grabs one of the mugs at the end of the table first, carefully filling it about three quarters of the way with coffee. She adds creamer next before grabbing a handful of sugar packets, tearing them all and dumping them at the same time. Snagging one of the wooden stirrers, she brings her coffee to the perfect shade, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a small sip. Just how she likes it, the taste blooming on her tongue and warming her all the way down.
“You made me coffee, sweetheart? You shouldn’t have.”
Before Nesta can even react, before she can even turn or say something or roll her eyes for the twentieth time today, a large hand reaches over her shoulder. Dark swirls of ink twist and curl down toward the wrist, and long fingers curve around the top of her mug, plucking it straight from her grip. She whips around, an annoyed scowl already twisting across her face, a raging fire burning in her narrowed gaze. She swears Cassian’s eyes glint at her expression, his smile twitching up that little bit higher as he brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.
Cassian pulls the mug away with a grimace, peering down into the coffee. “Cauldron, you don’t want to add some coffee to your sugar?”
Nesta smirks triumphantly, even as she blinks innocently up at him. “It’s sweet. Like me.”
“I think you got your ratio off, Nes. It’s clearly not bitter enough.”
“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, jabbing a finger at his chest as she enunciates. “Nes-ta.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Cassian fires back, his ever present cocksure smirk betraying his faux innocence.
“Perhaps you’ve taken too many balls to the head over your career because clearly you must be deaf.”
Cassian chuckles lightly at the quip, but he doesn’t disagree. Instead, he brings the pastry in his other hand up to his mouth, taking a bite. Nesta can’t help but track the chocolate that begins to ooze between his fingers, the way his tongue darts out to catch the sweetness. Her gaze snaps back down to the platter of pastries, excited at the prospect, but all she sees are regular croissants and jam filled scones.
Of course.
Of course, Cassian took the last chocolate pastry. Because taking her job, taking her sanity each and every work day clearly isn’t enough. The audacity of this man. Nesta’s chest feels tight with the heat and rage bubbling between her ribs. It boils over and scrapes beneath her skin, fueling her inner fire and goading her on. Harsh words sit heavy on her tongue, poised and ready to strike, but a quiet throat clear to her left has her swallowing them back down.
Nesta and Cassian both turn their heads and their attention at the same time, finding one of the production assistants, Diedre, standing beside them. Nesta has always noticed she’s a bit on the shy side, and even now, as her eyes glance back and forth between them, Nesta spies the barest hint of pink beginning to spill across her cheeks.
“Sorry,” Diedre mumbles, reaching between them to grab one of the jam filled scones. The color on her cheeks deepens with the attention still on her, her shoulders pinching upwards. “Are either of you planning to participate in the Solstice Week events?”
“Solstice Week events?”
“Don’t you read the company emails?” Nesta sneers with a scoff.
“It’s um… it’s just different events to build excitement for Solstice,” Diedre explains, answering Cassian’s question. “Desk decorating. A cookie exchange. Ugly sweaters. And a Solstice inspired scavenger hunt.”
“So a contest, then? And what prize do I get if I win?”
“What makes you assume you're going to win?”
“I…” Diedre stutters slightly, glancing between them again. “I don’t think there’s any sort of prize.”
“That’s alright,” Cassian offers, turning his gaze back to Nesta and daring to shoot her a wink. “I’ll still win anyways.”
Nesta will admit that when the email came in for her earlier in the week, she merely skimmed it before ultimately deleting it. She’ll admit that she didn’t care about something as silly as the company’s attempt at team building and morale. But, now, she knows. She knows that she will not let Cassian Valdarez get another thing over her, even something as stupid as Solstice Week events. She will not let him bask in another victory that’s all but handed to him because no one else even tries.
Determination has her spine hardening like steel, her chin raising just slightly as she holds Cassian’s gaze firmly. She refuses to let him have this. She’ll show him and this whole production company, the whole network, and she’ll do it in such a way that it wipes that stupid, smug look right off Cassian’s face.
No, this time, Nesta Archeron is going to win.
~ * * * ~
Nesta squints down at the piece of paper she has laid across her desk, running her fingertip over the drawing there. She had stayed up late with Gwyn at the rickety kitchen table that’s been with them since their college apartment. The redhead had always had an affinity for Solstice and the celebrations. And a creative eye. She always ensured their apartment was decked out for the season as early as socially acceptable, and Nesta intended to use her friend’s talent to her full advantage.
Tapping her finger against the page in confirmation, Nesta turns in place. She crouches down toward the bags she brought into the office with her this morning, rooting around until she finds the package of stuffing. She stretches out the stuffing and lays it across her desk, crumbling up pieces of paper and shoving it beneath to create little hills just as Gwyn suggested.
Nesta adds various random figurines and mini fake Solstice trees, and she steps back to admire her work, happy with the winter wonderland she’s created. She returns to her bags and grabs the green streamers next. She maneuvers her desk chair until it aligns to her liking, carefully stepping up onto it. Even with the added height boost, she has to press up onto her toes to get close enough to the ceiling. She jams a hook into the material of the ceiling tiles, draping the first streamer across it.
“You’re in already? What did you do? Sleep here overnight?”
The sudden voice has Nesta jumping in surprise, her balance on the chair wobbling. Two hands shoot out to help steady her, fingers spanning across her entire waist and heat seeping beneath her blouse and skittering across her skin.
“Careful, Nes,” Cassian chuckles quietly. “Don’t want to break that pretty little head of yours.”
Nesta makes a fake gagging noise at the comment. “Don’t try to be cute.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Nesta turns her head enough to glare at the hands still at her waist, but Cassian doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, his telltale smirk only seems to grow at her reaction. With an annoyed huff, Nesta turns back to the task at hand. She hangs the other streamer over the hook, adding the large, red ribbon tied in a bow as the final touch. She steps down off the chair and out of Cassian’s grip, carefully placing the ends of the streamers so it gives the illusion of a tree.
“Looks great,” Cassian comments. Nesta snaps her attention back to him, but the teasing smirk she expects to find is decidedly missing. In fact, there’s nothing but genuineness painted across his expression. “You certainly went all out.”
“Well, it is a desk decorating contest,” Nesta reminds him. She can feel pride bubbling up in her chest, blooming and taking root between her ribs. She doesn’t even bother swallowing it down, doesn’t bother biting back the victorious smirk that tugs up her lips. “What did you expect?”
For a moment, Nesta swears that Cassian’s smile grows at her expression, an emotion she can’t quite pinpoint flaring in his hazel eyes. But then that all too familiar cocksure smirk takes over his face again. His attention dances back toward Nesta’s desk, taking in the different decorations she’s arranged, before he meets her gaze again.
“I honestly assumed you’d be more of a grinch.”
Nesta’s nostrils flare at the remark and she crosses her arms across her chest. “Fuck you.”
Cassian laughs again as though the insult delights him, the sound prickling across Nesta’s skin. Her blood sparks just as much as Cassian’s gaze seems to. She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, stalking away and toward the coffee, Cassian’s voice following after her.
“Game on, sweetheart.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta lets out a quiet breath as she steps out of her car. She swears that she can still feel flour in her hair. No matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower, it’s as if the cookie dough is now embedded within her from where the beaters sent it all flying. Almost as badly as it's embedded in her apartment. She's still not sure how cookie dough got on the ceiling.
Another soft sigh and Nesta grabs her bag and the tupperware full of cookies from her passenger seat. She can’t help but wince as she peers at her cookies. They spread more than she had anticipated, losing their shape, and the edges and bottoms are crispier than she’s sure they’re meant to be. She had followed the recipe to what she thought was a T, but something went wrong somewhere along the way.
At least they’re made with love.
That’s what Gwyn had said the previous night, and Nesta hopes that counts for enough. It should count for enough in her opinion, that at least hers are homemade. She’s sure that most of her coworkers will just be bringing in store-bought for the cookie exchange today. Including a certain former soccer superstar that Nesta is confident has never stepped foot inside a kitchen before in his life. He probably used his money to have a private chef that prepared all his food for him.
Nesta steps inside the studio kitchen, finding the area that’s been set up for the cookie exchange. Already, there are various cookies out and on display, including the cakey icing heavy ones that the grocery stores sell for every holiday, still in the plastic case. Cassian’s contribution if Nesta had to guess. With a roll of her eyes, she opens up her own tupperware and adds her cookies.
“Morning, sweetheart. What kind of cookies did you make?”
Nesta takes a moment to breathe before turning toward the voice. Cassian leans casually against the counter near the refrigerator, wearing a soft looking, deep red henley shirt since they aren’t filming today. His hair is pulled away from his face in a bun, the lights of the kitchen casting shadows across his jawline. He has a cookie in his hand, perfectly shaped and iced to look like a soccer player, and he offers Nesta a cheeky smirk as he pointedly takes a bite.
“Sugar cookies,” Nesta grinds out from between her clenched teeth.
She turns back to her tupperware of cookies, spying a stack of sticky notes and a sharpie set to the side. She grabs both, quickly scrawling her cookie type on the purple paper to match the other cookies on display. She feels more than she hears Cassian sidle up behind her, heat prickling up her spine as it radiates off him. His breath skates across her cheek as he leans forward to peer over her shoulder.
“Are they… snowmen?”
“They’re meant to be gingerbread men and Solstice trees,” Nesta explains, trying desperately to swallow down her annoyance.
“Really? Are you sure?”
The annoyance burns into full blown anger, fire raging through Nesta’s veins. She whirls around, but almost instantly regrets it. It puts her chest to chest with Cassian, and she has to tilt her head back slightly to keep meeting his gaze. His hazel eyes practically seem to spark, all green vines and golden specks, and that smirk of his grows slowly but surely across his face.
“You know, you’re supposed to chill the dough after you cut them,” Cassian continues, not even bothering to take a step back to give her space, leaving Nesta caged in. “That’s the trick to getting them to keep their shape and not spread so much.”
“I don’t recall asking,” Nesta seethes. She settles a hand against his chest, shoving gently, but Cassian’s large frame is unmoving.
“The other trick is to use your hands, to really knead the dough to the right consistency.” Cassian’s voice dips lower as he speaks the word, holding a hand up between them and curling then flexing his fingers. “I’d be more than happy to give you a demonstration some time.”
“Yeah, right. You really expect me to believe you’re some great baker?”
“Try for yourself,” Cassian offers, reaching back behind Nesta and producing a tupperware of his own.
Nesta eyes the cookies, the perfectly shaped and iced soccer players, and scoffs. “You did not make those.”
Cassian presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart. I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent cook. And an excellent baker. In fact, this is my own recipe.”
Nesta scowls as Cassian shakes the tupperware toward her encouragingly. She snatches up one of the cookies and makes a big show of taking a bite. She hates it. She hates that the cookie is actually delicious. She hates that it's buttery sweet and melts perfectly in her mouth, the perfect mix of crispy edge and a soft center with icing that's not too overpowering.
