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Chapter Text

Chosen one. Sacrificial lamb. Different sides of the same coin. Every twenty years, a maiden was chosen at random to be sent to the small cabin located near the Wall that separated the mortals from fae-kind. Those girls were banished until their screams could be heard in the dead of the night. Weeks later, the cabin would be checked; it was said that scratches were etched into the stone floor, claw marks traced into the wooden beams, and blood left permanent stains across the stoop. Nobody knew what took the girls – fae or a creature just as foul – but as long as the sacrifices happened, nothing stepped foot further than the forest, the harvest was always bountiful, and the winters mild.

Families prayed for sons. The Archerons had been cursed with three daughters, so when their name was the one selected, terror squeezed their father’s heart. Of the three, the middle was engaged to a handsome, young male of good status but she had already given her maidenhead to him; the youngest though wild and strong, had her fun rutting in the hay with a local boy and could not be chosen for the task. It left only the eldest to carry her people’s duty on her shoulders.

Nesta’s sisters wept on her final morning with them though the cold terror that ought to have numbed her, never came. The villagers prepared her, some saying prayers of thanks, some saying ones of mourning. Blessed-one. Cursed-one. Saviour. Victim. Being sent to her death had some perks at least: a hot bath had been drawn for her with fresh water only for her use. It had been filled with bubbles and pressed flowers. Women from the village combed her hair, buffed her nails, plucked her, massaged her then rubbed fragrant oil onto her body. A new gown had been produced solely for her; something like a wedding dress made of delicate white silk and spider-web gossamer fibres. A large spread of food was laid out solely for her; a final feast. It was more food than Nesta had eaten in all their years of poverty and she felt a stab of anger that she couldn’t fill her stomach with more to make up for all those bitterly cold nights of starvation.

When the dark night drew in, still the fear did not come. She was little more than a baby when the last girl had been damned. Her mother had witnessed two maidens taken and told her stories that the woman had wept and begged. That one had been carried into the woods and her own mother had collapsed from the horror of it. After a day spent amongst so many fussing women, Nesta was quite glad to have peace that night.

She was allowed a final goodbye to her family. Elain sobbed, Feyre fought to hide her tears, and their father lacked any words. That was no surprise. There was probably relief on his part that he and Nesta weren’t forced to share a roof anymore.

Nesta was accompanied through the dense wood by a group of soldiers either holding swords or torches to light the path. One recited ancient vows to her, confirming that if she tried to leave her cabin and return to her home, she and all of her family would be slaughtered. She was reminded that this was an honour. The stories were known to Nesta. Most maidens were dead within a couple of nights. Oddly, she found that she did not care. She had no prospects otherwise in their tired, little cottage. She had punched Tomas Mandray in the nose when he’d tried to rip her bodice from her – and he'd ensured she had a reputation in the village as a tempestuous wench so other men steered clear. A life as a lonely spinster or a sacrifice - what a selection.

There was no key for the cabin, but there was a bolt on the inside though she doubted it would be much of a defence. When the males left her alone, with a basket of food, Nesta let out a sigh of relief. The cabin was dusty, but liveable. Despite the night, she opened the single window and lit a couple of lamps. It had more space than their cottage, and only she would be sleeping in the bed tucked into the corner. There was a humble stove that looked as if it had never been used as well as a couple of pans, a set of cutlery, and a large carving knife. The sheets on the bed definitely needed to be washed tomorrow. There was even a bookshelf with a number of yellowed books on it. She’d devour those in a few days. It was odd to plan for a future when something would likely come to drag her off either tonight or the next, but Nesta was loathe to sit idle.

The dawn broke early. Blackbirds rustled in the tree outside, their song waking Nesta. She’d slept little, not through fear, but because she had been mentally cataloguing everything that needed to be done in the cabin. While porridge cooked on the stove, she swept the singular room and removed the cobwebs. The bed was stripped. She lugged a bucket of water from the stream and heated it to wash the sheets in. Without a line, she hung them from a tree to dry.

Time passed quickly; when she prepared dinner – more food than she’d ever had the luxury of eating in the past – she saved the seeds to plant in the soil she had tilled earlier. All those hours listening to Elain prattle on about her beloved garden had a use after all she supposed.

When night fell for the second time, Nesta lay on the clean bed only in her chemise reading a book. Animals scurried by outside, an owl hooted as it swept through the air, but no monster came to take her away. Nothing rattled the door or coaxed her from the cabin. So, when Nesta had read enough, she returned the book to the shelf and stretched out in bed, content to be alone.

Days passed. Every week, Nesta left out her basket and it would be replenished with food from the village. They were likely wondering – just as she was – how she still drew breath. Perhaps Nesta’s temper was even too much for a monster. She missed her sisters, sometimes, but mostly she was content to potter around at her own leisure. Daringly, she had asked for material and sewing supplies one week and they had arrived with the next week’s basket of supplies. Heavens forbid they upset the chosen one.

Autumn bled into the beginnings of winter. The food came less frequently now. Once, there had been a note ordering her to stop doing whatever it was she was doing to drive the creature away. In all the nights spent cloistered away in the woods, Nesta had not seen nor heard any signs of something sinister. Once, there had been a fox screaming but she chased after it with a broom and it soon kept away. Perhaps the other maidens had simply gone mad with boredom or loneliness. All Nesta knew was that she was alive still and keeping herself busy by sewing and writing. Her house was always tidy.

What she did lack, however, was an axe. When she had requested one from the village, she was informed that weapons were not allowed. She gathered fallen branches and snapped them into pieces, but the thicker ones were too strong for her. Much of the wood was damp and her stores ran low with the encroaching winter. She had been rationing her supplies with the anticipation of the colder weather, choosing to save the long-lasting ingredients for winter.

A thump woke her. The sheer force of it made the whole roof tremble. For a moment, Nesta thought a tree had fallen and braced her hands over her head for the roof to collapse.

In the distance, there were shouts. A low rumbling of men’s voices laced with the snarls of dogs. Could it be the monster had finally come? Or perhaps it had been, found Nesta lacking, and was approaching the village for a new maiden. But what was the thump?

Her heart beat quicker than usual as she gripped the carving knife and exited the cabin. The voices came from the south, from the mortal lands. Hesitantly, Nesta held her lamp out and began to search the perimeter of the cabin in only her boots, her cloak, and her night gown. Her rigorous modesty had faded with only herself for company.

There, hunched over on a side, was a man. Not a monster at all. A dim red light pooled from spots on his clothing. It was a strange sort of leathery skin.

‘Are you hurt?’

There was no response. She edged closer then recoiled with horror at the sight of his wings. Fae. Not a man. A male.

And the humans hunted him. Three large, ash arrows had shredded through his body.

Stories of the fae were ones used to scare children, she always believed. Still, she had always worn her iron bracelet. She’d expected him to look more other. Pointed teeth or black eyes or mottled skin. He was handsome in a rough sort of way. Ebony hair spilled over his face. Nesta held her hand close to his mouth and could feel he was breathing, slowly but detectable. She ought to have left him there. Ought to have gone back inside, pulled the covers up to her chin and forgotten about him. But she could not. She was transfixed by this fae male. By the beautiful, broken wings draped across the undergrowth.

The humans came closer. Not knowing why she did it, Nesta threw her cloak over the male’s clothing, blocking out the red glow. His eyes opened groggily. She pressed a finger to his lips. His hand gripped hers, keeping her finger on the soft skin of his lips. His own hand was warm, rough with callouses but still gentle.

The dogs would scent him, she realised with horror.

‘Stay,’ she whispered, not knowing if he could understand her tongue.

She strode forwards, holding her lamp aloft, meeting the humans near the ring of trees that surrounded the cabin.

‘Do you mind not waking me up in the middle of the night? It’s terribly rude.’

‘Move aside. There’s a fae in the woods.’

‘Maybe it is my beloved, here to drag me to Prythian.’

The male closest to her shifted slightly. The dog he was holding by a leash, pulled and whined.

‘It’s injured in these woods somewhere.’

‘You will ruin our land,’ she warned. ‘If there is a fae here, he has come to claim me. Your intervention will spell twenty years of bad luck on our people. Leave.’

They stared at her with a wary curiosity. Most women, she supposed, might have begged to be taken back to safety rather than usher in their demise. The threat of cursing the village had worked though. Although the dogs still tugged forwards, the men relinquished their pursuit.

‘He’ll die anyway,’ one said as they turned. ‘Tomas hit him twice, Ivorn a third time.’

Nesta waited until their footsteps died down before she approached the male. He’d sat upright, wincing slightly. One of the arrows had lodged itself in his shoulder after ripping through his wings, two more pierced the membrane.

‘Are you here to kill me?’

‘It wasn’t in my plans for the night, sweetheart.’ With a groan, he hauled himself to his feet. ‘You’re the one with the knife pointed at me. What are you doing out here in the woods at night?’

‘Witchcraft.’

The male cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘What are you really doing?’

‘Summoning a demon. And look, he hit my roof and woke me up.’

He rested a palm against the wooden cabin to steady himself. Each breath seemed to lance pain up his broad body.

‘You can’t fly,’ she realised.

He grimaced. ‘Not with these arrows in me.’ He reached around as if trying to snap one, but yelped with pain. ‘They’re ash. Typical mortals. You’ve always been savage creatures.’

The snarl in his voice did not scare her, even as the deep reverberations shook the ground.

‘I didn’t shoot you,’ she protested. ‘I’m the one stood in my nightgown while you wear my cloak protecting you. I’m waiting in this godforsaken cabin for one of your kind to kill me.’

That snapped him out of his rage. He glanced down at the grey cloak covering his glowing stones. He’d draped it over her shoulders before she could argue with him. His hand lingered around her upper arm, the warmth seeping through to her goosebump covered skin.

‘You should go inside. It’s too cold for you out here.’

His head bowed towards hers and Nesta realised exactly how tall this fae male was. His body caged hers against the cabin wall.

‘Do you want me to remove those arrows?’ Why was her voice so breathless? Why was her pulse hammering with thrill when it should have been quaking with fear?

‘Your husband won’t mind if you bring a handsome male home?’

‘Where is this handsome male you speak of? Will you introduce us?’

The fae tipped back his head in low laughter than sent a ripple of pleasure down Nesta’s spine. His hand gripped hers, inspecting the fingers and finding them absent of a wedding ring. She should have drawn her hand away. Shouldn’t have let him look at her with such an aching hunger.

‘Follow me.’

Chapter Text

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This female was unlike the other mortals he’d spied in his five centuries of living. The ones that Cassian had fought alongside in the war had still been fearful of him despite calling themselves allies. They’d shrunk away in wilting terror at his approach. Females were kept far from him as if he was an animal unable to control his bloodlust. This one dismissed him as though she was completely unimpressed by his presence. That was surprising. Even amongst high fae, Cassian could draw attention. More surprising was the fact she’d shielded him from her own kind then invited him into her home as if he presented no threat at all.

‘Is there a name, sweetheart?’

‘Anything but that one,’ she said with bite. ‘Nesta.’

‘Cassian.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’

As Nesta leaned over the lamp to light it, Cassian tried not to look at the way her cream night gown rose higher on her long, bare legs.

‘I thought you’d have a name like Sorrel Elderflower the Hob of the Glen.’

Cassian couldn’t hide his snort. ‘Do I look I’m associated with flowers?’

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘At the moment you’re associated with savagery. You’re dripping blood on my clean floor. Take your boots off. And your weapons. This is a civilised place.’

If anybody in the Night Court had dared speak to him in that tone… No, they wouldn’t have ever dared to do such a thing. None, not even Rhys, would take that tone with him. And yet, this skinny mortal had flared her nostrils at him and her eyes were still burning a hole into his boots. Cassian was enraptured by her already. He’d originally thought a beautiful maiden had come to his rescue, now it seemed he was face to face with someone far more intriguing.

‘Your hospitality could use some work.’

Nesta remained on the spot, frowning at the hole in his sock exposing his big toe.

There wasn’t much to the cabin. There was a bed in the corner with rumpled sheets where she’d been sleeping. The rest of it was tidy and clean though with a wedding dress and another outfit hanging from the peg by the door in lieu of a wardrobe. A small table with two chairs was tucked near the empty hearth. One end was likely for eating, the other end held a basket of sewing materials.

‘Do you mind if I light a fire?’ The ash was making his body tired and sluggish, infecting his magic. He could feel the cold which was a rarity.

‘I need it to heat water to clean your wounds anyway.’ Her mouth twisted downwards. ‘That’s all the wood I have.’

A meagre supply was piled in a store. It was mostly tinder with a few thicker branches that had been snapped into pieces. ‘Do you have more stored outside?’

Nesta shook her head. ‘I’ve no means of cutting it. I gather whatever falls.’

‘Winter is coming. You will freeze.’

She gave a careless shrug and tossed her loose braid back over her shoulder. ‘Worry about yourself. You resemble a pin cushion.’

After ordering him to close his eyes so she could slip more demure clothes on, Nesta used his own knife to cut the fletching off the arrows and pull them through his wing. There was no easy way to do it other than saw through the wooden shaft. Cassian gripped the table, his jaw ached from clamping it shut, but a part of him – that primal part – wanted to prove to this mortal that pain was nothing to him. It did hurt like hell though; the ash wood burnt as it was tugged through the wound. For all her ferocity, Nesta was surprisingly gentle during the painful moments. However, the mortal had shushed him several times – and even dared to tap him on the head brusquely when he jerked in the chair.

Being in such close quarters with a mortal was dangerous enough, but telling her that every time she brushed her soft fingers along the membrane of his wing, he wanted to throw her onto the bed and plunge deep into her would likely result in his death. The pain around his wings was nothing compared to the torturous sensation of her touch. She didn’t realise what her languid strokes on his wing were doing to him. He had little doubt though that Nesta would likely run him through with his own blade if he dared touch her in return.

She cleaned the holes in his wings then dabbed tea tree oil onto them. Without Madja, it would be slow healing. His wings would need at least a few days to heal before he attempted flight again.

‘Just the shoulder now.’

Two of the arrows had pierced through his wings. The third arrowhead was still lodged in the muscle covering his shoulder blade. The fletching continued to catch on his wing uncomfortably.

He heard Nesta’s shaky breath as she tried to steel herself to delve into the wound. Cassian focused on the crackle of the fire. ‘Just do it. I’m as tough as I look.’

One hand gripped his upper arm and the other worked on tugging out the flint from his body. Involuntarily, when her elbow grazed it, his wing shot out, snapping Nesta in the mouth with the hard bone. He whirled around just in time to see her clutch a hand over her split lip.

‘Cauldron, I’m so sorry.’

The pain throbbing in his shoulder mattered little compared to the enormous wave of guilt drowning him. She shrank towards the wall. It was not fear lining her eyes, but anger.

‘Do you mind not smacking me with your wing when I’m trying to help you, you overgrown bat.’

‘You’re not hurt?’

She revealed the blood dribbling from her bottom lip down her chin. ‘Obviously I am hurt or did an arrow take your vision too?’

When Cassian engulfed her by the wall, as expected she showed no signs of her fear. Her prised her hands from her mouth gently to inspect it. Before he could stop himself, he was pressing the pad of his thumb over her swollen lip until it stopped bleeding. Those eyes would haunt him for an eternity. They were like two storm clouds rolling in, never wavering from his hazel ones.

‘My wings are very sensitive. It was a reflex. I am truly sorry, Nesta. Did it hurt too much?’

He grazed his knuckle down her cheek. Mother above, her skin was so soft. Her heart throbbed loudly against her ribs. For the first time since he had met her, Nesta finally seemed disarmed. Words melted on her tongue, unable to greet him. She let out a strange, strangled noise. There were only inches between them. His eyes dipped to her lips. A hand rested on his chest. He stroked a thumb against it. Wrong. Stupid. She was a mortal. What was he doing? Why was he touching her? She might gut him like a fish when his back was turned. Foolish to even think about her lips on his. Or the way her hand rested over his heart as if it was meant to be there. Or the way his siphon glowed in recognition of her touch.

‘It was an accident.’ Nesta swallowed and pushed him back a step with a steady, but gentle hand. ‘Return to the chair.’

