Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Starfall was nearly here.

Arwen had been thinking about it for days on end. Her favourite celebration of all that were observed in Prythian. The years seemed to pass by in a blur, then slowed to the pace of a snail trekking a bridge in the days coming to the wondrous night. Each year, she would hunt down the perfect dress—the only new one she would buy all year round. A marking of another year, another year alive, another year in Velaris. Another year since she had been marked for death with the scars comprising what used to be the smooth skin of her back and a set of glorious wings. Another year since she escaped that fate. 

A fate that her mother did not.

It was Cassian this year that she swindled into wandering the Palace of Thread and Jewels since she had spent the night at the House of Wind, staying late to play cards with the same male. Arwen had woken him earlier than he would have liked, swatting her away and informing her that she should take the stairs down if she was that eager. She had no other options. She had not learned to winnow successfully. Rhysand had been down in the townhouse, Mor and Amren had no wings and they could not winnow in or out, and Azriel… Well, she didn’t bother asking him though she knew he would have said yes. And though Cassian gave the adamant impression he wouldn't acquiesce her request, after she shoved food in his face, he was more than content to wander behind her aimlessly.

Arwen forced Cassian to stand next to a dress that she held up. Pursing his lips, he looked between her and the fabric. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.”

It was almost humorous the comparison of the dress to his warrior’s build. “I’m seeing if it matches your hair,” she dismissed, though smiling at his jest. They had the same colour after all, though in the sun hers remained a few shades darker. But now she was being swayed by his deeper set tone of skin. The dress was a dark, royal blue that would fit her form, loosening around her thighs. Turning the dress around, she eyed the open back and pinched underneath her bottom lip with her teeth.

Years ago, that would have been the only type of dress she could have worn. Now not a single dress in her wardrobe would reveal her back.

Cassian yawned, eyes clenching shut and his head tipping back, hair falling away from the frame of his face. Arwen sent him a half-hearted glare and placed the dress away. “You can go,” she told him. “I’ll have Rhys take me back, or I might stay in the townhouse.”

Through another yawn, he said: “You’ve pulled me down here now. I’m not leaving until you buy me lunch.”  

“Fair enough,” she decided. It had been some time since she forced an apple between his teeth. “You could offer your opinion though.” Arwen picked up another dress. “It may make the decision faster.”

He pointed at the one she held. “That one. Absolutely that one.” She smacked his arm with the back of her hand and though he gave a whine of pain, she was sure it hurt her more than it hurt him. “Damn you, woman. It is a nice dress.”

Arwen examined the contents in her hand. It was a darker shade of blue. Midnight blue. With a satin bodice and skirt. But again, it fell into thin straps and an open back. “It is,” she agreed, then placed it back.

Cassian sighed. She didn’t know if he understood why, but he definitely understood that she had a reason. She guessed that he had an idea since he never actually asked and he was not the type to brush aside his curiosity in favour of privacy.

“I’m only partially saying this for myself, but let’s take a break. The dresses won’t leave but the bakery will throw out those cheese stuffed rolls or sell them.” He placed a hand on her back, guiding Arwen from the store. She deigned to his guidance and brought him two cheese scrolls.

“Satisfied?” she questioned, still munching on her first and only while he licked his fingers after his second. Part of her wishes she had brought Mor and just braved the stairs so she didn’t have to bribe the company.

“For now.”

They wandered some through the late morning-early afternoon gathering of the markets, neither making any sort of haste for action. Her dress was becoming a tad too warm under the spring sun; high collar and fully sleeved. But the material was too tight to fold up her arms and her other choices of clothing too far away to consider an option of changing to. She often wondered how her other Illyrian companions managed in their leathers when they trained with them. Not to mention they produce an exorbitant amount of heat on a normal day. Often Arwen sat near them rather than bothering to light the hearths.

Today though, the general had chosen a sensible shirt and black trousers. Though she was sure he had worn for them the past three days since she had seen him grab them from over the chair in his room before he kicked her out. No, that recollection was entirely wrong. He’d invited her to stay, but she let her cheeks flush and scampered out, hearing his soft laughter follow her until she reached the end of the hall. Going into his chambers was always a calculated risk. Arwen was lucky he wore anything to bed the night before.

“Are you ready to start training again?”

Arwen rolled her shoulder in a test. It had been a stupid accident, one that she should have predicted coming when she spent an entire day teasing her brother then asked to spar with him that same evening. He scarcely showed his remorse for knocking her shoulder out of place. “I think so. When were you thinking?”

“Mornings again,” Cassian offered. “We’ll give a lot of time to warming up and strengthening.”

She nodded. “As long as you don’t punch me in the shoulder, I should be fine. I know my brother isn’t technically a bastard, but I’m still calling him that.” Arwen had screamed murder when he landed on her, elbow driven into the soft pit just next to her collarbone.