It takes everything within her to swallow down a moan of delight, to not give Cassian that sort of satisfaction, but from the way Cassian’s smirk only seems to grow, it’s clear he already knows. With a huff that she pushes out between clenched teeth, Nesta knocks her shoulder against Cassian’s and shoves past him. Hard. She stalks back toward her desk, mind already reeling with ways for her to win the Solstice Week event tomorrow, to ensure victory after today’s misstep.
And if Nesta sneaks back to the kitchen throughout the day to grab more of Cassian’s cookies to help fuel her? Well, no one has to know.
~ * * * ~
“That has got to be the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.”
Nesta tugs at the hem of the fabric at her hips. The pink color probably wouldn’t be half bad if it wasn’t practically neon, and the two toned green fringes of yarn clustered across the front only seem to add to the charm. That and the clumps of yellow yarn with lopsided faces. Nesta has to bite her lip around the smile threatening to break free across her face. It’s exactly the type of response she was hoping for.
Schooling her features, Nesta finally raises her face to Balthazar. “Thank you.”
“Not usually the response you’d expect to that,” Balthazar chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Today only I’ll allow it.”
“Well, you definitely have my vote.”
With that, Balthazar vanishes back toward his own desk and his own work, so Nesta finishes mixing her own coffee to her taste before doing the same. She pulls up her notes she’s been working through these past few days, quickly skimming through what she already has written. Nodding to herself, she pulls up the game clips from the last World Cup, finding where she left off.
“Hope you’ve been working on your gracious loser speech, sweetheart.”
For once, Nesta doesn’t roll her eyes at that all too familiar drawl. In fact, her grin is wide as she turns in her seat and comes face to face with Cassian. He has his arms spread wide, showing off his own sweater. A fake, felt fire has been glued to the center of the sweater, various small stockings pinned in a line along the shoulders, and tinsel loops around the collar.
It’s certainly ugly.
Almost in slow motion Nesta watches as Cassian takes in her own sweater. His brows start to furrow low over his eyes, his arms dropping limply back to his side. But the true victory comes from watching Cassian’s cocksure smile slip from his lips and be taken over by a confused frown.
“What the hell is that?” Cassian asks, gesturing toward her attire.
Nesta tugs at the fabric, smiling down fondly at her attire. “My sweater for today’s contest. It’s meant to be solstice trees and kittens. Allegedly at least. But it’s perfectly ugly, don’t you think?”
Cassian crosses his arms across his chest, raising a practically sardonic brow. “What possible store could you have found that in?”
No longer wanting him towering over her, Nesta rises from her seat, truly going toe to toe to him. She narrows her eyes at him, the scowl familiar and easy. She lets a slow smirk tug up her lips, keeping her voice the picture perfect of innocence as she tells him, “Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”
Cassian chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What are you going to tell me next? That you knit it yourself?”
“Unfortunately not. My great aunt did,” Nesta explains, peering down at her sweater again. “She’s half blind.”
“That sounds like cheating.”
“Since when are there rules for an ugly sweater contest?” Cassian huffs quietly, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nesta knows that she’s won, knows that he doesn’t have an argument for that. She offers a condescending hum, tilting her head in mock innocence. “Guess someone’s a sore loser.”
Cassian leans in closer still, and Nesta raises her chin higher in defiance, unwilling to back down from his attempts to cow her, back down from his gaze pinning her in place. With the little space between them, Nesta realizes his eyes are more green than brown, specks of gold seeming to glint amongst those swirling vines. This close, she can feel the heat that radiates off him, can feel his breath skate across her cheeks. She can watch in slow motion as that smirk returns.
“Until tomorrow’s contest then. Nes.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta leans forward in her seat, squinting at her computer screen and the image displayed there. She currently has two wins for this week’s contests to Cassian’s one, and she’s determined to win today’s challenge too, to claim her victory for the whole week.
A scavenger hunt.
According to the email sent around to everyone, various small, plastic penguins have been hidden around the studio and offices to be found. Each one is worth a different amount of points, and whomever has the most at the end of the day, wins. It seems simple enough, and if Nesta plays it strategically, it’s practically in the bag.
Nodding to herself, ensuring she’s memorized the image and what exactly she’s looking for, Nesta closes her laptop and pushes up to her feet. She glances around at the other desks around her, hoping to spy one of the penguin figurines. The ones with the top hat are worth two hundred fifty points, but she’d accept any to begin the search.
Nesta heads for the studio kitchen next. She opens up the refrigerator, and there, beside all the packed lunches, is a penguin, no taller than an inch, with a pink bobble hat on. Only ten points, but Nesta snatches it up all the same and continues her search. She finds another ten point penguin amongst the mugs, a penguin with yellow earmuffs worth twenty five points between tea pouches, and a penguin on skis worth fifty points in the freezer.
She continues her search across the soundstage, winding through the desks, and even checking in the production control room. By the end, she has an entire paper cup full of various penguins. Plenty of the ones worth ten and twenty five points, and she’s even found a few of the penguins in a blue coat worth one hundred points.
Still no top hat penguins though.
“And how many penguins have you found, sweetheart?”
Nesta doesn’t even bother turning around, doesn’t bother stopping her search, as she pulls open the bottom tray of the printer and locates a blue coat penguin. “I’m already at eleven seventy five.”
“Not bad,” Cassian comments, and when there’s silence after, Nesta hopes that means he’s decided to leave her alone. “Aren’t you going to ask how many I’ve found?”
Nesta scoffs, straightening and turning to face Cassian and lift a sardonic brow. “No.”
“Well, I’m at a thousand and ten.”
Cassian steps closer, right up into Nesta’s space until the heat radiating off him prickles across her skin. His hand reaches out, stretching back behind her. Nesta can’t help but hold her breath, Cassian not even breaking eye contact while he lifts the document cover on the copier at her back. When he pulls his hand back, a penguin with yellow earmuffs sits in the center of his palm.
“A thousand thirty five,” Cassian offers with a smirk.
With a roll of her eyes, Nesta side-steps away from Cassian. She can hear him trailing behind her as she makes her way down the hall, but she pointedly ignores him. The sound of a door opening draws her attention, and when she whirls around, she spots Cassian opening what appears to be a janitor’s closet of some kind. Nesta rushes forward, slipping in quickly before he can, determined to find whatever penguins might be hiding in there first.
“Who knew you were so competitive, Nes.”
“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, whirling around to watch Cassian step inside behind her.
The door closes behind him with a soft snick, and Nesta realizes too late just how small the space is. She and Cassian are practically standing chest to chest, and the wide set of his shoulders and his tall frame makes it seem even smaller still. Nesta tries to take a step back, but the metal of the shelves in this closet merely digs into her spine.
“That’s what I said,” Cassian tells her with an easy shrug.
“Do you enjoy riling me up?”
“Oh, there are many things I enjoy when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
Just like at the printer, Cassian’s hand reaches up between their bodies. Only this time, his hand reaches toward her face. For a moment, his fingers brush along the strands of her hair that hang loosely around her temples. For a moment, Nesta swears she can feel the barest whisper of a touch across her cheek. She can feel heat creeping up her neck, threatening to spill beneath her skin, threatening to send goosebumps skittering down her spine.
Cassian pulls his hand back, showing off a penguin in a blue coat pinched between his fingers. “Eleven thirty five.”
Nesta lets out a growl of frustration, both at the fact that Cassian is now only forty points behind her, and at the fact she allowed herself to be distracted by him. She whips her attention back toward the shelves, moving around the rolls of paper towels and cleaning bottles. She lets out an excited noise when she looks between the stack of microfiber towels, pulling out one of the coveted penguins in a top hat.
“Would you look at that,” Nesta declares, turning back around and holding up the penguin for Cassian to see. “I’m at fourteen twenty five now.”
“The day is still young.”
“Whatever. I doubt they hid that many in here so just get out of the way so we can leave.”
Cassian offers an eyeroll of his own, but he turns toward the door at least. Nesta waits for the light of the hall to spill back into the small space, for Cassian to step out so she can follow behind him, but instead his entire body tenses, shoulders raising slightly.
“So… bad news,” Cassian starts, turning his head enough that Nesta can see the grimace that’s taken over his face. “The door is locked.”
“Don’t fuck around, Cassian. It’s not funny,” Nesta snaps, smacking his arm in annoyance. “Open the door.”
“You think I’m lying to you?” Cassian jingles the handle of the door in emphasis. “It’s locked.”
“You’re probably just doing it wrong. Move out of the way.”
Nesta elbows past Cassian, reaching out and trying the handle for herself. It barely moves, so she tries again, more aggressive, but it’s definitely locked. She lets out a noise somewhere between a frustrated scream and an annoyed huff, slapping her hand against the wood.
“I told you it was locked.”
Nesta nearly jumps out of her skin at how close Cassian’s voice is. She realizes too late that when she elbowed past him that Cassian didn’t move, that she’s now practically pressed up against him. She can feel every hard line of him, every muscle built from years of playing soccer. Can feel the way his heart seems to skip and beat between his ribs.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, to swallow down the shiver threatening to skitter up her spine at the proximity, Nesta pounds her fist against the door. “Help! Someone help! We’re locked in here!”
“Really, sweetheart?”
“Can anyone hear me? Unlock the door! Help!”
“You know, we could always just—”
The sound of the door clicking echoes in the small space and cuts Cassian off. Balthazar’s face comes blinking into view, his eyebrows dipping low in confusion as his gaze darts between the two of them.
“Um…”
“Don’t ask,” Nesta pushes out between gritted teeth, shoving past Balthazar and stalking down the hall and back toward her desk.
By the end of the work day, Nesta’s collection of penguin figurines comes to a total of one thousand, eight hundred, thirty-five. She takes a photo and sends it to the email for all the Solstice Week events, her submission. It doesn’t take long before the email comes in, announcing the winner for the scavenger hunt, but Nesta frowns as she reads the name, as she eyes the photo of the winning penguin collection. The figurines practically overflowing to the point they don't fit in the frame.
Jumping to her feet, Nesta stomps her way down the line of desks. “How did you do it?”
Cassian leans back casually in his seat, his easy smile not fooling Nesta for a second. “Do what?”
“Two thousand seven hundred five?” Nesta demands, glaring down at him. “How is that even possible?”
Cassian’s smile turns into a full blown smirk, lifting his hands back behind his head until the sleeves of his shirt ride up his biceps. “Someone’s a sore loser.”
“You cheated. You had to have cheated.”
“I’m offended that you’d make such an accusation. It’s not my fault I’m charming.”
Nesta snorts, rolling her eyes. “Charming? That is not a word I would use to describe you.”
“Clearly others find me charming,” Cassian tells her with a shrug, that infuriating cocksure smirk unmoving. “Charming enough to share the penguins they found with me.”