Mortals were weaker, slower. Their lives so much shorter than the fae. Guilt and shame still writhed in his gut from the force of his wing colliding with her. Cassian thanked the Mother that she hadn’t been hurt worse by his clumsy reaction.

Nesta took special care now to avoid his wing, but it meant her body was pressed close to his face. Jasmine flooded his nostrils as she bent lower to inspect the wound. He tried not to inhale that intoxicating scent. Fought against the roaring instincts in his head that begged for her touch again and again and again.

‘What did you mean when you told the humans you would be dragged off to Prythian?’

She was reluctant to tell the story, but some probing and pleading that it would distract him had her opening up. Nesta told him of a curse that that fallen across the cluster of villages that hers was part of as she wiggled the arrow looser. Every two decades, some poor maiden was selected to be the sacrificial lamb to ensure a good harvest and their safety. Cassian listened to it all although he wanted to charge into the village and hold every barbaric mortal responsible for condemning innocents to death.

‘You are remarkably calm for one marked for death.’

The arrow was extracted so Nesta dabbed a rag with more tea tree and pressed it to his shoulder. ‘What should I do? Bleat like a lamb? Beg a foreign god to save me? It’s quite nice to have peace however short lived it might be. I miss my sisters, but I would rather it was me here than them.’

As she continued discussing the curse – and the fact that all the other females had never lasted more than two nights where she was approaching three months – a jolting realisation hit him.

‘Blue Annis.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Blue Annis was a horrid creature native to the Middle; a cobalt-skinned hag with iron claws and a taste for female flesh. Cassian had tracked her for years and yet she’d always managed to evade him. For a long time, she was dormant until she resurfaced on the edge of the Spring Court, fat and sluggish from feeding. It had been a mission of stealth to not be noticed by any of Spring’s sentries. Despite her slower state, Blue Annis was just as deadly. Her iron claws had nearly shredded to his heart when Azriel had rammed Truth-Teller through her neck. She had a cell in the depths of the Prison; it was dark and dank as she liked it, but lacking the females she so loved to devour.

‘I imprisoned her about twenty years ago,’ he finished. ‘Likely after she was digesting the last girl your people sent her way. That’s what your people have been sacrificing maidens to.’

Instead of relief or gratitude, those nostrils flared again. ‘And what am I supposed to do now?’

The abrupt tone in Nesta's voice struck him like a stone on his temple. ‘Say thank you?’

Her finger twitched and, for a moment, Cassian was struck with the fear that she might poke the gaping wound on his skin. ‘I cannot return to the village or my family’s lives are forfeit. Nothing is coming to take me away. I will be known as the failure, unwanted by a monster, whose village starved because of her.’

‘Blue Annis had nothing to do with your harvests. You were gift-wrapping her meals.’

‘And I’m supposed to return to the village and tell them the injured faerie I illegally harboured has told me this story?’

This female was unbelievable. One moment Cassian had pushed down on his instincts to lean forwards, cradle her face and kiss her, the next his blood pressure had leapt upwards and she stared at him with pure annoyance as if he were no more than a buzzing insect that she wasn’t able to swat.

‘You won’t be killed. Why are you angry about this?’

She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Because now I will live my life in this damn cabin like a spinster. I can’t ever leave here.’

‘I can drag you off to Prythian if you so wish.’ Groaning, Cassian peeled off his top layer of leathers then the thin shirt underneath. Nesta’s eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest. Her fingers twitched as though they wanted to trace the whorls of ink and Illyrian runes branded into his skin. He gestured to a horrific scar that ran above his left pectoral. ‘That’s what Blue Annis did to me and I’ve had five hundred years of training. Trust me, sweetheart, be glad she’s imprisoned.’

Her eyes narrowed. Any tawdry thoughts she had from seeing him shirtless faded fast. ‘Don’t you ever call me that name again.’

‘Looks like I’m the only one paying a visit to you until your death, sweetheart, so you better get used to the name.’

Nesta threw down the arrow onto the table. ‘Get out of my house, you big brute.’

Cassian had always loved a challenge.

‘Make me.’

Chapter Text

This tiny mortal had more fire than most fae. She could give the Autumn Court a run for their money. Hell, he’d have like to seen her take Eris Vanserra down. Part of Cassian was glad she did not have magic in her arsenal though – and another part of him should have liked to have seen Nesta Archeron imbued with magic, if only to see what sort of havoc she could wreak on Prythian.

Nesta threw down the arrow onto the table. ‘Get out of my house, you absolute brute.’

‘Make me.’

It was a voice he used on Illyrian males, low and threatening. For a mortal female, it should have had her knees buckling in terror. Nesta wasn’t like the rest of them.

Swifter than most, she’d lunged for the broom and swung it at him.

Stunned by the move, Cassian didn’t even throw up an arm to catch it or to shield himself. The head clattered against his face, bristles catching in his hair. He felt his lip rupture then the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

She was swinging the broom again, fighting a grin off of her face. This damn female. She was amazing.

Cassian caught the handle this time then dragged her towards him. ‘That wasn’t very nice.’

‘This is me making you leave. I do it to the spiders too.’

‘You split my lip,’ he said in disbelief. If Az and Rhys found out a mortal female had successfully attacked him when it took them years to do the same, he’d never live it down.

‘You split mine first,’ countered Nesta, refusing to release her grip on the broom handle.

He tugged it sharply, launching her forwards and into his bare chest. She dropped her hand and he seized the moment to pin her against him before she could lash out at him again.

Cassian had woefully underestimated her. One of her feet stomped onto his. It made him laugh because there was no great weight behind it but, as he chuckled, her knee came up to his groin. A pain shot all the way to his stomach. He doubled over, breathing shallowly to stop himself from vomiting across the floor.

She had the broom again.

A jab from the handle hit him in the kidneys. He wheezed. His magic sputtered from the ash infecting his veins then he failed to stop the second blow – this time from the head of the broom – that knocked him off balance.

It took a moment for Cassian to understand his reality. His cheek was on the wooden floor, his wings sprawled out along it too. His magic was completely empty, stolen by the ash wood arrows. Nesta brandished her broom still, but wisely kept out of reach. How in the Mother’s name had a skinny, mortal female overpowered him? And why was his cock stirring at that knowledge?

‘Now, will you leave?’

An involuntary smile lit up his face. ‘Oh, ho. I’m not going anywhere now. You’ve injured me more.’

‘Why are you grinning at me that way? It’s disturbing. Did I hit your head too hard?’

‘Sweetheart, if I told you that nobody has been able to hit me on the head in the ring for nearly three centuries, would you believe me?’

The thought of letting her loose on Blue Annis was appealing just to see what she’d have managed to do the creature.

‘Would you believe me if I told you that if you call me sweetheart one more time, I will ram this broom handle so far up a place where the sun never shines you will not be able to sit for a week?’

He clutched his stomach on the floor, his laughter loud and raucous. ‘If you were fae, I’d marry you.’

Nesta clicked her tongue then began sweeping the floor, not caring when she bashed it repeatedly into his body. ‘Out you go, you wretched spider.’

‘I’ve nowhere else to go,’ he said, standing up. She was taller than most females, taller than even some fae females. Cassian still loomed over her like a spectre – not that she gave a damn. She merely moved past him as if he was a tree in her way.

‘That’s not my problem.’

‘Can’t I stay the night?’

Her nostrils flared at that. ‘Absolutely not. Put your damn shirt on.’

‘You were admiring the view – I didn’t want to take it from you.’ Over his head went his shirt, and Nesta’s eyes gave one final longing stare to the golden skin of his stomach. ‘There are only a few hours of darkness left. I can’t fly. My wings are too damaged. Please, just for a few days, let me stay here. I’ll do whatever you want.’

‘What I want is for you to flap home, pigeon.’

He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was impossibly enchanting. ‘I’ll die, Nesta. I will be killed by your kind.’

‘Good riddance.’

‘If you meant that, why did you shield me in the woods? Why did you lie to your own people?’ Cassian blocked her from her path. The cabin was too small for her to go anywhere else. He gripped her wrist, hard enough for her to feel his strength but with enough tenderness to convey that he wouldn’t hurt her. ‘Wouldn’t you like company for a couple of days? I’ll cook. Clean. Chop wood. Whatever is needed, I’ll do it while my wings heal.’

She gritted her teeth and inhaled loudly. ‘Fine. Sleep on the floor.’

‘Like I’m a hound? There’s room for both in that comfy, little bed if we squeeze in together.’

‘I’d rather cut off my hand than allow you in my bed.’

‘Allow me?’ Cassian roared with laughter again. ‘You’ll be on your knees begging me to take you to bed tomorrow night.’

The cabin was plunged into sudden darkness as Nesta blew out the lamp. Only the glow of the embers in the hearth provided any light which Cassian used to find a spot on the hard, wooden floor to curl up on. He’d slept on worse. He’d had nights in the snow wondering if he’d ever see the dawn. A cabin in the woods with a feral mortal wasn’t the worst. Actually, it give his pulse a little thrill. She might try to kill him in the night – which he’d be ready for.

Her bed creaked with age as she settled in the covers. A soft thump hit the floor which he presumed was her day-gown. He had been teasing Nesta about the bed, but if she’d said yes, he certainly would not have refused her. There was an icy beauty to this female, all cold stares and cutting words.

Was Nesta fearless or simply insane? The others would lose their heads in amusement when they heard what she had done to him. The corners of his mouth stretched into a smile in the darkness thinking again of the way he’d held her to his body yet she had still managed to slip away like a snake to knee him in the balls. Few could ever manage that against him.

‘Have you got a spare blanket? It’s cold in here.’

‘Apologies. Let me just go to a field, collect wool, spin it, wash it and weave it into a blanket for you. No. I do not have a spare blanket. I am exiled in a cabin and should have died weeks ago. No, I do not have a spare anything – especially not for giant bats who have ruined my sleep.’

Cassian pressed his hand over his mouth to fight against the laughter. So much anger for one so small. Then again, if his people had decided he was to be sacrificed and exiled him to the woods, he might be pissed too.

***

Frost glittered on the tiny window pane. A gap in the curtain revealed it to Nesta. She shuddered and wrapped the blanket tighter around her body. She would need to travel further on foot today in search of more wood to burn. Her tinder was low too – though that was more difficult to find and she got through her supplies quickly.

A scratching sound made her pulse leap.

A male stood at her stove stirring a pan with a wooden spoon. He was tall enough that his head swept the ceiling in places. Black hair was tied into a loose knot at the nape of his neck and the armour he wore was leathery scales like a dragon’s skin with red stones cut into the fabric. The set of wings on his back were enormous things that nearly reached from the roof to the ground. Atop each one was a claw. The memories of last night came flooding back to her.

At the sound of her climbing out of bed, Cassian turned. In the dim light of the fire, he’d been rugged but pleasant enough to look at. Now that Nesta saw him fully in the stark light of morning, her opinion had not done him justice. He was handsome. Far too handsome to be stood in her kitchen making breakfast. Fae, she reminded herself. His ears were rounded and dark stubble lined his jaw, reminding her of the men from the village, but with those wings, nobody would ever confuse him as a mortal. His skin was much darker than hers. It reminded her of somewhere warm where the sun never set.

‘Have you got any milk for the porridge?’

‘What am I supposed to milk?’ She said through gritted teeth. ‘Myself?’

Without thinking, Nesta gestured to her breasts. Too long in this cabin. Too long with only herself for company. Heat scorched her cheeks which was made worse by the excited grin plastered on Cassian’s face. She scurried for her dress, but it wasn’t in a heap by the bed where she left it. It had been hung up on the peg near the front door.

Cheeks burning, Nesta crossed the cabin and yanked the dress over her head to hide her body from him.

‘That’s like giving a child a sweetie then snatching it away,’ he complained.

‘My breasts are for me to enjoy only.’

‘And do you enjoy them, Nesta?’

Nesta wondered if it was possible to start the day again if she crawled back into bed and hauled the blankets over her head.

‘I’m not a morning person,’ she said as if that covered all of her verbal slips.

‘I am which is good because you kept me awake with your snoring.’ He searched through the cupboard then found the singular bowl. He frowned then spooned porridge into it and pushed it into Nesta’s hands.

‘I do not snore.’

‘Have you had many bed partners to confirm that?’

‘My lack of bed partners is the reason why I was exiled.’ Nesta jabbed the spoon into the porridge. It was all she ever had for breakfast – and never made exciting with cinnamon or fruit or even milk. ‘The monster liked maidens apparently.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ said Cassian, using a fork to eat the rest of the porridge directly from the saucepan in the absence of another bowl or spoon. ‘Blue Annis wasn’t fussy. She liked young girls, but she would eat anything.’

‘I’ll be sure to let the village know in twenty years when they bring the next sacrifice and find me still here.’

‘You’ll stay here then?’

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the man in disbelief. ‘Generally, exile does mean one cannot return. I am not about to risk my sisters’ lives so that I can return to our miserable hovel where I have no prospects whatsoever. Perhaps I’ll become a witch of the woods. I shall become a story to scare small children.’

‘After the way you attacked me last night, I’m honestly shocked that there isn’t witch blood in your marrow.’

A small laugh slipped out from the jail of her lips. It must have been her exhaustion that led her to attack him with the broom. He had made her blood boil unlike anybody else had ever managed in the past. Her lip still had a dry cut running through the middle, but he bore no marks on his face. Even the punctures in his wings were healing much quicker than normal. It was the fae blood. There was a part of her that wanted to seize this opportunity and ask him about Prythian. Perhaps their understanding of faeries was all wrong. He hadn’t tried to steal her, hurt her, trick her in anyway. He’d been like a mortal in his essence – discounting the sprawling wings.

‘I’ll chop wood for you today. It's starting to snow. I’ll ensure the store outside is full before I can fly again.’

‘You don’t have an axe.’

With his chin, he gestured to the longsword resting in its sheath against the wall. ‘If it can cleave through bodies, it can manage a few logs. Can’t allow my favourite hellcat to get cold this winter.’

For most of the day, Nesta barely saw the man within the cabin. Mostly, he spent the day outdoors chopping wood – which proved more difficult with a sword than he anticipated – or travelling slightly further on foot. He moved gingerly, the ash still affecting his body. Nesta did not want to voice her concern that he was exposed in the daylight, but his hearing seemed finer than hers. He could hear a stream to the east that she was deaf to and Cassian mentioned a woodpecker, but she had not seen nor heard it.

When he came for a brief break around lunchtime, he stared with eyes agog at the tea she presented to him.

‘Where’s yours?’ He asked with suspicion, snowflakes melting in his hair.

‘There’s only one mug. As a rule, the exiled do not entertain guests.’

His eyes scrutinised it. ‘You drink it first in case it’s poisoned.’

Nesta held out a hand for the mug then sipped it, savouring the peppermint taste as it slipped down her throat, flooding her body with heat. ‘I should be offended that you do not trust me – but you were becoming far too familiar with me. I’d hate for you to think of me as a friend.’

This huge man smirked then, his hazel eyes glowing with light. ‘What a cruelty that your wit is banished to this cabin.’

‘I was growing too powerful for the village. They sought to humble me.’

Before returning outside, Cassian had loaded another couple of logs onto the fire and given it a good poke with the iron rod to make it roar to life again. On his way out of the door, he’d ran a finger across her shoulder blades with familiarity. The touch made her body shudder. It was strange and yet not.

Nesta was a creature of solitude – she had figured that out already. But she had wanted to be a mother and to explore the world. None of those options were possible condemned to this cabin. What could she do? Bleat her case to the village elders that the fae male who was her current house guest had slayed the beast two decades earlier? The other girls had gone sobbing and met a horrific end. The scratches in the floor could not be buffed or polished out. Nesta had pulled a rug over the stain on the floorboards that she couldn’t clean out. It seemed that fate had not wanted Nesta. It had chosen a different course for her and she refused to believe it was simply to waste away in these four, crumbling walls.