“I would too,” he said mirthfully. “Looked pretty mangled.”

“He hasn’t even apologised. Except for that half-hearted splutter right before he laughed.” She certainly had not been laughing when Cassian popped her shoulder back into place. Rhysand had sat opposite her, holding her other arm and shoulder steady, barely suppressing the sound. That was a few weeks ago and he still eyeballed her whenever she was in a less than happy mood, expecting her vengeance to come at any time.

“You did insult his intelligence. And his pride. And his hair. I’m not sure there’s anything of him that you left un-insulted.”

Arwen held a hand to her chest. “The wounds I caused would have healed with a night of good sleep. This has kept me from good sleep for a month now.”

Though an apology hadn’t come her way, she knew Rhysand at least felt some guilt. He winced whenever she did, jostling it around too hard.

In the end, they never made it to another dress shop. Arwen had lost her sense of care for the day already and Cassian did not care to begin with. Where they found themselves, was outside of the townhouse. She did not bother to knock, turning the knob into her family’s home. It was brightly lit and warm, but not the uncomfortable warmth of the sun against her clothed neck.

Inside, Rhysand, Azriel and Amren were talking amongst themselves. The pair didn’t hide their entrance and drew their attention with heavy falls of their feet. Rhys grinned at the Illyrian behind her. “That time of year again?”

Cassian brushed past her. “Teach her to winnow, Rhys. I swear on the Cauldron.” He left the threat unfinished, already searching for someplace comfortable to sit in another room. Rhys watched him for a moment before shifting his eyes to Arwen who only smiled.

“I have tried,” he said, despite the general moving out of range. Arwen flashed him a scathing warning. Yes, he had tried. But her Illyrian side was stronger than her Fae and magic didn’t run in her blood that way it did with his. But with no wings, now she felt less… Anything, really.

Arwen avoided looking at the other winged male, instead glancing between her brother and Amren. “Important discussion?”

“No.” Rhys shook his head. “Nothing important.” She narrowed her violet eyes at him but believed his words for the time. Eyes shifted to her from the space she refused to look at. He nodded towards her side. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Nice of you to care.” He threatened a smile. Arwen matched it. “Watch yourself, brother. It’s easy to be too comfortable when you’re arrogant.”

“I’m not arrogant,” he corrected, trailing behind her as she wandered to the same room that Cassian now sat in, needing to always have the last word. “I’m simply entertained by your annoyance.”

“No. Definitely arrogant. And when someone threatens that arrogance, you dislocate their shoulder.”

“I—” He cut himself short, not even able to make an excuse. Arwen fell into the single chair, crossing her knees with an expectant look. Rhys stood just in front of her, arms folded and considering. “I’m sorry,” he eventually said.

“Buy me something for Starfall and I’ll forgive you.”

Behind her brother, Cassian huffed loud enough to acquire the attention of all. “Materialistic,” he accused.

Arwen tilted her head to look past the High Lord’s legs. “I bought you with food. He can buy me with whatever his imagination deems worthy of my forgiveness.” In truth, she didn’t care about him buying her anything. They shared the same wealth in any case, but she knew that he would think carefully and gifts were always tokens that she kept. The desire came from simply having something that he thought she would like.

Rhysand strode towards the chair, almost about to pass it but stopped as his shoulder lined with hers. He leaned down, pinching a few threads of her hair and tugged it back until she looked up at his looming figure. “Consider it done.” Arwen gave a loose roll of her eyes and swatted away his hand. “As long as it means I don’t have to sleep with an eye open.”

“Depends on how much I like it.”

Rhysand took her taunt for what it was, smiling overhead and placing a kiss on her hairline. Before he left, his hand slipped to her sore shoulder, squeezing in what would usually be a friendly manner but sent her into a shrivelled face of pain. Azriel, who had just drifted into the room, watched her as she rubbed her shoulder, sending a vulgar gesture over to her brother. She felt him—she always felt him, even when she didn’t want to.

That was what happened with mates. There was always a sense of their existence, pestering you at every hour of the day. They filled your mind even when they had no reason to. Even when Arwen scorned herself for it. She could feel the thread tied to her ribs, just next to her heart and every day she wanted to cut a knife through the area and slice that thread. And every day she picked up that knife, holding it until the thread was taut. But she couldn’t snap it. Once it did, it would never heal. She didn’t know whether that was a selfish desire of clinging to him even after her refusal to acknowledge it, or she was just sparing him the hurt of rejecting the connection. Rhysand had tried to pry the answer from her many years ago until she shoved him from her chamber, held her back against the door and cried for hours. She knew he waited on the other side because when she left, he was waiting for her with open arms. He hadn’t asked since