Nesta’s jaw slackens at the admission. She steps forward, in between Cassian’s legs, so that she can glower down at him. “That’s. Cheating.”
“I prefer the words charming and resourceful,” Cassian fires back, his hazel eyes practically sparking even under the fluorescent lights. “That means two wins for me, and two wins for you. We’ll have to call it a draw, Nes.”
“It is not a draw. You forfeit because you cheated.”
“Nowhere in the rules of the scavenger hunt did it say I had to find all the penguins myself. It just said whoever had the most points at the end of the day. And I did. It’s a technicality.”
Nesta huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. “Then we do another challenge to settle the score and determine a true winner.”
“It’s a Friday and the end of the day,” Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “What possible work challenge could you come up with?”
“We’ll stick with the Solstice theme like it’s been all week to be fair. It snowed last night. You, me, snowball fight.”
“Fine,” Cassian concedes surprisingly easily, reaching forward enough that he can close his computer. “But when I win, and I will, I want you to remember this moment and how you begged me for this.”
“I am not begging,” Nesta snaps, stepping back enough that Cassian can stand up from his seat.
“Is that another challenge? More than up for rectifying that one, sweetheart.”
“Just meet me outside.”
Nesta turns on her heel and storms off back to her desk. She quickly shuts down her own computer for the day and packs up her work bag. She tugs on her gloves and hat, winding her scarf around her neck. She zips up her coat and heads for the door, following around the building to the grassy area now blanketed in white waves of snow.
Nesta lets out a yelp of surprise as a snowball hits her straight in the chest, wet snow streaking down her jacket and dripping to her feet. A deep, booming laughter follows the assault, and Nesta raises her gaze to glare at Cassian, another snowball already balanced in the palm of his hand.
“Does this mean I win now?”
“No,” Nesta snaps, crouching down to scoop snow into her own hands.
She packs the snow down until it’s a ball, stretching her arm back and lobbing it at Cassian’s head. Cassian is quick to jump out of the way with another deep laugh. He tosses his own snowball toward Nesta, but she ducks before it can hit her, using the motion to scoop more snow into her hands.
Cassian starts to charge toward Nesta, and with a yelp, she makes a break toward the right, quickly tossing her half formed snowball at him. She skitters slightly as she stumbles away, but she crouches down again to gather more snow. She straightens and presses her hands together, packing down the snow until it forms a ball. She whirls around again just as cold wetness settles on her head, dripping down her temple and the back of her neck.
Her jaw drops open, staring with wide eyes at Cassian’s own shocked face, his hands held above her head. For a moment, they merely stare at one another, but then Cassian’s lips start to twitch. His hazel eyes light up and he gives in to the laugh he’s clearly trying to hold back, the sound surprisingly warm despite the cold now settling deep within Nesta’s bones.
“You look like a wet, angry cat, sweetheart.”
“You’re such a shit,” Nesta seethes, shoving hard at Cassian’s chest in retaliation.
With the snow and ice slippery beneath their feet, Cassian’s balance wobbles, and before Nesta knows it, he goes tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately for her, his hand latches around her wrist, almost out of instinct, and she falls half on top of him with a quiet oof. She quickly shoves off, but that just leaves her in the snow, her entire back now cold and wet.
“So,” Cassian starts, propping up onto his elbow so he can smile down at her. “When are you finally going to go out on a date with me? Does tomorrow work for you?”
Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, her mind trying to wrap around Cassian’s words. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Nes. Isn’t it about time we finally put an end to all this sexual tension?”
It takes everything within Nesta to keep in her startled laugh. She can’t believe this turn in the conversation. This notion. The absolute absurdity of this man. A date with him. With Cassian Valdarez. The bane of her existence. The man who’s the reason she has to share her job. The man who is all endless cocky smiles and looming over her with his large frame and those hazel eyes that practically pierce through her in a way that’s almost unnerving.
“What are you talking about? I hate you. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it very clear that I hate you.”
“Oh… um…” Cassian clears his throat a bit awkwardly, pushing a hand up and through his hair. “I thought that was just how you and I flirt. Our back and forth. Like a game.”
“I hate you,” Nesta repeats, not even bothering to swallow down her scoff. “In what world would I ever agree to date you?”
Cassian’s smile slips fully off his face, the hazel of his eyes dimming before he drops his gaze away from Nesta. He pushes up to his feet, still not quite looking at her as he brushes the snow off his pants.
“Well,” Cassian finally says, his voice suddenly hollow and lacking any of his usual warmth. “Clearly I read this whole situation wrong. Sorry.”
Nesta opens her mouth, but words die in the back of her throat, thoughts a tangled mess of vines. She can do nothing but gape dumbly, can do nothing but watch as Cassian lets out a quiet, self deprecating breath and shakes his head, turning on his heel and stalking away.
~ * * * ~
By the time Monday rolls around, Nesta’s reeling mind still hasn’t calmed since the events of Friday. She spent the entire weekend replaying that moment in the snow with Cassian on loop, the look on his face before he walked away. She kept replaying every moment she ever had with Cassian. All the smirks and easy laughs. All the quips and jabs. Every sweetheart and Nes. It started to all make sense, that look he would get on his face, the way the golds of his hazel eyes would glint.
The worst part was that the more Nesta thought about those moments, thought about those looks, thought about him, her chest got that little bit tighter, emotions running rampant and kicking up a swirling storm. Only one thought broke through the raging seas in the end: what was wrong with her? She hated Cassian Valdarez.
Or did she?
Cassian who never balked at her fire, who never belittled her or told her to bring down those flames. Cassian who always goes toe to toe with her, practically lighting up in amusement at every quip or remark. Cassian who never questioned her knowledge or skill, never commented or joked about her being a woman working in sports journalism. Cassian with his delicious baking and gorgeous eyes and warm laugh and—
With a soft sigh, Nesta tries to shake her head of those thoughts. She focuses on her notes and today’s show, mentally running through the stories and the points she wants to discuss. Even still, the words on the page start to blur together, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the skin already ragged from the same tick chasing her all weekend.
“Good morning, Nesta.”
Nesta’s head snaps up at the greeting, turning to find Cassian standing in front of his chair. For the first time, it feels like he's not smiling or smirking. Instead, his lips are pressed into a neutral line, a dullness clinging to the hazel of his eyes that’s almost unsettling. It certainly sends a crack ricocheting through Nesta's chest. It takes her a moment too long to realize he said her name, her proper name. No teasing nickname to be found. It almost sounds strange hearing it fall past his lips. It almost sounds wrong.
“Morning,” Nesta murmurs back.
Cassian settles into his seat beside her, not quite meeting her gaze. Nesta opens her mouth, but she’s not even sure what to say. Does she mention what happened last week? Does she pretend that nothing happened and ask how his weekend was? Before her mind can settle on the best approach, Balthazar steps over and begins his pre-show spiel and notes.
As the show kicks off, Nesta just hopes any awkward air between herself and Cassian doesn’t show through on camera. It’s certainly the most professional show they’ve ever filmed, sticking firmly to their talking points, the segments. But with each passing minute, Nesta’s spine straightens that bit more, her fists clenching that little bit harder against the table. By the time the shout of cut echoes across the sound stage, the air around her feels stifling, a tightness pinching between her ribs like twisting vines.
“I wanted to apologize,” Cassian starts quietly once it’s just them again, and when Nesta turns to meet his gaze, there’s a burning to his hazel eyes that has her breath catching. “For what happened on Friday, but mostly for all the teasing and everything with Solstice Week. I… I shouldn’t have assumed that it was flirting for you or that you felt what I did, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again. Have a great rest of your week, Nesta.”
With a nod of his head, clearly having said his piece, Cassian pushes up and to his feet, heading toward his desk. His name presses against the back of Nesta’s throat, desperate to be released and call after him. An emotion she’s been unwilling to name all weekend, one she’s been running away from since Friday, swirls in her gut. It twines and squeezes around her heart, tugging like a thread wrapped tight through her chest.
Watching Cassian walk away from her for the second time is like that thread going with him, yanking hard. It leaves Nesta swallowing hard, and she realizes one simple fact with a stark clarity that would knock her on her ass if she wasn’t already sitting down.
She misses Cassian Valdarez.
~ * * * ~
“And everything is good and ready?”
Emerie sighs, flopping back against the pile of pillows on Nesta’s bed. “For the fourth time, yes. All you need is the code I texted you and you’re good.”
“Okay okay,” Nesta concedes, turning away from the mirror where she was fixing her hair. “I just want to be sure.”
Emerie’s lips part, and Nesta can see the retort sitting primed and ready on the tip of her best friend’s tongue, but then her eyes sweep over Nesta’s frame. She takes in the deep blue velvety fabric that hits Nesta mid-thigh, the sweetheart neckline that sweeps low across her collarbones. The way Nesta’s styled her hair so it falls in loose waves down around her shoulders and along her spine, her makeup drawing attention to her eyes.
“Well damn,” Emerie comments with a smirk. “You’re definitely looking hot as shit.”
Nesta smoothes down the skirt of her dress, not even bothering to bite back her own smirk. “Thanks. Now, I just need the rest of my plan to work.”
Turning back toward the mirror, Nesta gives herself one last look over and dabs the lipstick painted across her lips. She grabs her heels and slips them off, rolling her eyes at Emerie’s hooting and teasing that follows her out the door. When she finally settles in her car, she takes a moment to breathe deeply, to steady her thundering heart, and then she’s off.
The event space that the network has rented for the evening is almost unrecognizable as Nesta steps through the doors. Golden streamers decorate almost all the walls, colored balloons clustered about and structured into a balloon arch over the doors at the far end. Small, tall tables dot the space, covered in white tablecloths, and workers dressed all in black weave between them with various hors d'oeuvres balanced on trays.
A bar has been set up along the back wall, and Nesta spies Cassian standing there. He has an arm slung across Balthazar’s shoulders and a beer in his other hand, his head thrown back as he laughs easily at whatever is being said. His hair falls in soft curls around his face, some sort of product making the dark strands shine beneath the lights, and the dark green sweater he wears looks especially soft even as it clings perfectly to his wide shoulders and chest.
Swallowing hard, Nesta steps over to the bar. “Happy Solstice.”
“Happy Solstice,” Balthazar echoes, raising his beer in a cheers.
Cassian turns to her, and sparks ricochet through Nesta’s nerve endings at finally having his gaze on her again. She doesn’t miss the way his hazel eyes flare, doesn’t miss the way his lips part and his throat bobs as his attention sweeps over her. It sends her own blood heating, her heart stuttering for a moment.
“Nesta, you look…” Cassian breathes before he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and looking away again. “Sorry. Happy Solstice.”
“I was wondering if we could talk?” Nesta asks, darting a quick glance toward Balthazar who wastes no time making himself scarce.