Chapter Text

A bruised purple sky had taken up residence above Cassian’s head. It had been snowing steadily for a couple of hours, but he could not go inside that cabin and bear witness to the sad life she had been condemned to. Why couldn’t he take this mortal to Prythian? There could be a place for her at the library. Her life would pass quickly like a comet streaking past the stars, but the thought of her spending every day alone here in misery was too much to bear. Rhys would scold him. Mor would make him bring the poor female back, likely traumatised. Az might see it from his perspective. He had in the past, when they were boys, and Cassian kept bringing home stray dogs and abandoned kittens, determined to give them a home. Az had been the one who helped him smuggle them into the house, past Rhys’ mother and into the bedroom. A female full of fire was decidedly more difficult to sneak home.

It had been a productive enough day filling up the log store for her. Cassian had felled a couple of young trees, throwing his shoulder behind them to help them crash onto the frozen undergrowth. For all of her fire, Nesta was a skinny thing with arms like twigs. He had to chop logs to half of the size he’d handle just to accommodate her weakness. There was no obligation to ensure she had a supply for winter but Cassian did not want to think of anyone suffering through a bitter winter. He had been there many times, knew how painful and miserable it could be. He would not wish it upon any, even a half-wild mortal.

When his hands glowed red from the cold, he finally entered the cabin. A blast of heat hit him. Nesta was tucked up on her bed, squinting slightly at the book she read under the dim light. A broth was simmering on the hob. It was more water than substance.

He sniffed at the steam. ‘Where’s the meat?’

Nesta stilled. She shared the same exasperated expression that Azriel often wore, though she was more dramatic with it. ‘Can you explain what aspect of exile you are struggling to comprehend? I cannot be in my village. I rely on the odd basket of food being dropped off to sustain me. Winter is hard. There are few vegetables. And as for meat, does it look as if I have a farm nearby? Do I look as though I am tending to the fields at dawn?’

One measly carrot chopped into thin slices floated in the broth along with chunks of potato. Cassian said nothing, merely slipped his boots back on to head out into the dark.

They were close to the Wall. There were holes in places that he could fumble through to find the Spring Court, but there was an expansive forest to pass through. He settled for the human villages instead in search of food. His magic was still lacklustre, sputtering like a rarely used tap. Without his wings, it was foolish to even approach the mortals, but he wasn’t having Nesta starving either. His movements were far more sluggish than he wanted. There was an ache in his shoulders, right down to the tips of his wings. Keeping them upright was beginning to fatigue him. He put it down to the ash still.

Treading carefully, Cassian found a farm. He left a golden coin out of politeness in one of the chicken coops once he’d pilfered their supply of eggs and wrung three necks. It wasn’t late enough for families to be sleeping, so he avoided the homes with yellow lights illuminating them. One that was shrouded in darkness had a fairly good supply of food. Another coin was left for this family and Cassian had seized jars of pickled fruit and vegetables along with fresh ones.

When he set all the food down on the table, Nesta had stared at him. She stared and stared.

‘You’re a thief.’

‘I gave them coin!’

She gnawed at her lip, the scab still running through the centre of it where his wing had hurt her. ‘Coins won’t fill starving bellies. I don’t need all this food.’

‘Nesta, if those baskets stop coming, what will you eat?’ The female remained silent, her eyes wearied as she catalogued the jars of food he’d carried to her table. ‘I’m not having you starve.’

She surveyed him with that cool gaze of hers then jerked her chin to the narrow kitchen counter behind him. 'There’s tea for you.’

It was peppermint again and gloriously warm enough to chase the frozen feeling that had stiffened his fingers.

After he had drained the first cup, Nesta had tipped her had back in laughter.

Dread flooded his veins. ‘Have you poisoned me?’

The corner of her mouth curved into a smirk. Nesta did not answer immediately; instead, she resumed her systematic plucking of the chicken whose neck Cassian had wrung earlier. Her movements were rapid. The feathers were discarded into a pile ready to be repurposed.

‘Isn’t a bit too late to ask me that?’

‘Is it poisoned?’ He asked again, nausea rolling his stomach.

‘No.’ Nesta’s fingers were well-practised in preparing the chicken. It had been plucked quickly then she was preparing it on the side, not flinching at all from the innards. ‘Once you fill up the wood store, well, be on your guard, soldier. I’ll have no more use for you.’

Cassian chopped vegetables and add them to the broth. He was pleased to see Nesta using nearly all of the chicken; the bones were used for stock, the protein-rich gizzard added to the stew and the skin was hung over the fire to crisp up as a snack for them. The remaining two chickens were hung outside in the snow storm. It was coming down heavier now, the wind howling past the wooden walls of the cabin. Despite the fire, Cassian felt cold all the way to his bones.

‘Maybe I’ll stop filling up the wood so you have to keep me forever.’

The rhythmic sound of her knife hitting the chopping board ceased. In a quiet voice, she said, ‘You’ll be sick of me in a couple of days.’

‘I don’t think that’s true, sweetheart.’

She had rolled her eyes then added the chicken to the pot and let it simmer. Cassian caught her wrist before she could move by him. Her skin was so soft yet cold despite the fire. Her gown was not suited for winter. When Cassian returned to the Night Court, she’d be left to fend for herself. He had not seen proper winter boots nor a hat or scarf. Any other female would jump at the chance of returning to their families, but Nesta seemed in no hurry to return to her people. It shouldn’t have made him worry. This female should have meant nothing to him. She did mean nothing to him. It was his conscience telling him not to leave her unprepared for winter.

‘How did you know I was a soldier?’

‘Witchcraft.’

Cassian could not help himself from drawing her closer to him. She was weak where he was powerful, but little force had been required for her feet to edge towards him. There were mere inches between their bodies, and still he cradled her wrist with his bear paw.

‘With your size, I did not think you to be a graceful dancer.’ Her grey eyes roved over his face, snagging on the faint scar running through his eyebrow. ‘You have likely earned your tattoos – and your scars. You can cook too. Only men - mortal men - who have served in the army know how to cook.’

The observations on him were stunning. She’d sized him up well. ‘Anything else?’

‘You keep your boots tidy. You picked up my dress. And you said nobody had hit you so either you’re a soldier or one who gets into bar fights often. I think the former.’

‘I’m the general of my court’s armies.’

‘A general? And you still managed to be shot three times by mortals.’ The derisive snort Nesta emitted made his temper surge.

‘I was distracted.’

‘By?’

‘Nosy females.’

Nesta shook her head, mirth still brightening her expression as she filled a pot with the snow that had settled on the window ledge then began heating it on the stove. Just that sharp blast of cold that entered with the opening of the window had him trembling again.

There had been movement from Hybern. Their emissary, Amarantha, a foul sadistic female, had invited herself to Prythian. Although not their concern, Rhys had wanted a sweep of the mortal lands in case any of Hybern’s forces were pressing below the Wall. Cassian had been so concerned in his attentive search at finding hostile fae that he’d missed a mortal watch tower. Its fire had roared to life, signalling to the next post that a fae was spotted. He’d deliberated. It was always a mistake to second-guess his instinct, but he had to choose between snapping the neck of the next male at the next signal post or fleeing. To be a killer or a coward. It resulted in three arrows clean through his wings. He’d managed to fly a little further then hit the ground, get airborne, hit the ground, until the pain wracked his body too much and he’d landed on Nesta’s roof.

‘Can I use this?’ He was unsteady on his feet as he approached the bed. His teeth were beginning to chatter despite the flames leaping up to the chimney. With the speed that Nesta was throwing logs on the fire, she would get through her wood store in a handful of days.

‘Whatever for?’

‘I’m cold.’

A pain bolted from his groin to his stomach. Within that pain, was a strange sensation of pleasure. Too much pleasure that it hurt.

He whirled round, wrath seizing him, to haul Nesta off of his wing which her hand had been massaging, and pressed her against the bed.

His pulse had leapt. Hers too as it thumped against his arm. He had one arm wrapped across her chest, clinging to her shoulder, and the other held her hip against his body. Cassian was ready for her movements so never allowed Nesta to stamp her foot. Her heel flicked up aiming for his groin again, but this time, Cassian wedged her foot between her legs.

‘Get off me!’

The bitter taste of fear could be scented from the female. That fear pierced the red mist that had threatened to swallow Cassian. He was large and strong where she was tiny and mortal. Nesta was still bent over the bed, the mattress cutting into her ribs as Cassian kept her pinned. She had said she was a maiden; it was a comment that he had not paid attention to then. Now, he was acutely aware of the trembling body trapped against his own.

What the hell was he doing?

He relinquished his grip and stepped away, expecting fury to greet him.

With a pale face, she backed towards the wall, clutching a hand across her chest. She blinked quickly, trying to hide the silver rimming her eyes.

He’d terrified her.

***

The man dropped to his knees, regret drowning him.

‘I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ Cassian’s fingers flexed towards her then he withdrew the hand, thinking better of it. ‘Did I hurt you?’

It had scared her more than anything. One moment, her fingers had been inspecting the wound then he’d hurled her at the bed. It was a reminder that this fae was dangerous. Nesta was little more than a fly for him to swat.

‘Nesta, did I hurt you?’

She could not take the pain in his hazel eyes. This man could hurt her. Any man could. But this man had spent hours in the snow chopping food and stealing food for no reason except to help her.

‘Just made me jump.’

Cassian dipped his head in submission, black hair sweeping across his shoulders. She moved a step closer and lifted his chin with two fingers inspecting his features. A sheen of sweat lined his brow and his skin was duller than the morning.

‘You’re unwell.’

‘I’m freezing,’ he complained.

‘Sit at the table,’ Nesta ordered, frowning slightly. When he was sat, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. ‘You have a fever. I’m boiling the water to clean your wounds. Will you attack me again if I try to clean your wings?’

‘My people are taught from birth to guard their wings.’

‘Fae?’

Cassian dutifully removed his shirt on her orders though he shivered despite the searing heat of his skin. ‘Illyrians. We’re lesser fae. Looked down on by high-fae. My people have wings and rounded ears.’

Nesta stroked her thumb against the curve of his ear. Like a cat, his eyes closed at the touch.

‘When you touched my wings, I thought it was an attack. I didn’t hear you approach. That never happens. Wings are sacred to my people. Not even a casual lover is permitted to touch them.’

Involuntarily, her cheeks heated and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. ‘You let me touch them last night.’

‘To clean them. Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re the only female that’s ever had that honour.’

‘And how many males have there been?’

He shook his head with a laugh, but Nesta saw the exhaustion creeping into his expression. She hauled the blankets from the bed to drape around his front while she cleaned his wounds. It should have been done in the morning, but he’d seemed to heal much quicker so Nesta had presumed he was well.

The puncture marks on his beautiful wings were healing well. The skin was thinner, almost translucent as it repaired itself. Each time that her fingers touched his wings, she felt herself tensing in case an attack came. Cassian gripped the blankets to his chest, fighting against the urge to move her from his wing.

The worry was the wound in his shoulder. The arrowhead might have been dipped in poison for all she knew – Nesta wasn’t a healer. What she did know, was that the wound was infected. The skin was red raw and burning at her touch. The scab was black in parts and oozing in others. She washed it as best she could with the boiled water, using more tea tree to flush it out. There were no herbs here to make a salve so Nesta had to hope his magic would spark to life and heal him quickly.

When she presented a bowl of chicken broth to him, Cassian murmured a thank you but he ate slowly. There was a quiver in his hand as he brought the spoon to his mouth.

‘I didn’t think fae got sick.’

Cassian shook his head. ‘Our healers are skilled enough that we don’t often.’

Nesta watched with pursed lips as he spooned another few mouthfuls in, each one slower. His eyes had shut.

Only Elain had Nesta ever done this for. With surprising ease, Nesta prised the spoon from Cassian’s hand then fed him a mouthful of stew. She continued until the bowl was empty. Spoon after spoon went down his throat as she held his face.

Against better judgement, Nesta was peeling off his trousers and hanging them up by the fire before guiding the fae into her bed. Sweat stuck his black hair to his scalp, but still Cassian shivered as she tucked the blankets around him. She ate her stew alone at the table, keeping a wary eye on him as he slept.

The snow storm barrelled around the cabin like a juggernaut. Each howl of the wind had Nesta moving closer to the fire place. It was strange to consider how natural it had felt to move alongside this winged fae. Even in such a tiny space, Nesta had not felt as if she needed space from him. Their cottage was only slightly larger than this but she and her sisters were at each other’s throats constantly. It was a novel feeling.

Once Nesta had eaten, she added another gnarled log to the fire and slipped into her night gown. There was no possibility of her sleeping on the ground without any sort of blanket. The alternative was squeezing into the narrow bed with a fae – but this fae was snoring and his face was slick with sweat.

Using only the glow of the fire, Nesta climbed into the bed. She read for a time, comforted by the crackle of the fire and the whoosh of the wind hitting the side of the cabin. In between turning pages, Nesta pressed a damp cloth to Cassian’s brow. He shifted so that his wings were against the wall. The movement made her chuckle; even in sleep, he protected them. It did mean that his face nuzzled towards her arm seeking the wet rag to take the sting out of his fever.

When the fire was no more than embers, her eyes closed too.

Chapter Text

It was cold and bright when Cassian’s eyes flickered open. There was an ache to his body still, but his fever had broken during the night. With a start, he realised he was in a bed – and not his one in Velaris.

Nesta lay beside him, her body tucked neatly next to his as if she was always supposed to be there. Most of the covers had been pulled to her side of the bed like a nest. Her hand rested on his head with a cloth clutched between her fingers.

Last night came to him in jagged shards. Nesta had spoon-fed him like a child after tenderly seeing to his wounds. He couldn’t cling on to the other memories.

Her brow was scrunched up even in sleep as though deep in thought. It was a frown he was beginning to adore. Cassian resisted the urge to run a finger down her nose or to stroke the silken strands of her hair that fell across her face. Nesta might snap his fingers off if he tried to touch her. This close, he could see the palest freckles that likely burst to life in the sun and a tiny circular scar near her temple, likely from chicken pox.

Beneath the covers, he wore only underwear; he had no recollection of removing his clothes himself. A quick sweep of the room confirmed his clothes were neatly folded on the table. Cassian would have preferred Nesta taking his clothes off when he was awake enough to appreciate the gesture. He certainly wouldn’t have complained if that was her plan. The female was in her night gown. The arm that reached towards him was flecked with gooseflesh from the cold. A chill encompassed the room without the warmth of the fire so Cassian tucked the blankets closer around her. She made a small noise of contentment at the gesture.

Soon, he would climb out and start a fire then breakfast. It was oddly nice to lay here with Nesta though. Nice enough that he didn’t want to ruin it yet. It wasn’t rare for Cassian to have a female in his bed, but often he shepherded them out swiftly in the morning – if they stayed the night at all - with no plans to see them again. There had been times in the past where he couldn’t remember their names. Times where he’d bounced from one female then another in the same night. Times when he, Az, and Rhys had all been fucking in the same room. This was different to nights of passion; this female had cared for him, however begrudgingly and that had been all. She ought to detest his kind and yet she was curled up beside him.

A crunch of snow in the distance chilled his blood. The gait was definitely bipedal, likely mortal, and coming closer. Only one set at least, the smallest mercy. With his keen hearing, he had enough time to press a hand across Nesta’s mouth. Her eyes jerked open and she tried to pull herself from him. Cassian pressed a finger over his own lips then said, ‘Somebody’s coming here.’

They dressed quickly in silence. Nesta threw her gown on top of her nightie while he put his leathers on and gathered his weapons.

The door knocked a couple of times. Odd. It was a polite, hesitant knock rather than boom of a male hunting a fae.

Nesta waited near it, listening in rather than opening.

It knocked again. ‘Nesta, it’s me. Open the door.’

Obliging, Nesta cracked the door open an inch or two while Cassian waited by the stove, sword out.

‘You’re really alive,’ the female voice said with a tone of shock and relief. ‘I overheard in the village that you were still alive. They won’t tell us anything.’

‘If you’re found here, Feyre, you will be outcast. You will be killed.’

The female, Feyre, had wedged her foot into the gap between the door and its frame. Clever. ‘There’s so much snow, nobody will be out today.’

‘You covered your foot prints, didn’t you?’