Cassian is quiet, and for a moment, Nesta is afraid he’ll say no, but then he’s nodding his head. He downs the rest of his drink and looks to her expectantly, so Nesta begins to lead the way. She weaves between their coworkers and toward one of the halls that stretches through the rest of the building.
“So, who’s the gift for?” Cassian asks, breaking the awkward silence between them.
Nesta pauses her steps, glancing down at the gift bag in her hand before looking up at Cassian again. “It’s for you, actually.”
“You got me a Solstice gift?”
“You sound so shocked.”
“You hate me, remember?”
Nesta winces at his words, looking up and into his eyes, praying to the Mother that he can see the sincerity in her gaze. “I don't actually hate you. I thought I did but I…” She lets out a soft sigh and holds the gift out to him. “Just open it, will you?”
Cassian lets out a quiet breath of his own, but he reaches out and takes the gift, his fingers brushing against Nesta’s with the movement. He shifts through the tissue paper until he reaches the gift inside, lifting it out with a confused frown.
“A… soccer ball?”
“Yes,” Nesta answers, her voice more short than she intends. “It will all make sense in a moment.”
With a determined huff, Nesta whirls back around and continues stalking down the hall. It takes a few seconds, but soon she hears Cassian’s steps falling in behind her. At the end of the hall, she finds the double doors exactly as she expects. She digs her phone out and pulls up her text chain with Emerie, quickly punching in the code to the lock. She pulls open the door and looks back to Cassian expectantly, but he merely raises an eyebrow.
“Is this the part where you lead me away from the party to murder me?”
“If it was, do you really think I’d tell you?”
Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “Touche, sweetheart.”
Nesta gestures with her arm, and finally Cassian steps inside. She follows behind him and allows the door to fall shut behind them both. As promised, the lights have been left on, but from the looks of it, it’s only half the lights, casting everything in a dimmed, yellow glow. The domed roof stretches high overhead, and an almost eerie quiet has settled over the rows and rows of seats, over the grass, over the crisply painted white lines.
“How’d you get the keys to this place?” Cassian asks, stepping forward and spinning in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“I know people.”
Cassian hums quietly and cranes his head back, his eyes falling closed as he takes a deep breath in and then out. “And not that I’m complaining, but what exactly are we doing here?”
“We never determined a winner for Solstice Week,” Nesta reminds him, stepping forward and taking the soccer ball from his arms.
Cassian watches as Nesta steps up onto the grass and makes her way toward the box at one end of the field, the hint of that all too familiar smirk beginning to peek through. “And this is how you want to do that?”
“If you’re scared of losing, just say that,” Nesta taunts, bending down enough that she can place the soccer ball on the dot in the grass.
“I never said that,” Cassian offers, stepping across the grass himself and making his way toward the goal. “Did you forget who you were talking to?”
“Good.”
Nesta bends one of her legs back, slipping a finger beneath the strap of her heel and tugging it off. She does the same with her other heel, allowing both to dangle from her fingers before dropping them unceremoniously against the grass. Cassian tracks every movement she makes, and even with the space between them, Nesta swears his eyes darken.
Nesta resets her stance, offering a smirk of her own. “I thought we could make things interesting.”
Cassian licks his lips. “Interesting how?”
“If I make this goal, you have to take me out on a date.”
Cassian’s expression shifts to shock, and Nesta waits with bated breath for him to say something, for him to do something. Even after what happened last week, it feels like a shot in the dark, like a leap right off the ledge without knowing what waits beneath. What if he’s changed his mind? What if after telling him she hates him, he decided he wants nothing to do with her any longer? What if this is the stupidest thing she’s ever done?
The thoughts swirl like dark, churning waves inside Nesta’s mind. They leave her heart skipping nervously between her ribs, the blood pounding in her ears with each second that ticks by like an eternity. Her stomach flips over itself, and the urge to take the words back and swallow them back down, to backtrack, digs sharp claws into the back of her throat.
Nesta isn’t sure how much time has passed, but Cassian seems to come back to himself. He shakes his head and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet, stretching his arms out wide and tapping each of the goal posts.
“Take your shot then,” Cassian calls out to her.
Taking a steady breath, Nesta backs up a few steps. She glances down at the ball then back at the goal, eyeing up the space between, thinking through where she wants to aim. Running forward, she kicks the ball hard. Cassian doesn’t even bother moving. He stands firmly in place, his eyes never leaving Nesta’s face as the ball sails right past him and into the netting. Warmth floods through Nesta’s chest as they continue to stare at one another, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips.
“You know,” Cassian starts, turning around to retrieve the ball and walking back toward Nesta, bending down to place it back on the white dot. “Usually, it’s best two out of three.”
“Is that so?” Nesta asks, her voice breathless even to her own ears at the way Cassian is looking up at her.
Cassian straightens, slowly backing up toward the goal again. “I was thinking this time, if I make this save, I get to kiss you.”
“Feeling confident?”
“Are you? I was one of the best goalkeepers Velaris FC ever had after all.”
Nesta hums, feigning disagreement, but they both know it’s true. Just like before, Nesta takes a few steps back, eyeing up Cassian and the goal. She makes a big show of glancing to the right just before she runs forward and kicks the ball hard toward the left side. It doesn’t fool Cassian for a second. He goes sprawling across the grass, knocking away the ball with ease.
Nesta doesn’t even care where it rolls off to, and it’s clear Cassian doesn’t either. He’s barely made the save before he’s jumping back to his feet, long strides swallowing the space between them. His hands come up, framing Nesta’s jaw and tilting her face up, and then he’s crashing his mouth down against hers. Nesta doesn’t waste a moment. She surges up onto her toes, meeting him stroke for stroke. She buries one hand in the soft, dark curls of his hair, the other clutching into the fabric of his sweater, as one of his arms drops to around her waist, pulling her closer still until any space between their bodies vanishes.
When Cassian finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His nose bumps against Nesta’s, breath skating across her skin. She can feel the heat of him everywhere they’re pressed together, can count every green vine and gold fleck of his hazel eyes. And for once, it’s not one of his cocksure, teasing smirks greeting her, but a soft, wide smile. One that she suspects might be just for her. One that has her breath catching. One that she knows is echoed across her own face.
And in that moment, Nesta realizes that she doesn't hate Cassian Valdarez at all.
—
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy
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Nesta x Cassian
“He leaned in, his body still not touching hers, and said against her ear, “And I’ll take you however you wish me to.”
Her toes curled on the stones, her hair dripping. “And if I wish to take you?”
He smiled against her ear. “Then I’ll beg you to ride me into oblivion.”
-A Court Of Silver Flames
Art by pandyals_art
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Should've Worshipped Her Sooner (ao3)
Cassian can't sleep because he's too busy simping over Nesta. A drabble partially inspired by Hozier's Take Me To Church. (Happy day 5 of @sjmromanceweek! The trope here is just... Cassian being a simp. That's it. That's the trope. Absolutely no plot.)
~~~~
The light was a glint of silver moonlight, dawn a still far-off whisper lurking beyond the edges of the horizon. And in that comfortable darkness interrupted only by the shaft of moonlight slipping between the gap in the curtains, Cassian lay awake, unable to sleep.
But he didn’t mind.
Even though he needed to be up with the dawn to leave this bed, the thought of how tired he would be tomorrow simply wasn’t enough to make him close his eyes. How could it be, when to fall asleep was to abandon this— the sight of his mate, sleeping peacefully in his arms.
Nesta’s heart was steady, an even beat that would have lulled him to sleep had he wished, but the moon turned her golden-brown hair to silver, her pale skin to porcelain— his north star, nestled against the pillows and pressed tight against his side. He wanted to savour it, this moment, not waste it by closing his eyes.
There was nothing in the world he could ever have wanted more than this— the woman he loved asleep against his chest, the whisper of cotton sheets as she shifted in concert with the steady rhythm of her breathing.
The most perfect thing in the world.
In centuries past, Cassian used to stand on the House roof and watch the sun set, or wake up at dawn to see it break above the horizon. He’d always thought it the most beautiful thing in the world, to watch the moment the day yielded to the night, the sun to the moon. He’d thought that the glitter of the stars, pinpricks in the gathering black, were the most wondrous thing the world had to offer, a sight so humbling it could bring him to his knees.
How wrong he had been.
He knew now that there was only one thing that could ever truly bring him to his knees, and her eyelashes fluttered now with her dreams, her fingers curling gently against his bare chest. Softly Cassian’s hand smoothed down Nesta’s shoulder, skating across her arm as his other hand wrapped itself more firmly around her waist.
All the wonders of this world paled, now.
The sun was at its most beautiful only when it danced across her face, its most wondrous when its light gilded her skin. The stars were their most glittering only when they were reflected in her eyes, and though the night still held so many myriad wonders and beauties untold, it was in her arms that Cassian found he loved the night best.
And it wasn’t in the skies that he now looked for that once-breathless sense of awe. Instead, he found it every when he opened his eyes and found hers, silver-blue, looking up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes that he, every damned day, wanted to brush with his lips. Every day he woke and every day he asked himself how he gotten this lucky— how the Mother had seen fit to give him to Nesta fucking Archeron as a mate.
How he got to be the one curling around her in the dark, his body cradling hers as sleep took them both.
In those moments, quiet and serene, when there was nothing but a tired, peaceful kind of silence, Cassian often found himself linking his fingers through hers, feeling her palm brush his as sleep began to beckon. The cool brush of the ring on her finger - the one he had put there the day of their mating ceremony - always made his heart kick, and in the quiet now, Cassian reached for her hand, the one she had resting above his heart, fingers searching until he found that ring, the silver glinting.
Together, they were a fire. Blazing and burning, a love that scorched him right down to the bone. He loved it, loved her, exactly as they were— a tempest of emotion. But there were moments like this - quiet, peaceful, comfortable - that he loved too. When there was not a soul to disturb them, when they could lie together in the silence and find comfort in one another. When he could hold his sleeping mate in his arms and forget about the world outside.
Lady Death and the Lord of Bloodshed, wrapped in cotton, sheathed in the dark, clinging to one another as they slept.
It was the purest kind of peace Cassian could ever have imagined.
And as Nesta shifted once more in her sleep, Cassian dropped a kiss to the crown of her head, smiling at the murmur it elicited from her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered, close to waking, and Cassian drew her closer to his chest, his wing extending and curling around them both.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
A mumble was his only response. A sound of untold softness from the woman who had endured so much horror, who had once cut the head from the shoulders of a king.
Cassian smiled, his heart swelling to the point of pain. His thumb brushed the band of the ring he had given her before he linked his fingers with hers— fingers that had held countless blades over the centuries, and spilled so much blood they could never be clean again. And yet somehow Cassian felt all of it diminish in her presence, like each and every one of his sins was absolved by her touch alone.
Silent, he squeezed her hand.
“Sleep,” he murmured again, feeling his own eyes grow heavy.
And there, in the place that they had made their home, Cassian closed his eyes at last, knowing he’d never need anything more than this— the peace found in his mate’s embrace.
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If You’re Lost, Just Look for Me (ao3)
Happy @sjmromanceweek day 4!! ❤️
When Cassian is called away to Illyria for a whole week, Nesta finds her mate has left her something behind - several somethings, in the form of letters hidden throughout the House of Wind. Set post-ACOSF.
Castor looked out across the mountains crowned with snow, feeling the wind caress his wings. It felt like a whisper. Like a kiss— like her kiss, and even though the drums of war were already pounding far below, he could only think of her. Her dark eyes and her midnight hair and the way it curled against the nape of her neck.
The woman he had left behind.
Illyrians weren’t supposed to be romantic. Weren’t supposed to fall hard.
But with the gods as his witness, he looked to the sky and cursed the distance between this rock-strewn battlefield and the bed he’d left both his lover and half his soul behind in. No, Illyrians weren’t supposed to fall hard, but he’d fallen harder than he’d ever expected. Harder than—
“Nesta!”
The silence cleaved beneath a clap, sharp and insistent and followed by the snapping of familiar, paint-stained fingers. The voice echoed through the library as the image in Nesta’s head shattered, like the surface of a lake after the throwing of a rock.
“Are you even listening?”
No.
She wasn’t.
Slowly, Nesta Archeron looked up from the pages of her book. Already scowling - and absolutely not in the mood today - she flicked her eyes over the cloth-bound spine and took in the sight before her. Her sister, standing there with her tattooed hand extended, fingers braced to snap for a third time. Nesta’s brows lowered, and the huff that left her was one she tried only half-heartedly to bury.
“I called your name,” Feyre said, arching one elegant eyebrow now that she had her sister’s attention at last. “Twice.”
Nesta’s attention drifted pointedly back down to the pages of her book. One shoulder lifted in an idle shrug. “I was busy.”
“Clearly.”
The High Lady of the Night Court snorted and leaned a hip against the rolled arm of the sofa that sat opposite Nesta’s own. Her eyes dropped to the front cover of the book Nesta held in her hands, her expression turning to one of soft amusement as she took in the illustration of the shirtless Illyrian warrior, his arms around the shoulders of a young woman whose dress hung half off her slender frame. Feyre pressed her lips together, eyes dancing in a way that Nesta knew meant her sister was trying hard to suppress a small laugh, and any other day…
Any other day, Nesta might have humoured her sister. Might have raised an eyebrow and asked wryly if she wanted to join the Valkyrie Book Club.
Not today, though.
Today Nesta said nothing, only lifted her chin and fixed an expression of indifferent hauteur over her face. Feyre could giggle all she wanted, but the book had been waiting for Nesta when she’d opened her eyes that morning, placed deliberately and carefully on Cassian’s side of the bed. His empty side of the bed— because, thanks to Feyre’s mate, Cassian had left at dawn for a week-long stint in Illyria, and Nesta had been left with nothing but that book propped against his pillow, like it was to serve as his replacement for the next few days.
The House had a sense of humour like that— exchanging one Illyrian warrior for another.
But Nesta would be a liar if she said his absence wasn’t already starting to make her feel like the world had been tipped on its axis, and facing down the prospect of seven whole days without hearing his voice or seeing his eyes or feeling his calloused palms so eager to slide over her skin…
She supposed she could be forgiven for seeking complete distraction from the depths of her books today. Forgiven, too, for her resounding lack of patience.
“I came to see you,” Feyre said breezily as Nesta dropped her eyes back down to the pages still spread open before her. “Since Cassian’s away and all.”
“Yes,” Nesta answered tightly, glowering at the words on the page. “Do thank your mate for that for me.”
Feyre’s eyes danced, her lips straining to contain the smile that threatened to spread across her face. “Cassian wasn’t all that happy about leaving either, if it helps.”
“It doesn’t. Your mate was the one insisting that he go.”
“Rhys didn’t insist,” she countered, plucking at a piece of lint on her sleeve in a gesture so absurdly Rhysand it made Nesta clench her jaw. “He just… reminded Cassian that he can’t be on honeymoon forever.”
Nesta snorted. Honeymoon, indeed. It had been a grand total of six weeks since their mating ceremony. Six.
And now camp inspections had called Nesta’s mate to Illyria, and even though Cassian had been more than content to let them slide, just this once, their oh-so-benevolent High Lord had maintained that they could not allow their grip in the mountains to slip for even a second. Ergo, Rhys had reasoned, Cassian still needed to be seen to be carrying out even the smallest of his duties as general. Ordinarily, Cassian had argued, he wouldn’t hesitate to spend a week in Illyria calling out the faults of the camp lords.
But right now, Rhys? Really?
He had looked pointedly at Nesta as he’d said it, as if hoping to remind Rhys that Cassian had a mate of his own now, and one so newly bonded he could hardly stand to leave for a minute, never mind a week.
But still Rhys had insisted, and so after two days of preparation, Cassian had left that morning, slipping from their bed before the sun had even begun to stain the horizon.
It had made a tinderbox of Nesta’s temper.
She sighed through her nose now, only dimly aware that her sister continued speaking. She caught the odd word— dinner, river house, tomorrow night, but truthfully Nesta just wanted to bury herself in her books until these seven days were up. She couldn’t even count on Azriel for company, since the Shadowsinger was off on one of his missions too.
“Alright,” Feyre said after a solid three minutes of talking to what might as well have been a wall. “I get the hint.” She threw her hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything…”
“I’ll let you know,” Nesta answered blandly.
Feyre nodded once, pushing away from the arm of the sofa and striding across the floor of the House library until she reached the door. She didn’t look back until she reached the threshold, where, with her hand curling around the brass doorknob, Feyre at last looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, that ribbon of a smile pushing once more against her lips. “Rhys did say he checked in with Cassian this morning.”
Nesta glowered. “And?”
Feyre’s face softened. “He said to tell you he’s missing you already.”
Nesta blinked, looking up in earnest from the pages of her book. Her throat tightened, and the bond twining around her ribs seemed to clamour, snatching at the second-hand words. She didn’t usually wish she possessed Feyre’s gifts, but on days like this… oh, Nesta wished she could reach out and speak to him, to hear his voice even when he was a thousand miles away.
Before she could tell Feyre to pass along the message that she missed him too, her sister shot her a wink and slipped through that door, leaving Nesta alone with nothing but her silence and her books and the longing surging within her that threatened to crush her beneath its weight.
And she had seven days of this to endure.
Sharply, Nesta huffed.
Stupid— all of it was so immeasurably stupid. Cassian had been gone for a grand total of ten hours, and yet Nesta already felt like she was at sea without him. The House was too quiet, the space beside her too empty, and even though she’d always done perfectly well on her own, always found comfort in solitude… something was different this time. Perhaps because Cassian had been called away when neither of them wanted distance, or perhaps because their lives had slotted together so easily, so simply, that there was no painless way of drawing them apart. Either way, Nesta found that although she usually enjoyed being alone… she enjoyed it best when Cassian was only a room or two away.
“Pull yourself together, Nesta,” she muttered darkly to herself, sitting up straighter against the cushions and clearing her throat. Determined, she forced her attention back to her book, the pages shifting as she adjusted her grip.
And as she did, her fingers loosening on the pages towards the back—
A small square of parchment tumbled out, fluttering down to her lap. From the crisp whiteness of it and the way it was folded, it was clear it wasn’t some old scrap used as a bookmark, and—
It had her name on it.
Nesta’s curiosity piqued, and something in her chest began to grow unbearably tight as every nerve she possessed seemed to shiver with recognition. It smelled familiar, like cinnamon and leather, calling to mind lazy morning kisses and arms wrapping around her from behind to pull her against the chest she had traced every single inch of with her fingers.
It smelled like Cassian.
The familiar scent had her aching, like the fading impression he’d left behind on that note was a ghost slipping through her fingers, barely substantial enough to grasp. But grasp Nesta did, reaching desperately for any lingering piece of him— anything her mate had left her.
Folded, the note was no larger than the palm of her hand, but Nesta looked at her name written in the hand almost as well-known to her as her own - penned with a flourish in ink as dark as the night sky, crisp and sharp - and felt her heart skip several beats as her fingers scrambled to break the small crimson seal.
Hello, Nes, her mate had written.
I’m curious— how long did it take you to find this one? I must have been gone, what, seven hours by now? Maybe eight? Any more and I’ll be disappointed. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this particular novel. I had Emerie get ahold of it for me, since I figured it might help you remember the Illyrian warrior you have of your own whilst I’m away.
Anyway, I know you’ll already be going out of your mind without me there, but like the perfect mate that I am, I’ve thought of the perfect way to remind you how much I love you, just in case you forget. I know I told you I’ve been spending these past two days preparing to leave for Illyria, but I’ve also been hiding some of these little notes throughout the House for you to find— and what better hiding place than deep within the pages of a book?
You know I’ll miss you every second I’m away, sweetheart, and I know it’s not much, but you always said you wanted me to write you love letters so… here I am. It’s taken me an age to hide them all - you really do have too many books, sweetheart - but when I get home you can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.
Love you!
P.S - The notes aren’t all in your books. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?
X
It was remarkable how quickly Nesta’s sour mood dissipated.
Something in her chest lifted— like the great, uncomfortable weight that had settled behind her ribs when Cassian had left that morning was lifted a little, just enough to let her see the sun behind the clouds. A delighted laugh bubbled to her lips as she read the note again— and again, just to savour each word.
It was such a tiny thing, so small and innocuous, that little scrap of paper bearing her name.
And yet it was a thing beyond value; immeasurable proof that she was loved and cared for and wanted, and that even as Cassian had prepared to drag himself away from their home, she had been the only thing at the forefront of his mind.
Nesta brushed her fingers lightly across the page, a tender smile blossoming at the corners of her mouth. She could practically feel Cassian winking at her, teasing her like he hadn’t gone away at all, and the arrogance dripping from every word he’d written was enough to make her breathe another quiet laugh.
You can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.
Nesta snorted. Cassian had found a way to bridge the distance between them and had used it as an opportunity to peacock. She might have rolled her eyes had her gaze not snagged on that brief love you! at the end, and the single kiss he’d scored into the paper.
Nobody had ever told Nesta they loved her— not really, not the way Cassian did.
And so it meant the world and more to her now, every single time it he said it. It made her soften in the way she only ever did for him, so entirely disarmed by his charm and irreverence and faultless dedication.
And gods, he’d found her an Illyrian romance.