‘Of course I did,’ she said. ‘Won’t you let me in?’

‘Why?’ Nesta asked with suspicion. She kept her hand firmly on the door.

The female outside laughed in disbelief. ‘Because I’m your sister. Because you’re alive. I haven’t seen you in weeks and weeks. Nesta, we mourned you.’

‘I’m sorry your tears were wasted. I really cannot entertain today.’

Cassian pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing at Nesta’s dry wit.

Before he could spring into action and help, Nesta was suddenly jostling with the door. The female on the other side was proving stronger, so Nesta’s slipper-covered feet skidded across the wood as she forced open the door.

Feyre examined the bare room, eyes lingering on the crumpled bed sheets, then they landed on Cassian stood in the kitchen with his weapon raised.

The female shrieked. And she shrieked. And she shrieked.

Nesta covered her sister’s mouth. ‘Stop screaming, Feyre. Stop it.’

Slowly, she removed the hand. Her sister pushed her body against the scratched wall, gripping her Nesta’s wrist. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. They were similar enough; both golden haired and their eyes a cold, grey-blue. Nesta was taller and a slighter build. The other didn’t wear a gown but pants and boots more suited for the winter.

‘There’s a fae in the kitchen.’

Ever the actress, Nesta glanced at Cassian then replied in a bored tone, ‘Oh really? I had not noticed. Thank goodness you’re here.’

The wet tang of her fear coated the room, but Cassian noticed how she assessed his weapons then the distance to the door. Like her sister, her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Did he sleep in your bed?’

At the same moment that Nesta said, ‘absolutely not,’ Cassian said, ‘yes.’

‘If I were you, I’d stay silent right now,’ Nesta warned.

Red crept up her neck as she set a kettle to boil on the stove. That blush was too pretty for Cassian to resist. Settling himself on the ricketiest chair, he said to Feyre, ‘You will find she’s still a maiden. Her virtue remains intact.’

Both of the sisters blushed this time – Feyre from the address, Nesta from the content. The latter clutched the handle of the teapot tight enough that her knuckles had gone white.

‘Cassian, just because I haven’t poisoned you, does not mean I will not. It is a when not an if.’

He crossed a knee over his ankle, watching this beguiling female pour tea into a mug, a bowl, and a pan. She deserved better than this.

‘We have got to get you more crockery,’ he complained. ‘Is she like this at home? Threatening constantly or attacking with brooms?’

The female seemed to relax slightly, the tension loosening from her shoulders. Feyre eyed the spare chair but did not take it yet. Still, she glanced at the door. Cassian wondered if she was brave enough to try and make a run for it back to the village. He’d catch her before the ring of trees circling the cabin even with his damaged wings – but he wondered if she had the same fire as her sister.

Begrudgingly, Nesta explained how he came to be in her home then he explained that he had imprisoned Blue Annis so Nesta’s life was not in any danger. Feyre’s eyes danced between them then she let out a shaky laugh.

‘I’m surprised she hasn’t killed you already. Nesta isn’t fond of anyone.’

At those words, all the brightness drained from Nesta’s face. Stiffly, she forced the mug into Feyre’s hand, the bowl into his and drank her own tea from the spout of the small saucepan.

They drank their tea in a painful silence. The wall that Cassian had carefully been dismantling with every hour spent in Nesta’s company had been rebuilt. Feyre perched on the edge of the bed, eyes still flicking back to the front door, despite her sister’s murmurings that they were safe.

The arrival of Nesta’s sister provided another piece to her puzzle. He had gathered that she liked to be alone, but it had seemed strange to him that she did not want to return to family. If Feyre’s words were true, why did she shelter him and care for him?

Sensing the sisters needed time to talk, he lit a fire for them then said, ‘I’ll chop more wood for you.’

Before he left, Nesta called out, ‘Don’t be too long. I need to clean your shoulder. The quicker its healed, the quicker you can be rid of me.’

***

Nesta braced herself for the barrage of questions Feyre likely had for her. Her sister gave her a callous stare that lacked feeling. Nesta held it with more fire and steel than her younger sibling possessed. Feyre looked away first.

‘Why didn’t you come home?’

The note of hurt ringing out in Feyre’s voice surprised Nesta. In response, Nesta said, ‘I thought you’d be glad for the extra space.’

‘You’re my sister,’ she replied, as if that smoothed away years of arguments and rancour trapped in their miserable hovel watching their father whittle chunks of wood rather than help them.

Nesta turned her face away. ‘I stopped being anything to anybody the day I was exiled.’

What did she have to go back to? There was no betrothed or fiancée. She did not know how to do anything except care for a home. Her family had no money so even if she had a proposal there was no dowry to give. Nesta wasn’t even sure if she wanted a husband. It had always been her path, but there were no men in the village she had affections for. This time in the cabin was proving to be a delight. There was nobody to answer to, nobody to bark orders at her like Feyre was fond of. Nesta had her own space for once.

‘We’ll petition the elders. Once they realise there’s no monster, you can come home.’

‘I will not return to that cottage, Feyre.’

‘Elain is engaged. I have an opportunity to train with a mercenary to earn coin. Nesta, you need to go home. There's no-one else.’

With those few sentences, a sheet of ice built between them. Nesta forced herself to slowly count to five rather than unleash her temper in one burst. ‘If you are suggesting that I should return to take care of father-’

‘It’s not a suggestion,’ Feyre snapped. ‘Don’t be spiteful. It falls on you to be with him.’

Nesta stood in one brittle motion. ‘Get out.’

It might have been the tone or the stare that spurred Feyre into action. Nesta did not care either way. She had clenched her jaw together before more of her words got her into trouble. When they had needed their father, he had not been there for them. No, Nesta was not returning to be his carer. It had been his love of money that had made him reluctant to search for a cure for their mother. His bad investments that resulted in the loss of their fortune. His arrogance that led him to believe he could win back their money through gambling so debt collectors destroyed their house and his leg.

Feyre stood and drew her cloak around her shoulders. Once she had crossed the room, she looked over her shoulder. ‘You will never change.’

‘I have no desire to change,’ she shot back, glad when Feyre slammed the door shut behind her.

It did not take long for Cassian’s head to poke around the doorway. Concern nibbled at his features as he noticed Nesta sat at the table with a blank expression. ‘Should I see your sister safely back to the village?’

‘I do not care what you do – or her for that matter.’

Nesta’s breathing felt brittle in her chest. Why couldn’t she have felt happiness to see her sister? Why did her gut twist with anxiety the moment she had seen Feyre’s face at the door? Cassian’s presence had not been the cause. They had not had a civil conversation in years and Nesta knew her absence would not have softened their feelings towards each other.

The door closed quietly, but she could hear Cassian removing his boots and shuffling across the room rather than returning to the outdoors. He heaved a sigh as he turned the chair backwards and sat onto it. His huge wings draped around him.

‘Daddy issues?’

‘Were you eavesdropping?’

At the accusation, Cassian spread his hands out in front of him in a gesture of innocence. ‘It’s very quiet here – and my hearing is very good.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest. ‘You should leave. News of your presence will not remain private.’

The man hooked his fingers in the neckline of his shirt and tugged it down to expose the wound there. It was still infected. ‘You promised me a sponge bath. I’m not leaving without that. They’ll have to drag me out of here naked and covered in bubbles.’

It was difficult to suppress a smile. ‘I promised nothing of the sort.’

For the rest of the day, Nesta was coaxed outside by Cassian. In between his teasing that he wouldn’t always be around, he showed her which was the softest wood to chop or which burnt easiest. He promised to bring her items for the cabin once his wings had healed enough to manage long journeys. It was all a distraction to stop her wallowing from the argument, Nesta knew, but she was grateful for his kindness.

When the temperature grew unbearable, they’d return to the house for another cup of tea or to reheat yesterday’s stew to warm them up. They’d alternate who drank from the mug and who had to have the bowl in an unexpected, easy companionship.

He had probed a few more times about the argument, but Nesta had shot down each attempt, calling him nosy.

When night time dawned – with the absence of men from the village brandishing torches and pitchforks – Nesta grimaced then broached the subject of bathing. The man’s face shone as bright as the sun at the prospect.

Despite his injured shoulder, Cassian struggled little with repeated trips to the pump outside to fill buckets of water for the tin bath. He heated them on the fire for her until they steamed. When Cassian had first seen the size of the bath, he had double checked himself to see if he’d shrank then slung an arm around her shoulders and mentioned a sponge bath again. Nesta had shoved him away then turned her back on him to hide her own smirk. Even if it was appealing to see his body again, nothing good would come of it.

While she washed, thankful for the heat, Cassian lay on the bed with his face pointed at the wall. Nesta inspected him throughout, sceptical of his morality. His wings sprawled out on the bed, twitching when they heard the slosh of the water, but he didn't try to peek.

It was a brief, nervous bath. As soon as she was dressed, Cassian snapped to attention. He removed his clothes in slow, deliberate motions in front of the fire. His eyes kept catching hers, ensuring she was watching. Nesta tried not to, but her eyes were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The man certainly wasn’t bashful.

Out of politeness, Nesta sat with her back to him by the fire. He called her to him, however, asking her when she would clean his shoulder.

Somehow, he had wedged himself into the bath. His knees were bent and jutting from the water as was most of his chest and arms. The pair of umber wings were hooked over the lip of the bath and the bottoms trailed the floor. Cassian fixed Nesta was a beckoning stare.

‘You are completely naked,’ she said, dabbing at the raw flesh with boiled water.

‘How would you know that unless you’d looked?’ He teased.

Nesta refused to look at anything but his shoulder. A hand stroked her face.

‘You can look,’ he reassured her. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘I mind.’

‘Why? A big handsome male in your bath isn’t a bad thing.’ His fingers trailed down her arm. Nesta savoured the touch. ‘I can hear how your pulse jumps each time you meet my eyes.’

Nesta stepped back, but Cassian gripped her hand. He was completely unphased by nudity, it seemed.

‘Nobody’s pulse has ever sung to me like yours. Each time I hear your heart, my own answers it.’

A few lacklustre bubbles remained floating on the surface. Nesta caught some on her fingers by casually dragging her fingers through the water. She tried to suppress the butterflies in her stomach at what she could see in the water. Tried to keep her face carefully neutral. She flicked the bubbles at his bare chest, watching as they rolled down his golden skin.

‘Pretty words disguise ill-intents.’

She returned to her place by the fire, reading in silence. It was the warmest place Nesta could be without sitting on the flames themselves. She jerked her toes up when the embers spat.

Behind her, she heard Cassian rising from the bath, the slosh of the water as it ran off his body. His wings must have flapped as a cool breeze rushed by her ear. There was only one towel and, like the bath water, Cassian had been willing to use it after her.

A brush ran through her hair. A pleasant chill trickled over Nesta’s neck.

‘What are you doing?’

With the towel covering his modesty, Cassian stood behind the chair, gently pulling the bristles through her damp hair. In the dim light, his pupils were blown out. The flames shined in the darkness.

He spoke only one word. ‘Please.’

For such a large man, Cassian brushed her hair with near reverence. Rather than the scalp pulling she usually gave to herself, this was pleasurable. Nesta tipped back her head and let her eyes close while he worked.

Once Cassian had finished, she sat on the bed to braid her hair while he brushed his own. He told her that in his country, they had running water in the houses – and it ran hot! They had baths nearly every day and even had a shower, where water poured from above and you stood in it. Nesta listened in awe at the magic they had, learning that it was not something to be feared, not when it could create such wondrous things.

Next, she sat behind him, careful of his wings, braiding his hair. It had been the trade; since he had brushed hers, Nesta should be allowed to plait his too. He’d agreed on the condition that he could remove it before bed. Cassian spoke of cobbled streets with boutique clothing shops and patisseries with cream-laden cakes. His own people came from further north and they were a warrior type.

‘I wish I could show you Starfall. The stars in Illyria are unrivalled, but Starfall is a masterpiece.’

‘Your people, they aren’t wondering where you are?’

They moved into the covers, Nesta quietly accepting that he could spend another night under the blankets with her since the snow was coming down again.

‘Rhys is a daemati. He can… read minds. Sort of. He can communicate with me in my head.’ Cassian tapped his temples in case Nesta did not know what a head was. ‘I’m not sure why he hasn’t yet. Him, Mor, and Az can winnow. Almost like vanishing from one place and appearing from another.’

‘You can’t?’

Cassian pulled the duvet up to pad it around Nesta’s shoulders. ‘No, just flight. Az is like me – Illyrian with wings. Rhys is mixed and Mor is just high-fae. Amren is… I wish I knew what Amren was. Small and scary.’

Sleep tugged at Nesta but she was enjoying hearing his stories. She struggled to imagine the faeries that he spoke of; all of them were variants of him in her imagination. It was difficult to rectify what she had thought about the fae and how they seemed to be.

There was a brief lull in conversation then, ‘You want to stay in this cabin? Really?’

‘I don’t want to return to the village.’

Cassian stroked a thumb across Nesta’s cheek and smiled. ‘What if you came home with me?’

Chapter Text

‘I don’t want to return to the village.’

Cassian stroked a thumb across Nesta’s cheek and smiled. ‘What if you came home with me?’

Home. Had Nesta known what a home was? It wasn’t a place. Their cottage was not a home. The vast estate her parents had once owned had not been a home either.

When she thought of home, she thought of the elderly servant who had not scolded her when she found her hiding under the kitchen table but instead lifted her onto the top and let her ice the sticky buns. She thought of the servant’s husband who drove the coach for Nesta’s father; how he’d always have sugar lumps in his pocket for the horses and would lift Nesta up so the horse could snuffle one from her palm. Home was the love the servants had given her as a child, the ones who had tucked her into bed and told her stories, who had cradled her when she was sick.

‘I c-can’t.’ The words came out without conviction. A strong gust of wind would have knocked them down.

Cassian’s expression hadn’t wavered as though he expected that answer. ‘Why not?’

He spoke of his family with near reverence. His eyes had lit up when he had spoken of snowball fights with his brothers and racing across Illyria. It was so tempting to be part of something else, another family, another life. It was an impossible dream.

‘Because you’re fae and I’m mortal.’

That should have been the end of it. They were too different. They came from different worlds. Their lives couldn’t be any more different.

‘I’d look after you. You’d have a better life with me.’

‘Fae hurt mortals. I’d always be in danger – you wouldn’t be able to keep me at your side constantly or I’d be no better than a pet.’

Cassian tried to speak but Nesta pressed two fingers over his lips. ‘No. You’re five hundred. You’ve lived my life twenty times over. What happens in thirty years? Forty? You’ll take care of me when arthritis riddles my bones? When my mind is trapped in the past? You would look the same.’

She let her fingers drift down his face to settle on his neck. They had been drawn to the thud of his pulse. Her eyes closed listening to it. It was so calm, so steady.

Logic was telling her it would be foolish to even think about the cities Cassian had described. She was setting herself up for heartbreak to imagine a better life. But sometimes logic was wrong, even if she was ruled by it.

No, Nesta had never been one to let her heart guide her decisions. And she wasn’t about to start.

Cassian leaned into her touch as she stroked the rough-hewn planes of his face, savouring it. ‘In another place, another time, there might have been hope for us,’ she said. ‘In the next world – the next life – we will find each other again.’

Strong arms pulled her closer. She was engulfed by his warm embrace. It ought to be a scandal to lay in bed with Cassian – a man and a faerie – but none of it felt wrong. Their bodies melded to each other’s, hearts singing as one.

‘But I want you in this life.’

Such a simple declaration and yet Nesta was undone by his words. Cassian grazed her lips with his own. The touch was fragile as though he was afraid to hurt her.

Then Cassian rolled so he lay on top of her. Most of his weight was raised upon his forearms so he didn’t crush her, but with the way her heart fluttered, Nesta might not have minded if he did. His lips met hers again, leading them. For all his cocky-façade, Cassian was gentle with Nesta. His kisses were tender.

One was never enough.

Nesta swallowed and pressed a hand to him to stop eventually. She drew herself back, resting on a hip. Her hand rested against the hot skin of his chest, admiring the ink carved into his flesh.