Nesta supposed such things were few and far between, given how opposed to such things the Illyrians were, and she’d assumed that the House had been the one to leave it out for her, but no— it was Cassian who had somehow, with Emerie’s help, gotten hold of it and left it out for her, along with the note buried inside. Along with several notes, apparently, like he simply hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of leaving without first having found a way of letting her know, every single day, that he loved her even to distraction.
Love you!
It warmed some long-neglected corner of her heart, breathed life back into the pieces of her she’d thought too far gone for anyone to revive, and as Nesta glanced up at the shelves running along the walls of the House library, not for the first time when it came to her mate did she feel a sense of depthless wonder sparking inside.
There were… hundreds of them.
Thousands of pages Cassian might have secreted a letter between.
It was almost daunting, almost seemed impossible, but Nesta looked once more at the note in her hands, lingering on that last love you! scrawled at the bottom of the page.
And when the House rather pointedly slid one of those old books out an inch from its shelf, Nesta glanced up to the ceiling with a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Rising to her feet and placing the Illyrian romance down gently on the low table before the hearth, she said,
“Well, then. We’d better start looking.”
***
Three hours yielded only one more letter.
Every other volume Nesta had pulled from the shelves had been empty, and though she flicked through page after endless page, she came away with nothing. With the sun beginning to set and a line of shelves stretching before her still waiting to be searched, Nesta might have given up. Might have— had the singular note she had found not been enough to keep her going, to keep the fire inside her burning.
Sweetheart, it began.
I honestly think I might kill Rhys for making me leave. I get his point— especially after the shit the camp lords pulled this spring, it won’t hurt to reassert our authority. Trust me, I’ll be making Devlon crawl by the end, but gods fucking spare me, I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing instead, and every single one of them includes you. I can hardly bear the thought of being so far away from you— not hearing your voice each night before I sleep. The truth is that nothing feels right without you, and my darling brother is going to wish he’d never been born when I’m through with him, I swear.
You and Feyre can tease me as much as you want princess, but I admit it. I’m lost without you— an Illyrian baby through and through. And I suppose I’m a filthy liar too, sweetheart, because you’re in the room with me right now as I write this, sitting there reading one of your novels - by the way, have I told you how much I love the way you bite your lip when you’re reading? - under the impression that I’m currently writing out lists of instructions to hand to the camp lords. I’m not writing instructions at all. I’m writing this, and praying you don’t come look over my shoulder and ruin the fun before it starts.
All this is to say… I love you, Nesta.
I don’t think I’ve said it enough. A hundred times a day wouldn’t be enough, and I promise that as soon as these seven days are over, I’ll be back by your side showing you exactly how much I missed you. Until then…
Always yours,
Cassian.
X
She’d had to sit down for a minute after reading that one, especially once she reached always yours.
Hers— yes, he was hers.
It almost didn’t matter that the sun was dropping towards the horizon now, that it had been hours since she’d found that last letter. Didn’t matter either, Nesta thought as she knelt within a circle of discarded books, that there was an endless number still to search through.
He was hers.
The words had something clicking, a spark in her memory.
The words aren’t all in your books, Cassian had written as a post-script in that initial letter.
Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?
And Nesta remembered, too, how Azriel had sat in the small sitting room a level below three nights ago, a book in his own hands as the night grew darker and the hour grew later. Nesta had been curled in a chair of her own, only barely paying attention. She had only really noticed the Shadowsinger at all because Cassian had leaned down and whispered in her ear,
‘See, Nes? That’s what a real book looks like.’
The book in question had been some dry non-fiction, thick as brick, and Nesta hadn’t even bothered to really note the title beyond a couple of cursory words, but…
Slowly, recognition began to skitter up her spine. He wouldn’t, she thought carefully, taking in the piles of books surrounding her, all of them having yielded nothing. Surely he wouldn’t.
Except…
This was Cassian, the man with a mischievous spirit who took nothing seriously. His two most favourite things in the world seemed to be teasing her and riling Azriel. Of course he’d decide that one of Azriel’s books would serve as a perfect hiding place for one of his notes.
Of course he would.
Nesta breathed a somewhat bemused sigh, running a hand over her hair. She shook her head, feeling the bond singing in her chest as she pushed to her feet. It hummed like a just-plucked harp string, vibrating as she swept from that library and stalked instead for the sitting room. And as she pushed open the door, praying Azriel had left his book behind, Nesta could have sworn she felt the faintest glimmer of laughter down that bond, like a broad hand dragged, comforting, down her spine.
***
The Continent: Geopolitics and Relations with Northern Prythian still lay on the cushion of the chair Azriel had occupied that night, like the Shadowsinger still planned to return for it. A white ribbon peeked above the pages, marking his place, and as Nesta lifted the book in hand, she felt certain that ribbon was one of the Valkyrie ribbons— one of the many they’d tried and failed to cut in those early days, protesting the impossibility, only to have Cassian or Azriel step up and slice the thing in half with ease.
Bastards.
Nesta flicked the end of that ribbon, watching it sway as she held the book balanced in her palm. The thing was heavy, and so dense she didn’t know how the Spymaster had managed to spend hours, without pause, reading it the other night.
A real book, Cassian had called it.
Not for the first time, Nesta snorted. She sank into the chair by the empty hearth, turning the pages of that great tome one by one, and for a long time there was nothing. Chapters and chapters of absolutely nothing. But when Nesta reached the very last chapter…
There, pressed between the pages, tucked right against the spine.
In the low light, her name winked against the stark white of the folded note. It had been penned in large letters on the front, and beneath it - in Cassian’s hand - was written: Azriel— if you’ve somehow found this note before Nesta, fuck off and put it back where you found it.
She could almost hear Cassian’s tone, could practically see the spark that would have danced in his eyes. The bond tugged as her heart lurched, and unable to resist the smile that crept across her own face, Nesta put the book down on a side table and unfolded his next letter.
Nes— I knew you’d find this one.
I figured I’d take this opportunity to draw your attention to something other than smut, just in case you’re getting bored of all those filthy novels of yours. Lesser men might be concerned, sweetheart, but don’t worry. I know exactly how much you like all the things I can do with my hands, and I don’t think your books could do that quite as well as me, could they? How about I give you a reminder once I get home?
In the meantime, maybe you should try branching out and reading something else for once. I promise there’s no sex in this one.
Nesta snorted.
And Az, the note continued at the bottom, if you’ve read this far then I’m going to punch you in the ribs when I get home.
***
On it went, days spent trawling through the library and the House sitting rooms, bookshelf after bookshelf plundered in search of Cassian’s notes. By day four, three more had joined the pile Nesta kept tucked in the pockets of her dress. The first was brief and quick, a short love you, Nes, that had made her heart swell. The second was found in one of his history books - see Nes? Told you I’d get you reading real books one day! was the opener - and had almost brought her to tears when she read what turned out to be an account of their history hidden away inside. Here’s a story for you, princess, about a fearsome general and the wondrous woman who brings him to his knees, he’d written.
I think I knew you were mine from that very first day. And I loved every piece of you, even then.
And the third— well, the third Nesta had found slotted between the pages of one of her steamier romances, hiding in a chapter so racy it had made even her cheeks burn when she’d first read it. His note was brief— just a single line.
How about we try this when I get home?
It had all but set her alight, and had carried her through a full day and night since, but now…
The cold was starting to creep in, a chill lingering through the House as the sun went down. Five days he’d been gone— five, and with nobody to turn to now, Nesta found herself feeling exactly as she had when he’d first gone away. The House seemed cold without him, like even it had arrived at the begrudging conclusion that part of its integral makeup was missing without him there. Goosebumps skittered over Nesta’s arms as darkness fell, and she couldn’t help the scowl that fitted itself across her brow. Usually, if she happened to be cold, Cassian would be there, lingering at her side, ready to pull her into his arms at a moment’s notice to lend her some of his heat.
Cassian had never once let her go cold.
Even the notes couldn’t warm her now, she thought, dragging her fingers across that brief love you, Nes. Five days of missing her mate were starting to leave their mark, like a knife across her ribs, and every time she so much as thought of the distance between them and the two days still left to get through, it made her curse her decision to stay behind— to let him go without her.
As if sensing the cold was beginning to bother her, the House immediately started a fire in the grand hearth that occupied much of the wall opposite the windows. But Nesta shook her head. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough.
It wasn’t heat she sought, but comfort too.
And there was only one place she could get that now.
Before the cold could sink any further into her bones, Nesta marched to their bedroom— down the stairs and through the hallway, spurred on by her purpose until she was standing before the doors to the wardrobe standing in the left corner of their bedroom.
His wardrobe.
The faelights in their sconces glowed a little brighter as she opened the wardrobe doors. Within, Nesta found the usual piles of polished flying leathers sitting neatly on the various shelves, and a number of simple tunics and shirts in dark colours hanging from the rail. Cassian’s scent was almost overpowering, so potent that if she closed her eyes she might almost have been able to convince herself he was standing before her.
But her heart kicked in protest, like the mirage of him wasn’t enough.
Nesta trailed her fingers over those shirts, letting that cinnamon-and-leather scent wash over her, thinking of all the times she had unbuttoned those shirts, button by button, to reveal inch after inch of perfect golden-brown skin. She wished she could run her hands over him now, feel his heat sinking into her, chasing away the cold. She wished she could see that cocky smile, and hear his booming laugh, and—
Gods.
For her own damned sanity, she pushed the thought away.
Instead Nesta picked through that wardrobe in search of something else, until her hands found something softer, something older. Hanging towards the back, an old jumper that was oversized and soft brushed her skin, the colour a faded burgundy that might once have been bright. It was something Cassian wore only on the days where neither of them planned on leaving the House; those rare lazy days where they wouldn’t rise from bed until the sun was high in the sky, and even then, they wouldn’t make it far. It was the jumper he wore as Nesta lounged against his chest, turning the pages of her book as his fingers played with her hair.
Comfort.
That was what she wanted - needed - more than anything else. To be wrapped up in something soft, to drown in the scent of him that would have to carry her through two more days. If he couldn’t keep her warm himself, well, then this would have to do in his stead.
Nesta tugged the jumper from the hanger, relishing its weight and thickness in her fingers, and when she pulled it free of the wardrobe, she really didn’t know why she was surprised when, there, secured with a small pin, was another of his notes.
Are you missing me that much, princess?
Gods, he knew her like the back of his own damned hand.
She supposed Rhys hadn’t appointed him general for nothing, but Cassian had predicted her every movement, her every want and need. He had known, her mate had known, that Nesta would come here in search of something to bring her comfort. The bond between them seemed to shiver, and lightly she tugged on it— a quiet I love you in the only language they had left to them now.
Almost immediately, he tugged back.
Nesta removed the pin from the jumper and pulled it over her head. The sleeves were so big she had to roll them up thrice before her hands were free, but when she was entirely wrapped up in the scent of him, she looked back down at the note in her hand.