She tried to cling onto something stable while the whole world swirled around her in a torrent of emotions. It wasn’t fair. She had never wanted anybody. And now, she had met this man who was her opposite in every way, but she wanted him. Just as magnets were drawn to each other, she wanted this loud and over-familiar man. He’d swept into her life, chopped wood and ensured she had food for no reason other than that he cared. He offered her a future. He had seen her and still wanted her.

She returned his soft smile. ‘If we cannot have a future, let us have tonight.’

The man on top of her sucked in a ragged, desperate breath then he was touching Nesta. His hands weaved through her hair and cradled her face. Their lips fused with longing.

Nesta rose her body up, clutching Cassian even tighter to reassure herself that this was real. That he was real. And that tonight, he was hers.

Nesta let herself be drawn deeper into their kisses, catching his lips with kisses of her own. She leant her head back against the pillows as Cassian kissed lightly along her jaw. His tongue flicked against her neck and she allowed herself to relax into the embrace.

Lightly, his teeth dragged against her skin. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine. He traced the curve of her breast with his hand and her breathing hitched. There was line drawn between them and Nesta was beginning to step over it.

Without really thinking, she arched her back, giving him better access to her breasts but reached to touch his wing too. The pad of her thumb followed the thickest tendon.

The soft groan that came from Cassian did nothing to perturb Nesta; in fact, she was entranced by it. He had stilled completely, face inches from her peaked nipples, breathing heavily. Her fingers were light as they tracked beneath the tendons.

‘I want to be inside you,’ he breathed.

With every caress, his moans became more desperate. When his hand clasped his cock, Nesta made a soft noise of encouragement. Cassian moved his wrist slow and easy while Nesta continued tracing patterns on his wings. Closer to his back, where the tendons met, he was most sensitive. Every now and then, he’d shudder against her as pleasure rocked his body.

The pace of his desperate gasps increased until Cassian collapsed onto his back. He brought Nesta’s hand to his cock, guiding her at his speed. The skin was softer than she expected and beneath her fingers, he was completely solid. Before she could marvel fully at his length, Cassian let out a louder moan and his seed sprayed across his stomach. Nesta was transfixed by it. Her lip curled into a smile.

By the time, she had reached for a cloth to clean him, Cassian had pinned her with a stare of desire. It felt as if all the air had left the room.

‘I never let females touch my wings,’ he said, voice a low purr that had heat pooling in her core.

‘Then I must be extra-special.’

Cassian rose to his knees and pushed her down onto the pillows. ‘Let me show you exactly what the General of the Night Court can do.’

It was different to be touched by him rather than to be the one causing his hips to jerk. Nesta wasn’t ready for all of it. They kissed again and his hands wandered up her night gown, stroking up the length of her thigh. His hands prised open her legs and Nesta ran cold.

‘Too fast for me.’

At once, he withdrew himself from her and apologised. Only understanding was on his features. She was a maiden still and wanted to wait until she was married, though that seemed unlikely now.

Cassian touched his forehead to hers. ‘I wish I could keep you.’

Nesta had resigned herself to this cabin, this life. She shifted from beneath him, coming to lay beside him instead. ‘It’s late. We should sleep.’

His fingers entwined with hers then he kissed the heart of her palm. ‘In another life.’

‘Another life,’ she echoed.

When the man tugged her closer and tucked his body round hers, she didn’t protest. His wing folded over the top of her. Nesta knew she should have protested. She never should have shielded him that first night or allowed him into her house. Shouldn’t have engaged in his verbal wars or watched him wash. When it came to Cassian, Nesta lost all sense of propriety – but she was glad of it.

***

Sleep did not come. Cassian’s shoulder no longer burned and his wings were itching to move again. It meant that tomorrow night, he would be able to fly back to Velaris. He had only hours left with this female. Part of him wanted to wake her up so they could talk more and tease. He’d done it when they were younger and Az would fling a pillow at him or Rhys would leave the room and sleep somewhere else.

Her breathing was slow and even. She’d rolled towards him so Cassian had scooped her against his chest like she was always meant to be there. Nesta was too peaceful to wake now. He didn’t have the heart to do it though he might regret it in the future not seizing those final minutes in her company.

What Nesta had said made sense. In fifty years, he’d be the same, but her life would be fading from existence. And yet a part of him didn’t care. He’d take whatever time she could give him. In only a few days, Nesta had claimed his heart.

He ran a long finger down the ripples of her spine, enjoying her shiver even in sleep.

A light crunch sounded in the snow. Then another.

Cassian could feel the push of magic seeping around the cabin. His heart lurched with horror.

‘Nes,’ he murmured, shaking her. ‘Up. Silent.’

Her eyes were wide with confusion, but she followed him from the bed. There was nowhere to hide her in this dreary cabin, no safe place for her. Cassian lifted her across the room and set her down lightly behind the kitchen counter, near the stove, so whoever was outside would only hear his feet treading across the floorboards.

He pressed a finger to his lips as a warning to Nesta then kissed her forehead. None would ever hurt her. There was no mission more important in his life than this.

When the door opened silently, Cassian had his sword drawn.

It met metal.

Shadows slithered across the floor.

‘Cass?’

‘Az?’

A crack sounded then a grunt. The sound of knees hitting the ground echoed in the cabin. ‘What the fuck?’

Rhys sent a ball of faelight to bob in the centre of the room. His nose was bloodied, but Nesta was swinging her broom again. It hit the back of his head and he fell forwards onto his face.

Cassian surged forwards, throwing Azriel towards the wall, pushing Rhys back down, and hauling Nesta away. The broom was clutched still in her hands.

Rubbing the back of his head, Rhys got to his feet. Azriel tore a length of material from his clothes and handed it to him to stem the blood from his nose.

‘You’re alive then?’ Rhys asked, eyes landing on Nesta peering over Cassian’s shoulder.

‘Just about.’

‘Shacked up with a mortal too,’ added Azriel with a jerk of his chin towards the crumpled sheets then to him stood only in his underwear.

‘A mortal who hit the most powerful high lord in existence twice.’

Both Cassian and Azriel split into laughter. Rhys groused that he’d been caught unawares.

‘Been slacking on your training, Rhysie.’ Cassian reached around his back to pull Nesta into view. ‘Don’t feel too sad, she knocked me to the ground with that broom too. This is Nesta Archeron. Nes, these are the brothers I’ve told you about.’

‘I’m in my nightgown,’ she hissed, tugging the skirt down her thighs.

His wings snapped open and he cradled Nesta from their view. He ordered Azriel to pass her cloak so that she wasn’t so exposed. Colour bloomed high in her cheeks as she finally stepped into their eyeline.

‘Nesta, I am Rhysand. Do you think I could speak to my brother alone for a while?’

Power rippled from him. It was easy to forget how other Rhys was even compared to fae. His black hair swallowed the faelight. It was a burden that Rhys carried, that magic so strong that it made others uncomfortable. However, Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, completely unbothered by him.

‘Ah, yes. Let me stand in the snow in the darkness while you have your cosy chat.’ Her tone was as dry as sandpaper. Rhys – Rhys – looked away first, breaking off their staring contest.

‘It’s alright. We can talk here. I’ll make tea. Az, light a fire, Nesta is cold.’

Shadows trailed Az as he passed but Cassian swore one whispered into his ear and Az quickly hid his grin.

While he brewed tea, Nesta stayed glued to his side. There was a wariness on her expression that Cassian had not seen before. It unsettled him. Nesta had seemed unflappable.

‘What’s wrong?’ He murmured.

She glanced over his shoulder at Rhys and Azriel. They’d taken the chairs at the table and positioned them near the growing fire. They spoke quietly enough, but Cassian knew they could still hear his and Nesta’s conversation. The cabin didn’t allow for much privacy.

‘They’re fae.’

‘I’m fae,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, but you’re my-’. Nesta cut herself off with a nervous cough.

Cauldron, he wished she’d have finished that sentence. He moved to brush a hand against her head, but Nesta backed up and gestured to his brothers. She was shy, fine, he could manage that.

‘They won’t hurt you, sweetheart. I’m the scariest one so if you’ll swing at me with a broom and not fear the consequences, you have nothing to fear from them.’

They perched on the bed. Rhys, at least, didn’t mention the fact that he was drinking tea from a bowl. Az’s face was neutral as he observed Cassian and Nesta sharing the one mug in the cabin. He missed nothing, not the crumpled sheets, not the scent of what had occurred hours earlier before they’d been disturbed. He raised a single brow then turned back to his tea.

‘We’ve been trying to contact you for days,’ Rhys began.

‘I was shot. Ash arrows. Three to be exact. My magic hasn’t been responding.’

His violet eyes widened. ‘You should have gone straight to Madja.’

‘I couldn’t fly, Rhys. I’m lucky Nesta took care of me.’ He wrapped her up with one arm, squeezing her to his side.

Azriel’s cool voice cut across. ‘Nesta, you seem tired. My brother hasn’t been keeping you awake all night, has he?’

She was smart enough to catch the double meaning. Although her cheeks flushed pink, she quipped, ‘Only with his snoring.’

‘Can you tell me how you’ve ended up in this female’s home?’

From the beginning, Cassian explained how he’d been shot out of the sky and landed onto her roof. It was unheard of really for a mortal to shelter a fae; stories of history where they fought side by side had been forgotten. She had taken a massive risk and Cassian was so proud of her for it. There was no other female with as much courage as Nesta.

When it was Nesta’s turn to explain why she lived alone in the woods, she encouraged Cassian to continue her tale instead. He weaved his fingers into hers. Lacklustre, she pulled them out, but when he tightened the hold, she let her hand remain in his. His brothers didn’t miss it, not for a second.

‘I think I remember Blue Annis almost killing you.’

‘Almost,’ Cassian winked. ‘Good job you’re always a step behind me to save the day, Az.’

It was almost dawn. Far in the distance, light leaked into the black sky like ink being washed away. Rhys rose first. He washed their crockery in the sink, despite Nesta ordering him to leave it.

‘Shall we give you a moment to say goodbye?’

A knife had been rammed into his heart. He was hot and cold all at once. Cassian squeezed Nesta’s hand. Not yet. He didn’t want to go yet. Let him stay a while longer.

He released her hand and crossed the room to where Rhys stood by the front door.

‘Go on ahead. I’ll fly back tonight. My wings need the exercise.’

‘Cass,’ Azriel warned, face hard.

‘I can’t go yet.’ The desperation bled into his voice. Just one more sunrise. One more sunset. One more day with her. In a quiet voice, he admitted, ‘I want Nesta to return to Velaris with me.’

Their voices were low enough that Nesta couldn’t hear over the crackle of the fire. She sat on the bed, toying with a tassel on the aged, knitted blanket. He couldn’t bear it, seeing her in this cabin with nothing to her name, no friends, no family. It cracked his heart a little more each time he considered her future path.

‘She’s not a pet,’ Azriel sighed. ‘You can’t just take her.’

‘Nes has nothing here. She’s alone – she will always be alone. She's an exile!’

A crease drew between Rhys’ brow as his eyes settled on the female fighting to keep her eyes open. ‘I still don’t know how she landed two hits on me. What have you told her? Everything? Velaris?’

Cassian shifted his weight. ‘Yes.’

‘You’ve well and truly rushed in here.’ Rhys let out a sigh. ‘Does she actually want to come to Velaris?’

That weak flicker of hope that he had been nurturing was extinguished. Cassian looked at his brothers. They were so different to mortals. Their lives were so different.

‘No, she doesn’t.’

Rhys’ hand settled on his shoulder. ‘I’ll return tomorrow night to winnow you. I’ll keep wards around this cabin too. You’re lucky nobody has come for you. Have your chance to say goodbye. Cass, I’m sorry, but you know it cannot bloom.’

Chapter Text

Together they stole another few hours of sleep. With stinging eyes, they’d crawled back into the bed. Nesta positioned herself as close to the wall as possible until Cassian had pulled her closer to him. If it was the last time he’d sleep beside her, he wanted to seize every moment. Her fingers laced into his and they lay like that until light had broken into the sky.

There was no use trying to convince Nesta again; he wanted the last day in her company to be enjoyable, not spent pleading with her. Still, that desire to ensure she was protected and safe bypassed any other instinct. She had enough food for a few days and the wood store was well stocked. There were still items that Nesta needed – and Cassian had been making a mental list of each thing during his time in the cabin. Winter boots and clothes, thicker blankets, more books and crockery. Rhys might bring it or Azriel at a later date, but he knew his brothers would prevent him returning. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He'd always been that way. Love should be freely given and not withheld. Still, they wouldn’t want to see him hurting. It was better to say goodbye once, no matter how painful than to linger in a drawn-out farewell. Wasn’t it?

‘Wrap up warm.’

If Nesta could strike a high lord without fear of consequence then she could catch her dinner. Cassian led her out into the snow, deeper into the forest but so the cabin was still visible in the distance.

He could feel the change in the air with the presence of the Wall not far away. A tinny whistling sound could faintly be heard and the air itself tasted like rust. Nesta stopped walking. Her brows lowered.

‘Something wrong, sweetheart?’

Cassian’s heart sped up. Surely, she couldn’t feel the magic too?

She swallowed. ‘Nothing.’

He showed Nesta how to set snares in different ways using wire and rope to make. Although her hands were cold, she managed well enough to twist the wire into shape and to loop it around low hanging branches. Cassian talked her through the best places to set her snares based on the animal tracks running through the otherwise unblemished snow. Winter could be unyielding, but she would be better prepared for spring this way.

When her teeth chattered, Cassian led her back towards the cabin. In a snare that he’d set previously was a struggling rabbit. It was skinny, hardly worth the effort, but Cassian needed to ensure Nesta could take care of herself.

‘I’ve got to kill it?’

‘You’ve been ready to kill me several times. Nes, if you want to survive, you’ll need to do it.’

Nesta stared down at the struggling rabbit. ‘Can’t I just wait for it to die?’

‘Sometimes it will already be dead. Sometimes something else will have come to eat it. Sometimes you will have to kill it. I’ll help you this time.’

‘But it’s a rabbit.’

He touched her cold cheek. ‘This is where meat comes from.’

Reluctantly, she took the knife from him. The rabbit squeaked loudly as Nesta tried to lift it from the ground. Its back legs thrashed and her grip wobbled.

‘I can’t do it.’

She threw the knife down and stalked away, feet trampling through the snow. Cassian put the animal out of its misery and cut away the trap from its carcass. It wasn’t ever easy to take a life, but if Nesta wanted to remain in the woods, these were things she had to do.

Cassian prised Nesta’s face from the trunk that she’d pressed herself against. Her face was streaked with tears. She quickly buried herself against him rather than have him witness her upset. Cassian wrapped Nesta into his arms, surprised that she so readily sought his touch.

‘That was horrible. The noise it made.’

He’d heard far worse: the gargled sounds of friends taking their last breaths on the battle field; screams of innocent civilians whose homes were burnt to the ground by Hybern. For this mortal woman who had never known war, a dying rabbit was the worst thing.

‘I just wanted you to be able to look after yourself. I’m sorry it upset you.’

They shuffled back towards the cabin, stomping their snowy shoes on the stoop before entering. Nesta still snuffled each time she caught sight of the rabbit hanging limply from his belt. They’d left the fire burning, so Cassian poked at the embers then threw another log on top.

‘Are you warm enough or should I warm you up?’

Nesta snorted at that, but a smile brightened her face. ‘I’m sure you’d love that.’

‘Oh, I definitely would,’ he purred coming to stand beside her to massage her shoulders. His thumbs pushed against the muscle, driving in small circles that elicited quiet murmurs of enjoyment from Nesta. ‘What is your dream? If you could do anything, be anything. What’s your dream?’

The muscles of her neck were tense as he massaged them. Nesta tipped her head forwards, granting him better access to her spine.

‘I never let myself dream.’

‘Dare to dream, Nesta.’

She raised her head so she could look up at him. He leaned forwards to kiss her forehead. A small smirk flitted onto her lips.

‘Maybe I dream of being the witch who haunts these woods and terrifies children.’