By the way, it said at the bottom, I love it when you wear my clothes. You have no idea how much I wish I could be the one keeping you warm but since I can’t… Promise me you’ll wear this again for me when I get home?
Nesta sighed softly, bittersweet. She missed him— more than anything, she missed him. She didn’t have the energy anymore to pretend she wasn’t counting down the hours until he was returned to her, and with nothing else left, Nesta made her way back to the library, taking his scent deep into her lungs and burying her fingers in the soft fabric of his jumper.
She tugged lightly on the bond as she went, just one more time.
And as she reached the doors of the library overlooking the city, it pulled back— a long, slow drag. Nesta didn’t need notes or Feyre’s gifts to know exactly what it meant, that protracted brush along the bridge between their souls. In no uncertain terms her mate was trying to say,
I miss you.
***
The duke threw up his hands in defeat, one hand fisting over his heart as though he had been driven half to madness. Clio felt her own heart thud, and as he took a step closer, she didn’t balk.
“Don’t you see how wild you drive me?” he demanded, all pretence of propriety vanished.
He was undone, a nobleman reduced almost to nothing, unravelling before her, and—
A low laughed echoed through the library.
Every sense Nesta possessed seemed to fail as she was startled out of her latest book, the world itself falling silent as that laugh swept across the back of her neck like the softest, most decadent of touches. Deep inside her chest, a match burst into flame.
“All the things I taught you, and yet still you’re oblivious to everything around you when you have your head stuck in a book.”
The honeyed voice sounded at her ear, right behind her, and though the words weren’t quiet, the tone was delectably soft, like velvet. It was a voice that seemed to sing to the deepest part of her, that resonated right through to her bones— and one she had sorely, sorely missed these past five days.
Her mate’s voice.
Nesta turned her head, wondering if she had finally gone mad or just started to hallucinate. But no— there he was, hands braced on the back of the sofa either side of her shoulders, powerful fingers curling in the cushions as he leaned into her space, lips parting in a lupine grin as his wind-tangled hair draped itself across his forehead.
“Cassian—“ Nesta started, blinking in surprise as her fingers grew slack, her book falling unnoticed into her lap. “You’re early! Nobody told me you were coming home today—“
His grin grew wider, sharper. For a moment Nesta was too stunned to move, blinking furiously as she stared into those glimmering hazel eyes. But when she recovered her senses enough to rise to her feet, Cassian’s palms came down firmly on her shoulders, pinning her in place.
“Surprise,” he whispered, lips against the shell of her ear.
Standing behind the sofa and leaning over the back of it to bury his face in her neck, Cassian didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. His hands drifted from her shoulders, tucking an errant piece of hair behind her ear before dragging it down the edge of her jaw to skim her collarbone, brushing the edge of her borrowed jumper, languid and lazy and entirely at ease. Her heart pounded as his hand brushed her ribs, and as her head fell back to rest against his chest, she felt the edge within her that had been made raw the past few days begin to heal, smoothing over with every pass of his hands across her skin.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
He smelled like snow and wind, the cold still clinging to his leathers. Nesta shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold she could feel radiating from him and seeping into her, even through the thick material of the jumper she’d stolen only a few hours ago.
She turned her head, his cheek brushing hers, and behind him, his wings twitched.
Cassian’s arms enveloped her, palms skating down the side of her arms until they reached her wrists, where the material of his jumper gathered and folded. Softly Cassian pressed a tender kiss to the skin of her neck, inhaling deeply as if, for the first time in days, he could breathe easily. He practically shuddered as he took in the scent of her— the scent of home, Nesta realised, because even though she hadn’t been the one away the past five days, it was only with Cassian returned to her that home felt like… well, home again. Like all was right in the world, balance restored.
Words escaped her, and she could barely think straight, but as his nose nudged her cheek Nesta let out a soft huff, one of endearment, and all she could say, with her lips brushing his ear was,
“Welcome home.”
He hummed, the sound low and suggestive, and gods— it made Nesta dizzy. His hands stretched until they covered her own, his palm coming to rest atop her knuckles. His fingers delved between hers, his grip tight, and suddenly she longed to feel his chest against her back rather than the cushions of the sofa.
But for the moment he seemed content to hold her like this, to take it in, like he’d been away for a decade.
The siphons atop their entwined hands glowed, and slowly - so slowly - Nesta pulled one hand free. Lifting it to his face she traced his cheekbone, trailing her touch across the bow of his lips as his eyes drifted closed. He groaned, his head tipping forward to fall at her shoulder once more, his lips kissing the curve of her neck— harder now, more insistent, like that lazy, cocksure posturing was a game he’d grown tied of playing.
Everything Nesta was narrowed on that— the lips at her neck, the bare skin he sought and found with lips and teeth.
Oh, she’d missed him.
She had always looked at her sister and Rhysand and wondered dryly how either of them could stand to be so interdependent. She’d always thought it ridiculous, how neither of them could function when the other was away. She could have laughed at the irony now, and might have, had she not been so distracted by the way Cassian’s teeth suddenly scraped over the skin at her collarbone, sending a jolt right down her spine, like lightning. It drew a gasp from her, her lungs starting to ache.
“Did you miss me, Nes?” Cassian whispered, and Nesta felt her toes curl, felt the air begin to thin.
“Not even a little bit,” she lied, and she felt him smile against her, lips curving against her neck.
“Liar.”
Nesta rolled her eyes. She was done with this— this game of cat and mouse, pretending they weren’t both mere seconds from unravelling entirely. Without second thought she cast aside the book that had fallen to her lap and broke free of Cassian’s hold, rising to her knees on the sofa cushions before pivoting, turning to face him fully.
For a moment amusement glittered in his hazel eyes, but Nesta watched as his gaze turned dark, the playful spark swallowed entirely by pure, ravenous want. His hands landed on her waist as hunger swept across that beautiful face, and Nesta wondered if a similar expression crossed her own face, if he could tell just by looking how desperate she was for him.
She didn’t bother to find out, and for once he didn’t tease her.
Nesta lurched forwards, grabbing her mate by the collar of his wind-chilled leathers and hauling him to her, the back of the sofa still sitting between them. Cassian groaned into her, his lips meeting hers at last, hands bunching in the fabric of his jumper as he gripped her waist hard enough to bruise.
Her lips parted, a breathless gasp leaving her as Cassian took everything she offered and gave it back to her tenfold, his hands drifting up her spine and palming the back of her neck before dragging along her jaw. His fingers slid into her hair, another groan leaving him as his hands grew tangled there, searching for pins to pull free.
His kiss was desperate, starving, and Nesta was no better, no more composed. She clawed at his back, rising higher on her knees as if it might bring him even closer. She was burning, every inch of her consumed by heat, and her heart was hammering so loudly it was a wonder it didn’t burst right out of her chest.
Some kind of whimper left her, a sound of absolute - mortifying - desperation, and Cassian’s lips curved against her own, his grin devolving into a rough laugh as he kissed her with abandon, lips dragging to the edge of her mouth, to her jaw, to any piece of her he could reach.
“Nes,” he murmured, lips pressed firmly against her skin.
Nesta’s eyes blinked open, dazed, as she pulled back just enough to find some air. A breath later, Cassian’s forehead dropped against hers, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as her own. He swallowed, pressing a final kiss to the tip of her nose before pulling back to study her face.
“I love you,” he said softly, hands dropping from her hair at last as he brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Have I told you that yet? Since I got home?”
Nesta laughed. “No, but you’ve been home for all of five minutes.”
He shrugged. “Hardly an excuse, since it’s all I’ve been thinking for the last five days.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could answer - before she could tell him she loved him too - his eyes flicked down, catching on the Illyrian romance Nesta had left on the table. She’d finished it within a day, but hadn’t had the heart to shelve it once she was done, leaving it out so that she might run a finger down the spine every now and then— just to be reminded of how he’d thought about her enough to leave those little notes scattered throughout the House.
“You got my note, then?” he asked, eyes glinting.
Nesta nodded. “All seven.”
But Cassian’s smile turned wicked. “Only seven?”
He tsked as he pushed away entirely from the back of the sofa, rounding it with that easy, cocksure gait of his until he stood before her, one eyebrow raised. Nesta tilted her head.
“How many did you leave?”
His grin widened, throwing her a wink before he sank onto the cushions beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and bringing her to his side. She sank against him, melting into him. Irreverently he looked down at her, eyes gleaming with mischief.
He shook his head in answer, and using the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders, Cassian urged her down onto the cushions, until her back was flush against them. He winked again, leaning closer until his lips brushed hers so lightly it was almost a kind of madness. His hands were light as they trailed down her sides, a teasing touch that had her igniting all over again.
He didn’t answer her question, and Nesta huffed sharply even as her hands wandered into his hair, trailing through the strands he hadn’t tied up in his usual bun. Her thumb brushed the earring he wore in his left ear, his eyes fluttering closed as her dragged the tip of his nose along her jaw.
“Where,” Nesta demanded again. After all, she had looked everywhere. She was certain of it.
Cassian let out a laugh above her, one she felt rumble through her own chest. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she had to fight to remember why she even cared about the notes, why she cared about anything other than him kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.
He shook his head again.
“Something for you to find the next time I’m away,” he murmured, and this time… Nesta let it lie.
She let out a hmph, but let her hands delve back into his hair, pulling him against her. His weight settled atop her, his forearms braced either side of her. His siphons pulsed, and she didn’t care that they were in the middle of the House library - that anyone could walk in and find them like this - she pulled his face down to hers, and when he kissed her this time…
Nesta let herself be lost in it entirely, all those little notes for the moment forgotten— the small ways he’d told her he loved her replaced now by his touch and the words he whispered in her ear.
And when, after some indeterminate and inexplicable length of time, he pulled his lips away from hers to let her breathe - when his mouth fell to her collarbone and began to drift lower - all Nesta could say was,
“I love you too.”
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Silver In Her Eyes - Part Six
The (current) penultimate chapter as I've only managed to write seven parts - for the moment!
Please show this some love. Can also be found on A03 here.
“You fool,” Nesta had hissed at her as she flew through the drawing room door. “You stupid, stupid, little fool.”
Nesta’s hands were immediately on her, gripping her shoulders and then Feyre was being shaken hard enough to make her head bob.
Almost as soon as Feyre had been grabbed, she’d been released and then Nesta was down on the floor at Feyre’s feet, her hair in disarray like she’d fought through a storm, her head in her hands as she shook with retching sobs.
Feyre stared down; eyes wide.
One of the servants had opened the outside door on hearing banging and Nesta had pushed her way through to where Feyre had been sitting.
“Nesta, are you unwell?” Feyre asked, waving away a servant, thankful that Elain was visiting Lucien, that Rhys was chaperoning them to build their mate bond. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“That’s the problem,” Nesta said, her voice muffled by her hands. “You don’t understand. You never understand.”