Cassian’s arms slunk around her as he leaned in for another forehead kiss, then another, and another. ‘In my dreams, I get to keep you. You haunt me with your broom every day and press your cold feet against my back to kick me out of bed. I love every moment.’

Her hands reached to wind into his. ‘A pretty fairy tale.’

***

The day was long and pained. A lump built in Nesta’s throat each time she thought about Cassian leaving. Over and over, she reminded herself that it was foolish to feel so upset over a man she barely knew. He had been in her home a handful of days, uninvited, unwanted. Good riddance to him. She could have peace again once he had gone.

Cassian had sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire, groaning as he stretched his muscles. The tendons in his wings tensed as he spread his wings out to their full width. They were enormous, taking up most of the cabin. The fresh skin was visible where the holes in the membrane had grown over. Dark hair spilled onto the floor as he lay prone, drawing his wings back to his spine then extending them again.

When he left, maybe Nesta wouldn’t feel a thing. Maybe she’d let out a sigh of relief that her home was her own again and not a place to harbour an injured faerie.

Right now, as she watched him lightly exercise his wings, Nesta had to fight against the lump in her throat again. She had never liked goodbyes.

The careful mask of indifference began to crack as darkness crept into the sky. Time was escaping them. She turned to the stove to retrieve the whole chicken she had cooked rather than look at Cassian’s form any longer.

A final meal together. Silly, it was all so silly. Why did she care if she never saw him again? She was an insignificant dot in Cassian’s long life, likely to be forgotten. He would only take her to other faeries so she could be ridiculed or hurt for being mortal. Her village had enough stories of the cruelty of the fae. Of the way they delighted in torturing mortals. No, Nesta would take a life of loneliness over that.

‘I hate winter,’ Cassian grumbled, drawing the curtains shut. ‘All I want to do is eat and sleep.’

‘I believe it’s called hibernation. Though I agree, I find winter rather dull.’

‘There’s an entire court in Prythian where it’s eternally winter.’

‘Is there an eternal summer?’

‘Yes, with white sand beaches, blue waves, and glorious, glorious sunshine.’

Nesta let out a little murmur of pleasure. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’d follow you to Prythian if we can live there.’

‘I’m banned from that court.’

‘I’m definitely going there now,’ she teased.

His hulking body came behind her, leaning over her shoulder to inhale the scent of the roast chicken.

Nesta held out a carving knife for him. ‘Would you like to play father and cut the meat?’

Cassian’s hazel eyes flared at her words, but he didn’t say anything in response. He took the knife and a prong to hold the chicken in place then carved slices from the breasts. All the while, Nesta was trapped between his body and strong arms by the kitchen counter.

It wasn’t usual to be this comfortable around someone she barely knew. More than that, Cassian was fae. A soldier. A general of an entire army. Loud. Brash. She shouldn’t allow this proximity. Shouldn't wish he would touch her more.

He carried the heavy dishes over to the table while Nesta followed with a plate and a bowl for them to eat from.

He was kind and helpful. Caring. Funny. Gentle with her. The lump returned to her throat. A small voice piped up inside of her head to say it wasn’t right to let him leave. But he had people who loved him, brothers who had come to find him. Every moment that Cassian spent within the mortal land was a moment that he risked himself. If Nesta went with him, she would be at risk. She would forever be a burden on his life.

‘May I present, our final dinner together,’ she said, in a voice that was far stronger than she felt.

‘Thank you. It smells wonderful.’

‘Let’s hope it tastes that way.’

Cassian filled her plate for her, giving her a more generous helping than she would usually have then he filled his own. He liked all the bits of the chicken she didn’t; he’d eat the gristle from the bones and suck them even if it made her swipe at him in revulsion. He gave her the crispy skin to crunch down on.

Nesta watched him scoop a mouthful of mashed potatoes and chicken onto a spoon and put it into his mouth. Within a few seconds, he’d stopped chewing. The swallow was audible. His eyes shot to her, wide with alarm.

‘Is something wrong?’

Noiselessly, Cassian shook his head. His chair was pushed backward then he was standing. ‘I need a moment.’

Tears prickled at Nesta’s eyes as the door shut behind Cassian. She pressed her palms against her eyelids, refusing to let her tears gather.

After a few minutes, stood out in the snow, Cassian returned.

‘Did I do something wrong?’

His face fell. Cold fingers stroked against her hair as he came over. Lips met her temple in a gentle kiss. ‘No. You could never do anything wrong, sweetheart. Sorry.’

‘Is the food not good?’

Cassian avoided her eye. ‘Our food has stronger tastes than mortal food. I’m not quite used to it.’

But he had eaten the stew and the porridge they had cooked together. Nesta stabbed her fork into her dinner, good mood deflating fast. He ate his dinner, eyes flicking constantly to her. The grip he had on the spoon made his knuckles white.

‘Did we go near Prythian earlier?’

The fae’s whole body tensed. ‘Near the Spring Court border. Why?’

‘No reason.’

‘Nesta.’

‘I could feel that the world was different. My vision blurred towards the north.’ Cassian inclined his head for her to continue. ‘I could hear a sound like a whistle and my tongue tasted rusted metal.’

‘It’s the Wall. A magical barrier.’

Nesta had known it was magic. Some strange instinct had warned her that magic coursed through the land where they had set snares. It was likely an evolutionary response to faeries, she reassured herself.

‘And is it common for mortals sense it?’

Cassian regarded her carefully. ‘You are the only mortal I’ve been acquainted with since the war. Since it was built.’

For the last few hours, they stayed in relative silence. He asked if he could just be near her for a while. Her feelings had been hurt over the dinner; Nesta would have preferred if Cassian had been honest and said he didn’t like her cooking than to leave the room then force it down him. However, rather than wallow in disappointment, Nesta obliged his request. They lay together on the bed, memorising each other’s faces, the touch of their fingers, the curve of their lips.

For a long time, Cassian held onto her. His hand brushed in a repetitive motion against her hair as she rested her cheek against his chest. Each beat of his heart was a countdown to their parting. Each beat made her stomach tighten a little more and the dread built.

Eventually, a crisp knock sounded at the door.

Nesta smoothed down the bedsheets where they’d laid on top of them beside each other. In another life he could have been yours, she told herself.

Nesta turned once the door had opened. She looked at the man who would be taking Cassian away from her. His nostrils flared. His gaze darted between her and Cassian. Nesta spied the subtle shake of Cassian’s head.

‘I’ll let you two say goodbye.’ Rhysand’s voice was oddly strained.

'I need to go to Illyria. With you. And Az.'

The man nodded, eyes wary. Nesta heard the warning in Cassian's voice, but couldn't figure out what it meant.

Cassian had planted his feet, wings spread in a stance that looked to Nesta like he was about to throw a punch. He did not settle until Rhys had closed the door and waited outside in the snow.

Nesta remained by the bed, threading her hand with the other. ‘Well, this is farewell. Try to resist being shot again. Not every female is kind enough to allow a strange faerie into her home.’

She thought he might laugh, might find some humour in their parting. Cassian’s eyes swam with tears and he held his arms open for her.

In a matter of seconds, Nesta had crossed the room and leapt into them. He hauled her against his chest and squeezed her so tightly, she let out a wheeze.

‘I miss you already,’ he murmured.

Nesta could not speak a single word. If she did, her voice would crack, giving away all of feelings she worked so hard to conceal from Cassian. Instead, she nuzzled her face into his neck.

‘Landing on your roof was the best thing that ever happened to me.’

The front door opened a couple of inches. ‘Cass, we need to go. Sorry. Mortals are on their way.’

Slowly, Cassian released Nesta back to the ground, but her arms did not relent from their grip around him.

‘It’s not fair,’ she managed, face buried into his chest.

‘If only you knew.’ Cassian took a deep breath in. He kissed her one last time, but Nesta could feel the effort on his part to break it off and pull away. The vein in his neck throbbed as he forced his feet to move towards the front door.

Perhaps his feelings were as raw as hers because when Cassian passed through the door, he did not look back.

Chapter Text

Despair ripped through Cassian’s chest as his boots hit the hard Illyrian ground. For once, it did not feel like home. It was a prison. His home was back in that ramshackle cabin with a female who brandished a broom with the finesse of a master swordsman.

A bolt of magic hit him the moment his wings spread, ready to launch him into the sky.

‘Do not,’ warned Rhys.

Magic grappled with Cassian, forcing him into the log cabin. His siphons flared in warning, but stony-faced Rhys continued pushing him across the threshold into his home.

In heartbeats, Azriel appeared outside. His face was grim as he followed them in. ‘What’s wrong?’

The door slammed shut. Cassian felt a shield lock around the cabin, tight enough to make his ears pop.

‘I need to go back,’ he begged, voice desperate.

‘No.’

‘Rhys.’

It was a plea, more ragged and starved than anything he’d ever uttered before. There were no limits to what he would do for another moment with Nesta. He would fight a war for her, sacrifice himself to the Mother – anything.

He turned to the door. The handle rattled, but the door refused even to shake as he tried to open it. With a boot, he kicked at it. The wood had warped to pure steel.

‘You’ll break your foot if you carry on,’ Azriel chided. He perched on the arm of a chair, glancing between the two of them for an explanation.

Cassian was caged in like a wild animal, so he paced. He canvassed the windows – upstairs and down – checked every door, every crack for a weakness.

‘Let me out,’ he begged, running a hand through his hair. ‘Rhys. I need to go to her. She’s my mate.’

For once, Azriel had been caught off guard. With his gasp, shadows skittered away.

‘She’s what?’

Rhys shook his head. ‘It cannot be, Cass.’

Cassian thumped a fist against the wall. A painting fell from its hook and the glass frame shattered. He could best them both in single combat, never together. Azriel’s magic was lethal and Rhys’ was unrivalled. Cassian knew he’d never be able to fight his way out of the cabin, not with Rhysand’s magic engulfing it. But a reckless part of him wanted to try, needed him to try. Every instinct, every nerve ending was screaming at him to be back with his mate. The feeling was overwhelming. The urge was a juggernaut that flattened every rational thought.

A cold shadow gripped his wrist. Azriel stared at him, hazel eyes shrouded by weariness. ‘Do not try something stupid.’

Rhys held out his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Nesta is mortal. Only fae have mates – and mates are rare enough.’

‘Maybe they’re rare because we do not mix with mortals. All I know is that I’ve waited my whole life to meet her and I can’t be without her.’ The anguish cracked his voice. ‘You could scent the bond.’

Rhys turned his violet eyes to the ground. He dragged the toe of his boot across the floorboards as if he was working out a scuff in it. ‘I don’t know what it was. It’s not possible.’

‘You accepted the mating bond?’ Azriel’s face softened. ‘The mortal is truly your mate?’

His chest was caving in the longer he was apart from Nesta. ‘I didn’t realise. She presented me with food – a final meal. I took one bite and it snapped into place. The world stopped turning. It was only her. Only her in the world. And always will be for me.’

He slumped down on the floor, back leaning against the panelled wall. Mating bonds were supposed to be a joy. All Cassian felt was grief. Grief worse than when he realised his mother was dead. A grief so cold and dark it swallowed everything.

‘I need to go to her.’

Rhys swallowed and exchanged a pointed look with Azriel to get ready. ‘The last thing she needs is a faerie showing up in a mating frenzy.’

‘Don’t you dare pretend to know what my mate needs,’ Cassian shot, lurching back to his feet and charging across the room at Rhys.

Azriel barrelled into him, the force so strong it shook the cabin. It did not stop Cassian. This time, he threw a punch that hit Az squarely in the jaw, rattling his teeth.

‘Cass,’ Rhys roared above the chaos. ‘You could seriously hurt her if you show up now.’

The notion that he would do anything to bring Nesta harm knocked something loose in his crazed state. The accusation stung. ‘I’d never hurt her. Never.’

‘Not me though,’ muttered Azriel, rubbing his jaw.

‘You are huge. You are strong. Stronger than you realise sometimes. Mortals aren’t gifted with fast healing. If you go there now, instincts pounding, you will get carried away and you will hurt her. It’s not up for debate.’

Everything in him was telling him to snap Rhys in half. Rhys seemed to sense it, Azriel too.

‘We’re keeping him locked here until the frenzy passes?’

It wasn’t a frenzy to have Nesta’s body or to fill her with his child. She was alone in those woods in the middle of winter with little food or means to cope. He had a duty to ensure she was cared for. Nesta could never touch him again and it wouldn’t matter as long as she was safe.

Rhys let out a long breath. ‘I will send a message to Helion to see if there’s anything he can do in the meantime while we figure out how to sever the bond.’

Cassian’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know how to breathe. ‘What?’

‘It’s a mating bond,’ Azriel replied and Cassian was glad to hear the shock in his voice too. ‘It’s sacred.’

It wasn’t jealousy in Rhys’ tone, but Cassian almost wished it was. Maybe it would have sharpened his words and made him bleed to distract him, rather than these gentle ones full of pain and care. The high lord gave a slow, sweep of his head. ‘It is for the best for you – and for Nesta.’

Both Azriel and Rhys braced themselves for the storm.

There was a golden sky after a storm so Cassian focused on that, focused on what could come after these wild instincts to carve his way to his mate. Nesta. The goodness that was Nesta. Every thrum of his pulse called her name. He would master himself for her to prove that he was worthy of a mortal mate. There would be days in the sun where she would tease him and tip back her golden head in wicked laughter that she had managed to trick him once more.

He forced himself to inhale then exhale. To do it again. And again. His breathing finally settled. The crimson siphons embedded in his armour seemed to sigh with relief.

‘You make these decisions with love in your heart and I’m thankful to have you as my brother, but there is not a force in this world that will keep me from my mate, Rhys. Even if it’s only fifty years or one that she can give me, any time with her is a blessing.’

Cassian had never been able to walk away from a fight. Even when the odds were stacked against him, pride never allowed it. As a boy, he’d been skinny and that didn’t stop him from fighting bigger boys, for starting arguments to prove himself. They’d picked on him as often as they could. Overnight, he’d shot up as if stretched. He was gangly and wiry, all sinewy muscles and unbalanced wings. Still, he fought. He had more to prove. Each day, he bulked up more and more until he was the biggest boy. Even now, he hated to walk away from a fight. In his heart, he’d always be the abandoned little boy who had nobody and nothing except the fire in his heart to survive.

He sat in his old bedroom. There was a bed for him and one for Az from when they were boys. He used to sit with his feet against the wall, back wedged against the bed when he'd been told off, but he was far too large for that now. It had taken everything in him to walk out of the lounge without a fight with his brothers that night.

The harsh light that broke through the window seemed almost blue because it was so bleached of warmth. Azriel’s footsteps pushed against the silence deliberately. His brother lowered himself on the floor beside him.

‘How can I help?’

‘Tear down Rhys’ wards and take me to her.’

‘Besides that.’

Cassian scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Can you go to Velaris and I can write you a list of things she needs.’

‘You want me to do her shopping?’

A growl tore itself from Cassian’s throat that had Azriel leaping to his feet. He gestured with his hands for Cassian to calm down. ‘Not a time for sarcasm. Sorry. Give me the list and I’ll get it to her tonight.’

***

A choked sob broke free from Nesta when she peeled back the front door and both Cassian and Rhysand were gone. She staggered over the step into the snow only in slippers, hoping to catch them flying through the starry sky. They were gone. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be goodbye.

Nesta remained there, numb to the cold, numb to the bitter winds. Her heart felt like it was cracking into a thousand tiny pieces.

It wasn’t fair. She had never asked to be a sacrifice, never asked to be exiled, to be the eldest daughter with her family’s burdens resting on her shoulders. She had never asked for a faerie to crash onto her roof in the middle of the night and win her heart. She had chosen not to go with him. She had been the one to say no. Cassian had offered her a future and she had been the one to refuse it. Any regret was her own making.

Two figures were coming closer. Nesta could only just make out their outlines in the moonlit forest. Then she heard it, the brusque shushing of one to the other.

‘Feyre?’

‘Nesta?’

‘Oh, Nesta!’ The second figure cried out.