Nesta took a deep breath and then she was rising up, standing in front of Feyre until both sisters stared at each other with matching eyes. Nesta’s red rimmed.
Feyre’s hands rested on her stomach, her son inside sleeping. Nesta’s eyes flickered downwards to the movement.
“It’s not your fault,” Nesta said after a pause, her eyes re-meeting Feyre’s. “Rhys should have known better; he should never have let you.”
Irritation prickled under Feyre’s skin. Who was Nesta to criticise Rhys? Rhys who held Feyre above all others, who loved Feyre above all others. Who was Nesta to dare suggest Rhys would let Feyre do anything when Feyre was her own female, a fae of considerable power and High Lady of the Night Court.
Inside her, Nyx woke, kicking as though he was trying to expel his mother’s rage, matching her righteous fury on his father’s behalf.
“How dare you-” Feyre began, her voice trembling but Nesta was having none of it.
“No,” Nesta hissed. “Don’t defend him now. Believe it or not, he’s not the only one who loves you.”
Feyre’s mouth clamped shut. There had been a hum as Nesta spoke, almost a scream under the surface of water, as though something was rising to take air but Nesta pushed its head back down.
The hair rose on Feyre’s arms and a memory burst into her mind of a lightning storm in the forests when she was a child, and how they did the same then.
“He never should have let you change into Illyrian form,” Nesta continued, “not when you were trying to conceive.” Nesta stepped away to pace the drawing room, her skirts rustling with every step.
Heat bloomed under Feyre’s skin. Rage? Embarrassment? She’d never been embarrassed about what her and Rhys did so why was she now? Only Nesta with her sharp tongue and acid tone made Feyre feel like this.
“What we did is none of your business,” Feyre snapped.
“Really? Well now it’s everyone’s business.”
“I don’t -”
“Understand?” Nesta turned back to Feyre, her eyes softer, less a storm and more dove grey. The sky after the lightning. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “The baby has wings because he was conceived when you were in Illyrian form. Do you know that?”
“Yes.”
Nesta nodded and stepped closer. She was scented with gunpowder and metal, the singe of petrichor and wet ground, a battle fought and to be fought.
“Have you seen how odd everyone has been behaving? Has Rhys not been distracted around you? Amren has gone? Cassian, Mor, and Azriel are never here?”
Feyre blinked and Nesta shook her head, her mouth dropping open. “None of it? Some of it? By the Mother, Feyre – what have you noticed?”
Feyre had been in her bubble of bliss. The outside world a blur while she spent her time indoors, cradling her growing belly and singing songs to Nyx, imagining what he was dreaming, envisioning the tiny curl of his toes, the black of his hair.
Had Rhys been more distracted? Yes, but he was ruling a country and on the precipice of becoming a father. As for the others, she assumed they were busy.
“Rhys is important, he’s had a lot to think about, he’s-”
Nesta’s hands twisted into claws, her fingers white at the knuckles from her grip. She turned away and shrieked into the air, her shoulders shaking. Feyre stared at her sister’s back and clasped her belly again.
Even Nyx had decided it was best to remain still.
A moment passed before Nesta faced her again, Feyre seeing a flash of silver disappear from her sister’s eyes.
“You are also important,” Nesta said, her chest heaving. “Sit down.” She gestured to the chair behind Feyre. “I need you to believe me.” Nesta’s voice cracked as she spoke, “Have I ever lied to you? Even once?”
No. That was the problem. Nesta never lied to her, would never lie to her even when Feyre wished her eldest sister would play pretend and drip honey and lies rather than feed people on vinegar and truth.
Feyre sat and listened.
***
Dusk came and went as had Nesta.
Feyre still hadn’t cried. Probably because some part of her burnt a flame of hope that Rhys would save her, that he would swoop in like a hero of Nesta’s human fairytales and rescue the damsel in distress.
That thought kicked fury up within her. At herself. At Rhys.
She curled up in the window seat of the nursery, the stars beginning to make their appearance, twinkling and shining through the endless black sky.
When had Feyre convinced herself she was the damsel and not the heroine? She’d saved everyone once and now she was expected to sit like a fattening sow and wait to die.
Nesta had spoken plainly but unnervingly softly.
Nyx’s forming Illyrian wings meant Feyre would struggle to birth him and in the birthing she would die. Likely Nyx too. Rhys would follow as a result of the pact they made.
Nesta offered a glimmer of hope, a whisp for Feyre to cling too. If you change into Illyrian form ahead of childbirth you might be saved but it comes with a risk.
Feyre bent her head, pushing her fingers onto her forehead as the deep throbbing which began at Nesta’s words refused to abate. Feyre hadn’t said a word throughout, staring at her knuckles as they clenched against the arm rests, seeing hers and Rhys’ actions reflected in Nesta’s words - not as grand romantic gestures but ridiculous ones.
Rhys hadn’t named any successor other than Nyx nor a regent in his stead if Nyx survived. That meant Rhys had left the Night Court with either no heir or with one so young and no one to govern until he was of age.
“There will be a surge for power,” Feyre had said, horrified.
Nesta looked at her hands. “There already is.”
The picture formed in Feyre’s mind as though she were seeing threads on a tapestry. Death. Hers, Rhys’ and Nyx’s. Followed by more. Possibly her sisters, her friends, her people. If her and Rhys died and Nyx survived, what world was he being born into? Who would be his guide? Keir?
A chill flowed through Feyre at the thought.
“What do I do?” Feyre had asked but she knew. She’d looked at Nesta with desperation screaming from her eyes. Say it, she wanted to yell. Be the villain and make me do this. Absolve me.
Nesta’s face was soft. All sharp edges and angles melting away like snow. Her voice when she spoke was a slither above a whisper. “I can’t tell you what to do. Whatever happens next is your choice but it doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
Feyre sent the servants away for the night so she could stare out of the windows and wander the halls. Was this how Elain felt? Displaced from body and time? Tracing the same path over again until her clarity returned to her? All she had now was questions.
Unlike Elain, Feyre’s mind had never left her and a painful truth sharpened behind her thoughts. How dare Rhys hold the knowledge of her life in his hand and not share it with her. How dare he tell her she would always choose in his Court and when her choice mattered, take it away.
The sting which rooted deeper was that everybody knew; Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren. They all upheld a bargain with Rhys despite her being their High Lady. She imagined them gathering, whispering, conspiring all in the name of her supposed best interests.
Yet there was no success to their measures and so all this time her friends were just waiting for her die.
Her palms folded over her belly, trying to wrap her hands around her son within.
“I named you,” she said to him. “I love you. You are my baby; my boy and I am your mother.”
She tried to sleep for his sake, cradling her stomach, continuing to believe that he was looking forward to meeting her just as she was him.
Feyre knew what was needed. What should have been done at the start when this deep, eternal love was only just taking root. She sobbed then, wishing she could take one of the blades mounted on Rhys’ study wall and cut her own heart out then do this.
***
Nesta dreamt of her sister drowning in blood, crimson flashes against her calves as life poured from between her legs to pool on a cold, hard marble floor. Her screams and cries echoed over the walls and out from windows.
What fell from Feyre’s body was small and precious, formed enough to be recognisable as a baby; dark hair flattened upon his head with eyes too big for his face, forever closed. His limbs were devoid of rolls of baby fat, too young and underdeveloped to live in the external world.
His wings, the source of all the pain, were flimsy, delicate things wrapped around his fragile body. Transparent and floppy but with sharp talons forming at the ends. When fully formed they would have clawed from within, destroying the insides of his mother to be born.
In Nesta’s dream, Feyre cradled him to her chest, sobs heaving her frame but when she looked up, Nesta wasn’t looking at her sister’s face but her own.
Nesta woke with a gasp. Her bed was soaking and in panic she reached between her own legs, her brain believing it was her own self losing the fluid which protected her baby.
Sweat. Nothing more. Drenching herself and her tangled sheets in the throes of a nightmare.
Nesta breathed in with a steady pace to regulate her heart. There was no pregnancy, she had simply been caught in the space between nightmare and awaking. There would never be a pregnancy, at least not with Cassian. No beautiful dark haired, winged babies in her arms.
Not you. Not your future.
The words whispered in and out of her ears, half Nesta’s own voice and half someone else’s.
Damn the Inner Circle and their wretched dependency on Rhys and each other. They’d kept quiet and complicit, remaining silent about the risk to Feyre and any possible risk to Nesta.
That afternoon, Cassian had told Nesta the truth then left her alone. Nesta had stormed from the House of Wind, scrubbing the tears from her face and when she’d returned Cassian had already gone from the House. His presence an echo in the silent building.
A note sat on her bureau, her name in his spiky handwriting upon the envelope. She threw it onto the fire without reading and turned to his room. Flames burnt their way through her bones before forcing itself from her fingers and then everything she touched became singed or ash.
He’d re-shaped the world Nesta had spent time shaping for herself and then abandoned her. Cassian who had known so much and told her nothing. He stood back as Rhys stole the blades, he would have led them all into another war, he would have watched Feyre die. All over Rhys. All because of Rhys.
He would never stand beside Nesta. Not if he fled to Illyria the moment he’d betrayed Rhys.
Nesta peeled the sheets from her legs and stared at the stars shining in the black sky wondering if across the city her sister stared at the same ones.
Perhaps the Cauldron or whatever chooses the mate bonds wants us Archeron’s dead, she thought. Or just me. After all, Feyre and Rhys' offence was stupidity, and Elain’s mate was the safe and compatible Lucien. Only Nesta had the mate with permanent wings.
“I am no one’s,” she said out loud. The Cauldron wanted her dead and Cassian couldn’t care less. He’d chosen Rhys. That was her final thought as she gathered up her nightgown from the ground. He will always choose Rhys.
***
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Nesta Archeron
Art by bookishkoda
CC3 Spoilers! …
“Something metallic gleamed like sunshine in Nesta’s hand. A mask. “Nesta,” Azriel warned, panic sharpening his voice, but too late. She closed her eyes and shoved it onto her face. A strange, cold breeze swept through the tunnel.”
“Bryce had endured that wind before, in the Bone Quarter. A wind of death, of decay, of quiet. The hair on her arms rose. And her blood chilled to ice as Nesta opened her eyes to reveal only silver flame shining there. Whatever that mask was, whatever power it had … death lay within it.” …
“Mortal, an ancient, bone-dry voice whispered in Bryce’s head. You are mortal, and you shall die. Memento mori. Memento mori, memento—“
-House Of Flame And Shadow
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“But I still don’t know how to fix myself.”
“There’s nothing broken to be fixed,” he said fiercely.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Silver Flames
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Nesta causes debates every time she moves a muscle. Even saved a planet and y’all are still seeing red. I’ve truly never seen an It Girl quite like her
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Mt. Rainier National Park, USA by Emilie Hofferber
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