Elain’s arms were engulfing her. Through the darkness, in the heart of winter, her sisters had come to her. She clutched a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in agony. Although she loved her sisters, Nesta wished terribly it was a different set of arms around her.

In a blur, Nesta made her sisters a hot drink and wrapped them in her blankets in front of the fire. Both had cheeks pinched by the cold and the tips of their noses were pink.

‘It’s so dangerous for you to be here,’ Nesta said, combing through Elain’s damp hair. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Where is the fae?’

Nesta scrambled for the mask she had worn for so many years. It had become like a second skin. She had mastered indifference, conquered carelessness, and pillaged dismissal. Yet the mask wouldn’t come to her. The delicately polished armour that she had worn through their years of poverty shattered around her.

She managed to step away from the fire and push her hand over her mouth when the first breach of tears came. Her forehead pressed against the wooden wall as she fought against her crying.

Elain came to her the quickest, pulling her blanket around the both of them and touching her face into Nesta’s neck.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Feyre whispered, reaching a tentative hand around Nesta’s back.

Words would not come. Instead, she shook her head.

Somehow, she and her sisters fell asleep together in the bed as if they were still in their own cottage. Nesta wasn’t sure if she could have gotten through that night without them. Never before had she needed to lean on anybody. Never before had her heart ached with such ferocity though. There was a gaping hole in her chest as if part of her had been torn out.

Elain slipped from the covers first, gasping at the cold. She fumbled through the cupboards and took four attempts at lighting the stove while humming away to herself. Nesta turned over in the bed. Feyre was already awake. Their eyes met.

‘I’m sorry for what I said the other day,’ she whispered.

‘Me too.’

Feyre swallowed. ‘Are you sure he didn’t hurt you, Nesta?’

‘Cassian would never hurt me. Never.’

His absence was like a festering wound that demanded to be felt. She was unable to concentrate, unable to even think without Cassian invading her mind. A few days of company should not have rendered her so unable to move on with her life. Was this a life? Her sisters had come to her under the veil of night, in secret, because their lives would be forfeit if they were found associating with her. She would rot away in this cabin. Marriage had always been a path that she was supposed to tread until her number was spent and she was condemned to be an exile. Now, however, letting another man hold her hand after Cassian had blazed into her life was unthinkable.

You refused his offer of a home, she told herself each time her eyes filled with tears.

In a sort of disbelieving state, Nesta lit a fire for her sisters then checked the snares closest to the cabin. One had caught a rabbit. Its body was stiff already, but not yet frozen.

In the sink, Nesta peeled off its fur, holding her retch.

‘I never imagined you doing such a thing.’ Elain squirmed from her seat on the bed.

Nesta didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to be in this cabin for the rest of her life, killing rabbits and being swallowed whole by loneliness.

She blinked back her tears long enough for Feyre to take over. In her sister’s hands, the rabbit was prepared quickly.

Nesta took her time washing her bloodied hands outside in the icy water to give herself the chance to repair. Cassian had fractured a part of her. All of those generous smiles and warm touches had cracked the walls that she carefully guarded.

‘Nesta, could you sit down a moment.’

This was the reason her sisters had come. Elain worried her bottom lip with her teeth, but Feyre steeled her shoulders just as Nesta had done for years in the face of unpleasantry. She stayed standing, brow already furrowing.

‘Isaac came to me yesterday evening. His father and the other elders, they don’t understand why you are still alive. They’re saying that you’re a witch.’

That was as good a death sentence as any.

‘They think that we will be cursed either by you – or the monster because it hasn’t been given its sacrifice.’

‘What are you telling me, Feyre?’

Elain turned her face downwards so that her brown eyes fixated on a loose thread in the blanket rather than help Feyre with this uncomfortable truth.

‘They will kill you,’ she said. Feyre gulped and faced her. ‘While it’s a full moon, they’re afraid you’re most powerful, so they won’t act. You have about eight days until the moon waxes. You can run. Go with your faerie. Go to Prythian. Just go and be safe.’

Fortune did not favour Nesta, it seemed. She pretended not to see the tears leaking from Elain’s eyes or the pain in Feyre’s. Nesta could not bear to tell her sisters that she had sent away the one man that she had ever let into her life.

Knowledge that her people planned to slaughter her caused far less pain than the moment Cassian had walked out of the door. Everything she wanted was trickling away, just as she deserved.

‘Your Graysen,’ she said, addressing Elain who thumbed her engagement ring on instinct. ‘Will he protect you even if you’re associated with me? Will he protect Feyre?’

‘He is a good man.’

‘Will he protect you both?’ She demanded, voice as sharp as a blade’s edge.

Elain did not hesitate when she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Then this is my path to walk alone.’

Chapter Text

Death should arrive under the veil of shadow, dragging fear and horror with it. Once Nesta’s sisters had scurried back to their village, she sat on the edge of the bed. There should have been disbelief, should have been terror. Her impending doom should have invoked something in Nesta. She was numb.

She raised her head to watch the snow falling on the forest once more. It was her rotten luck that had landed her in this mess to begin with. If Nesta had tangled tongues with Tomas, maybe her family would have been passed over for the sacrifice. She wouldn’t have been in this cabin. Wouldn’t have met Cassian.

Cassian’s memory swelled in her chest. It left her warm and tingling. Cassian. If he had not imprisoned Blue Annis then she would have died in this cabin. Somehow, their paths had meant for them to cross. Nesta had no gods to pray to, no deity that cast a golden light on her life. Yet there was a feeling like fate clanging through her existence. She was meant to be in this cabin. She was meant to meet Cassian. Was she meant to push him away? Did fate mean for them to never meet again? Her chest ached at that thought.

‘Prythian,’ she murmured to herself.

There was a crossroads in front of her. She could remain here, be set on a pyre and burnt alive. Maybe they would crack the ice from the lake and drown her instead. There was no possibility of fighting and she would have better luck pleading her case to a brick wall than the village elders who thought they knew all. The same elders that declared all fae cruel and wicked. They were not to know that one of the most fearsome generals burst with kindness and warmth.

In the other direction, there was a possibility. It was a completely ridiculous possibility. She felt embarrassed even to entertain the idea. Nesta could go to Prythian. Who better to protect her than Cassian? Surely, he wouldn’t have invited her to his home if he saw her as a burden. He’d drawn out his healing, wanted to leave just as little as she had wanted to see him leave.

Nesta rubbed her temples. This was not her. She was always so steady, always knew the direction she was going in. There had never been such uncertainty in her life. In the face of her death at the hands of her own people, she was still so afraid to take that leap into the unknown.

The day swirled around her. All of the usual tasks that she undertook to keep her busy fell to the wayside. Nesta had lay on the bed with the blankets tucked around her, not caring when the fire dissolved to embers. She was adrift. It was as if she had lost a limb. As if she had forgotten to do something and it pushed at the seams of her mind. Even her body ached in Cassian’s absence. She kept to the edge of the bed, imagining he was beside her taking up all the space with his massive body.

A soft tapping roused her. The cabin had been plunged into darkness. The cold air rattled Nesta’s teeth as she listened to the world outside.

The tap came again, gentle but uncertain.

Nesta didn’t dare to dream. Didn’t let those feelings of joy take root as she staggered towards the door, broom in her hand.

She pulled back the door, guarding her hope against disappointment.

There was a man. Fae. Winged. Not her faerie.

‘Please, don’t hit me with that broom.’

Nesta kept her grip tight around the broom handle. ‘Then I’d have struck the whole trio.’

‘May I come in?’

The armour he wore was identical to Cassian’s, but his siphons were a cold, cobalt. Even his expression was devoid of warmth. He was beautiful, more than a fae should be, but his expression was severe as if it was carved from marble.

Nesta angled the broom, ready to thrust it if needed. She didn’t know this one. He had been in the cabin with Rhysand. Azriel was his name. She didn’t know him though, didn’t know if he was good like Cassian.

‘No.’

She braced her feet ready for him to swarm at her. Nesta was foolish to think she might withstand an attack from a faerie, but she prepared all the same.

The corner of his mouth curved into a slight smile. ‘Fair enough.’

Azriel gestured to several large bags deposited at his boots. She regarded them warily.

‘They’re from Cassian. Items for your cabin – pans, crockery, goose-down quilts and pillows, a rug, glasses-’

‘This is far too much,’ Nesta interjected.

The man gave her an exasperated smile. ‘It was a long shopping list.’

She allowed him to carry them into the cabin, asking him to set them down near the table for her to unpack in the morning. A small voice in her head asked what the point was. She’d be dead in a few days anyway. The next poor girl to be condemned to the place could have them.

‘He also wanted you to have these,’ he said, lifting another bag onto the kitchen side. ‘Fruits that don’t grow here for you to try. Vegetables as well. These are all from a bakery in Velaris. You’ll need to eat the cream ones quickly. The cakes should keep a few days.’

There was a mountain of fresh food. The cakes were beautifully decorated, the pastries made with care and pumped with ribbons of cream. Donuts were filled with jams and rolled in sugar. There were jars and jars of spices.

‘How am I supposed to eat all of this?’

‘This is a daily meal for Cass,’ he said, smiling again so the shadows covering him receded. Maybe she had judged his cold exterior too harshly.

‘I don’t have any money.’

‘It’s a gift.’

A lump lodged itself inside of Nesta’s throat. Without asking, the male had stepped towards her fireplace then began stacking tinder and twigs into a cone shape. The wood smoked as it burnt. He remained on his knees, sinking back onto his heels as the flames grew. He seemed to veer back from them each time the fire spat. Cassian had put logs on without a thought for the fire. Even Nesta tossed them on with her bare hands. This fae used the tongs, holding them gingerly as the fire licked around the metal.

‘Why didn’t he come?’

Nesta did not need to say who she meant. Her eyes had trailed Azriel’s wings in longing for the man that had been in the same position days earlier building a fire for them.

The faerie did not turn from his vigil at the fire as he said, ‘he’s busy.’

‘Oh.’

Why did she even ask if she wasn’t prepared for the crushing weight of disappointment? Too busy to come back. Too busy for another goodbye. Of course, he was; Cassian led armies. What business would he have returning to a mortal that was a dot in his long, long life.

Azriel rose and gestured to the fire that was now roaring in the hearth. ‘Sorry that I woke you. Hopefully, you will get back to sleep now that it’s warm.’

‘Thank you.’

‘That’s alright. Either me or Rhys will come back in a few days with more supplies for you.’

‘Why not Cassian?’ Nesta Archeron, stop baring your heart so easily.

An assessing stare read every inch of her. She wasn’t quick enough to bury her tender hope from his hazel eyes. Something like regret crossed his face.

‘Cass can’t winnow. It’s safer this way. He’s in Illyria right now. It’s far away.’

Illyria. Cassian had spoken of his home with longing and love seeping into his tone. His brother chewed on the syllables, unable to mask his distaste.

She said goodbye to him at the door so he dipped his head in acknowledgement. As his boots crunched onto the untouched snow, she called to him again.

‘Azriel, don’t bring food again. It won’t be needed.’

‘Are you returning to your village?’

‘No. But it’s not needed.’

***

Each day was drawn out to an eternity. Minutes were stretched longer than they should be. Cassian was still a prisoner in Illyria. Rhys had stayed with him throughout. Sometimes Mor accompanied him, but never alone because she’d crack and let him out. Rhys did what he thought was best. It hurt like hell. Everything hurt.

His skin hurt. Cassian had scratched it raw in places, unable to remove the irritation from it. Without Nesta, he felt wrong. His body was reacting badly to her absence when it craved her so badly. It was an instinct to overcome. That was what Madja had said on her visit. She’d likened it to drawing out a poison from a wound; the first days would be worse then it would be bearable. But there would be no ending to this desperate longing for Nesta.

Rhys thought that, because she was in the cabin alone, it was a signal to his instincts that she was in danger. It meant that it would never dim. As long as Nesta remained in her cabin alone, Cassian would always feel that pull to go to her.

Azriel had delivered the items, but Rhys had kept him from the cabin too, knowing that if any traces of Nesta’s scent was on his brother, Cassian would likely tear him to shreds. Either that or an interrogation. A thousand questions bubbled to the surface. Did she like the cakes? Had she eaten the pastries? Did she sleep better with the new blankets?

Cassian had to feast off memories and imagined scenarios. He imagined the delight on her face when she’d eaten her weight in sugar. Imagined Nesta napping on the bed under the thick duvet, belly full of food, safe and warm. The happy thoughts quickly shifted into panicked ones. Cassian recalled the look of horror on her face when he’d given her the knife to kill the rabbit. How it had made her heart bleed to hurt another creature. What if there was a blizzard and Nesta was unable to get out of the cabin? If she ran out of fire wood or food and was left to freeze or starve.

His pulse leapt. Again, Rhys’ wards proved too strong for him to break though he tried until his hands bled from thumping the door frame.

There had been one almost escape. The last time Rhys had mentioned severing the bond, Cassian had throttled him. His hands had enclosed so tightly around his throat, Cassian hadn’t cared in that moment if he had killed him. Rhys was the obstacle stopping him from reaching Nesta. The thought of harming their bond in any way had turned his fear into fury. Rhys had to winnow out of his grasp – but to do that, he’d had to drop the wards around the house. Cassian had seized his chance, tearing out of the door and getting as far as Windhaven until Rhys had winnowed in front of him in the sky. The pair had collided with such a force, it sent an avalanche shuddering down Ramiel. And then they were back in the cabin, the wards secure once more.

***

‘Is he asleep?’

Shadows bruised beneath Rhys’ eyes as he glanced up from the desk by the fire. A heavy snow was coming down across Illyria, blanketing it all in a white sheet. It was hard going for the children and widows of the camps. Worse still, they were reluctant to ever seek the help of their high lord.

Rhys rolled his neck. ‘For a couple of hours. He has a fever. He’s getting sicker each day.’

‘Madja?’

‘He won’t take anything. Says the only thing he needs is his mate.’ Rhys groaned. ‘Only he could be mated to a mortal.’

Azriel snickered as he settled onto the sagging couch. It was past its best day, but it was sentimental to them all – and damn comfortable. ‘In fairness to her, she held her own against him and smacked you twice. They're mates for a reason.’

Rhys joined him on the couch with a wearied sigh. It hadn’t been an easy decision to lock Cassian up here.

‘Am I doing the right thing?’

Shadows curled around his ears. Tell the truth, they seemed to say. ‘I think if something were to happen to her – and you kept Cass from her – he would never forgive you.’

‘Helion wrote back.’

Rhys handed him a letter. They had written to Helion asking for advice on cleaving a mating bond. If any knew how to do it, it would be him. Rhys had explained the unique situation, outlining clearly the reasons why the bond should be severed: she was mortal, they’d have little time together, she’d be at risk in Prythian, he’d be at risk in the mortal lands.

A few words were written in golden ink and a looping script.

Are you fucking insane? It is a mating bond. Do NOT touch it.

Az had never seen Rhys so torn. He had taken to ruling well, never doubting the decisions he made. This was different; it involved the well-being and happiness of their brother. Azriel didn’t need to say that if the bond was severed, there was no guarantee that Cassian would ever be well again. Males could go mad when they lost their mate. He might lose it entirely now if he couldn’t be with her.

‘How did Nesta seem?’

‘Dishevelled. The cabin was cold. No traces of cooking. She asked after him twice.’

Rhys’ eyes shuttered; evidently not the answer he had wanted to hear. Az wasn’t about to lie over something as serious as this. A mate bond was precious. If he had it his way, Nesta would already be here with Cassian. His brother deserved happiness.

‘How long do we keep him here? What if these feelings never go?’

‘Something she said worried me,’ Azriel admitted. Rhys sat up to attention as a sign for him to continue. ‘She doesn’t want us to bring anymore food, but she isn’t going to the village.’

‘Keep an eye on her. And I want eyes on Spring in case anybody scents a lingering trace of their bond. The last thing we need is Cassian’s mate being captured. I think he’d barrel through these wards if that were the case. A mortal mate,’ he said with a wearied shake of the head.

‘If you found your mate and she was mortal, would it matter to you?’

Azriel watched the steady rise and fall of Rhys’ chest as he pondered the question. His violet eyes focused on the stars lighting up the Illyrian sky.

‘No. It wouldn’t matter who she was. I’d want to be with her.’

Chapter Text

Madness had become a steadfast companion. In the belongings brought by the other faerie, Nesta had proper winter boots and thick, layered clothing. All of it was new. None of it blended with the mortal lands. At least none of her village were venturing out into the frigid forest. No, only she was idiotic enough to do such a thing.

Bundled up, Nesta ploughed on towards the strange, tinny whistling sound near the furthest snares that Cassian had set. On and on she went. Boots traipsed through thick layers of snow. Twice, she lost her footing and tumbled face first. She swore with a mouthful of snow.

Eventually, the sound grew louder, rattling her ear drums. Mostly her vision blurred, unwilling to focus. Part of her said to turn back, enticed by a warm fire and a cosy cabin. Nesta had a will of steel. She forced her eyes to focus on the steady parts as her feet tramped forwards. There were glimpses of blossom. Golden sunlight. A warm breeze. That couldn’t be right. It was winter. But it could be faerie magic. Who knew truly what abilities faeries had? Nesta wasn’t naïve enough to believe that they would all be gentle and giving like Cassian.

She pushed on and met a solid force. Her whole body was screaming at her to turn around and go back to the cabin. It felt as if a hand was on her shoulder, trying to tug her away. Nesta planted her feet and pushed.

It was spring. She tumbled forwards into the soft undergrowth of a forest. Warmth tingled her skin. The trees were all in bloom with delicate buds growing on branches or white and pink blossoms coating others.

For practise, Nesta squeezed in and out of the two places. It was almost as if there was a wall with a hole in it. One side held her winter, the other was spring. It was just wide enough for her to pass through. With a knife that Cassian had sent to her, she marked the trees nearby then collected as much dry wood as she could.

There wasn’t a plan. There was a shaky foundation of plan. If Cassian was the general of an army, then he ought to have been well known in faerie land. However, an army suggested wars which might mean the Spring Court was an enemy. Nesta knew so little. She had been robbed of the chance of exploring her curiosity with Cassian as her willing guide.

Back at the cabin, she drummed her fingers on the table contemplating every avenue. To go to Prythian was foolish. The Spring Court was her only entrance – which was foolish. Remaining in the cabin to be slaughtered by weak willed men was foolish. The only paths she could take were foolish ones. Surely it was better to take the gamble. Nesta was a not a woman to sit idle and wait for death.

Her sisters would be fine without her. Graysen would love and protect Elain. Feyre was strong enough to cope alone.

If her village wanted a witch, Nesta would damn well give them a witch.

***

‘He’s not getting any better.’

Mor leant her head back on the arm of the couch. ‘He’s getting worse.’

Who would want power? Usually, decisions were easy things to make. Rhys would weather the consequences, deal with the fall out and carry as much of it on his shoulders as he could. This was new territory. This was mixing mortals with fae. A brother whose heart was being torn from his chest with every moment he denied him his mate. It was killing Cassian – physically and figuratively. Madja had been again to him that morning. Cassian had a fever, a rash had broken out on his skin that he itched until it bled, he was barely eating or drinking. That in itself should have been their biggest warning. It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t a hunger strike to demand what he wanted. His body wanted one thing and that was a mortal female. He couldn’t keep food down. Water was only taken in sips before his body rejected that too.

Out of earshot from Cassian, Madja had spread out her hands. ‘He wants his mate. He needs his mate.’

There was nothing that she could do for any of his ailments. No magic worked on them. Cassian had stopped trying to escape. He lay motionless on the bed upstairs, skin slicked with sweat but lacking any colour. Any hope that had brightened his eyes was dimmed. Rhys had spent all night by his bed, not sleeping either because he was scared his brother might stop breathing.

‘We can’t just bring her here, Mor.’

Mor picked her nails for a long time then, ‘Why not?’

For a thousand reasons.

‘It sets a precedent. We bring a mortal here and others will think that’s the example to follow. We can’t involve ourselves with them. Their lives are short. We bring Nesta here with good intentions, but others will want mortals again as slaves.’ Rhys ran his hands through his hair. The last couple of weeks had aged him by a century. Sometimes he wished there was another to make these decisions or a way to glimpse the future. ‘What do we do, bring Nesta here and keep her a secret? Forbid her from leaving these four walls? Word would spread that he has a mate – a mortal mate.’

‘Is that why you won’t contact Thesan?’

Thesan, the high lord of the Dawn Court, was a gifted healer. Rhys had entertained the idea of pleading with him to use his magic on Cassian, but the Night Court had few friends. He wasn’t about to risk his court based on a possibility that the high lord would be empathetic. The more people who knew about fae having mortal mates would only lead to more trouble.

‘If he dies-’

‘Cassian will not die,’ Rhys snarled.

Mor chewed her bottom lip. ‘Why is it so bad for him? To not be with her? Mates have rejected the bond in the past, but this is different.’

‘Madja believes it is because Nesta accepted the bond but it hasn’t yet been consummated. His body is demanding it.’ Rhys let out a long sigh. Only his brother could find a mate in the mortal lands. ‘It could be different because she’s mortal. If he enters a mating frenzy, Cassian could kill her with his power.’

Mor snorted. ‘Or give her the time of her life.’

Rhys didn’t need to think about that too deeply. There wasn’t a person in Velaris who hadn’t seen Cassian naked at some point in their lives. He brought joy to every day, everything he did was full of heart and so watching him fade away like this was gut-wrenching. There was an impossible choice in Rhysand’s hands: bring the mortal to his city to save his brother or expose every mortal to the risk of faeries. The Wall had been built for a reason. A war had been fought to protect them.

A blur of shadows appeared in the corner of the room then Azriel stepped out of them. For five days, he’d been flitting between Illyria and the mortal lands. If Nesta died then Cassian was doomed – but it already seemed that that was the path he was heading down.

‘Any news?’

Azriel frowned as he removed his coat to hang it by the fire. He flinched at the pop of it then flexed his fingers.

‘Sort of.’

Mor curled up her legs to give him a seat on the couch. The shadow singer settled into it, stretching out his feet towards the fireplace.

‘Are you going to elaborate?’

Azriel gave a weak smile. ‘She’s doing something weird.’

‘Weird?’ Mor pressed.

‘Odd.’

Mor rolled her brown eyes. ‘I know what it means, Az.’

‘I wish I could explain it.’ He glanced towards the ceiling, listening for any sign of life from Cassian. ‘He showed her how to set snares. I left more food at her door, but she’s still setting them. Loads of them. She’s stringing up rabbits by the neck round the cabin – ones that have been caught in the snares.’

‘Maybe she’s decorating?’

Rhys shushed Mor, ‘Go on.’

‘Some of them, she’s cut open. There’s blood smeared all over the outer walls in strange symbols, more on the beam above the door. She’s scattered entrails around like its confetti.’

‘Sounds like Cassian’s mate.’

Rhys was inclined to agree with Mor. It seemed that he had found the Lady of Bloodshed, at long last.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked between them. ‘She keeps going to the Wall.’

There were enchantments upon it to turn mortals away. No mortal should be able to see it. No mortal ever had. The words gave Rhys pause. Perhaps there was something special about this mortal – a reason why she had a mating bond with a fae.

‘She’s passed through it, Rhys, multiple times. I can't keep trailing her in Spring.’

That was not possible. But was it worth approaching Tamlin with a warning that a mortal might be crossing his border? He hated the male, but he’d never wanted slaves. He'd always fought for mortals. If there was a weakness in the wall, other creatures could pass through it.

‘Hasn’t that forest got naga and bogge in it?’

Azriel nodded. ‘She’s found naga bones and has dragged them back to her cabin along with wood to build pyres. I’ve got no fucking idea what she’s doing.’

‘Will you watch him tonight?’ Rhys didn’t expect any fight from Cassian. There was little of him left. He was more of a shell now, all hollowed out. ‘I’ll go there. I might have to glamour her to keep her from the Wall.’

‘Can you go in her mind?’

Rhys winced. ‘Maybe. But mortal minds are like egg shells. I might shatter it without meaning to.’

Mortal eyes were weak along with their other senses. Rhys didn’t need to muffle his steps as he approached the darkened cabin. Mor had wanted to come too, to not leave him exposed to any threats, but Rhys had waved his cousin off. He might have to speak with Tamlin about a certain mortal who had made it her business to test his patience and Mor would try and put a stop to that. It was why he hadn’t mentioned it to any of them. He and Tamlin were more likely to brawl than have a civil discussion.

Just as Azriel had described, on the bright white snow there were various organs thrown haphazardly. A rabbit twisted in the wind hanging from a string from the roof. Every few paces there was another dead animal. Nesta certainly could give the Weaver a run for her money.

Rhys spotted her creeping through the trees. Her cabin was in complete darkness and she scurried through the woods around it. Nesta paused at a pyre that she’d built, running her fingers along the wood. Her golden hair spilled out of the cowl of her cloak. She kept her back to him. It made it easier for him to approach. His boots trod lightly, barely even marking the surface of the snow.

He stretched out his hand, ready to seize Nesta by the shoulder but the mortal had expected him. She whirled round, slashing her knife across his palm. The tip grazed against his stomach when she lunged again, drawing blood, but Rhys managed to grip her wrist before any real damage could be done.

‘Drop it,’ he growled, voice low.

Blood seeped from his hand against her cold skin. The mortal thrashed, trying to break free of his grip.

Her left hand drew another knife, but Rhys anticipated it. He clasped both of her wrists above her head although her hands still gripped twin knives. The hellcat swung out her leg, aiming for his shin.

‘Nesta,’ he hissed, ‘Stop.’

The words hit their mark. The female stopped fighting against him. The hood of her cloak slipped down.

Not Nesta. Very similar but not Nesta. The female had the same eyes, same straight nose, but this one had freckles and was shorter.

‘You’re not Nesta,’ he declared.

‘No shit,’ she spat.

Again, the mortal kicked. This time, she found her mark and a boot hit him in his bad knee. She had some power behind her. Enough for him to loosen his grip in shock and enough for the mortal to speed towards the cabin.

Bested by a mortal female. He’d never hear the end of it from the others. Though, he supposed Nesta had smacked him with a broom twice. This one, clearly her sister, was made of the same steel.

He knocked lazily on the door. ‘I’m not trying to hurt you.’

‘You just were following me through the woods and crept up on me in the dark for fun?’ Came the muffled reply through the door. She’d bolted it and Rhys would guess that she was pressing all of her weight against it. It would take a lick of his power to blow the door open.

‘I’m looking for your sister.’

‘She’s not here.’

‘I’m a friend of Cassian's,' he explained. 'I want to help her.’

‘You can’t help her. The men from our village are coming tomorrow to kill her. They think she’s a witch.’

Chapter Text

It was really quite nice to be in the Spring Court, Nesta decided. The weather had been mild, rain non-existent. Her plan had taken root in her mind over the last few days and the sunshine in this land had helped it to bloom.

When her village came for her, Nesta would be ready. She’d left signs as if she were a witch even if slicing open rabbits had made her hurl the contents of her stomach up. As a girl, she had refused even to eat meat until her mother had snapped that only the wealthy had the honour and forced her to. Rabbits had always been her favourite animals. And now she had discarded their organs around her property in a macabre display.

Once Nesta had come across the strange bones in the Spring Court, her stomach had steeled itself. They'd make a nice addition. She wasn't quite sure what for - but a witch was a witch, nobody understood why they did things. Dragging them to her home had been a sweaty affair rather than a disgusting one.

Each time that she wanted to stop, she remembered why she was doing it. Not to scare the air-headed villagers - though it helped - but for the gigantic man who had fallen on her roof. They had joked about it often enough. The first time they’d met, Nesta had said she knew witchcraft. Said she’d known he was a soldier because of it. And Cassian had remarked that he was surprised she had no witch blood in her marrow. It would make him laugh, she was sure, to find out that she really had convinced the village she was a witch. How she craved to hear that booming, deep laugh of his again. In Nesta’s mind, she saw Cassian coming to her, realising the hoax she had pulled, and cradling her to his broad chest, laughing still at the lengths she had gone.

The pyres were an afterthought, but Nesta was nothing if not dramatic. They ringed her cabin and she’d stuffed them with hay and straw that she’d pilfered from a stable in Prythian at the edge of a sprawling manor house along with a barrel of something that she suspected to be strong alcohol from the stable hands that had fallen asleep on the job. It was certainly pungent enough to be explosive. When she lit the pyres, it would be talked about for years to come. Nesta Archeron, the witch of the woods.

Once Cassian knew that Nesta had stolen from the fae as well to further her plan, well, then his eyes would be bright with adoration. The very thought was enough to push through brittle coldness that cramped her fingers. More than a mortal, she told herself. More than a sacrifice. A witch in the woods with a faerie waiting for her.

There were footprints tracking all around the house when she returned. It looked to be two pairs of boots; one her size, one a lot larger. The cabin was empty. Nesta didn’t have enough time to dwell on it. The mortals would come to kill her at the next sunset and she had a lot more to pilfer from the Spring Court before that happened.

After wolfing down the last of the supplies that Azriel brought for her, Nesta pushed on. The route towards the whistle of the Wall was etched to her heart now. She could have made it blindfolded – but her well-trodden path was enough.

She pushed through the space, glad for the familiar warmth of the court even at night. And night was better because all of the beautiful flowers had closed so she wasn’t bombarded by pollen that made her throat itch.

In darkness, the forest no longer scared her. The scratching and snuffling in the undergrowth were simply animals who gave her no reason to fear them. If she stayed true to her path then Nesta was in no danger. Except when an owl screeched and she leapt a foot in the air clutching her chest.

The slumbering mansion in the distance was cradled by ivy and roses. Faint yellow lights surrounded it – likely guards – but Nesta was aiming again for the stables.

***

The female made him stand at the furthest corner of the cabin beside the bed. The sheets were pulled taut with no sign of Nesta sleeping in them that night. Her knife was trained on him the entire time that he waltzed through the cabin – and Rhys might have deliberately walked as slow as possible. To her credit, her knife didn’t shake in her hands.

The sister remained by the door. She was clever enough to prop it open slightly, giving her a couple of seconds advantage if she needed to run. Not that she’d get far, but Rhys let her have that illusion of safety. No, he wouldn’t hurt this mortal. Memories of the cruel fae ran deep in their histories though. He wondered if he had ever fought alongside one of her ancestors.

Rhys had the female recount what the villagers were saying about her sister. Nesta was not a witch as far as he knew although in five hundred years nobody had ever managed to whack him and Cassian and live to tell the tale so there was definitely more to her.

Mortals were superstitious at the best of times. Throwing Nesta to this cabin as a sacrifice was only marginally better than deciding she was a witch since she hadn’t been murdered. He did have to wonder why she had thrown carcasses around the perimeter though. Or why she’d pushed all of the furniture to the walls and painted a massive symbol in blood on the floorboards and circled it with half-melted candles.

‘Is it a witch sign?’

Rhys couldn’t stifle his laugh quick enough. ‘It’s nonsense. It’s not anything.’

He knew witches. All had black hearts and attempted to harness magic they could not control. No, Nesta was not a witch. Cassian, he was sure, would already have offered her his heart to devour if she was.

Her sister stared down at the blood. ‘Why has she done it?’

‘You are her sister. Perhaps you know how her mind works.’

They were similar enough in appearance, though where Nesta had been stoic and calm around the fae, her sister’s heart trembled. Rhys could hear it in the silent room beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. It was his power, seeping through the room that was so much more noticeable to a mortal.

‘I’m Rhys,’ he said, speaking evenly. ‘Cass is my brother. Not by blood - but in every way that counts.’

She swallowed and tucked her hair behind a curved ear. ‘Feyre.’

They were trapped in a stalemate. The only noise came from the wind that howled down the empty chimney. No fire had been lit that evening. A ball of faelight bobbed between them. She was so young - and so afraid. But it took guts for a mortal female to wander through the woods alone at night. Rhys almost wanted to tell her that she had successfully stabbed a high lord but she might combust on the spot if she knew who he truly was.

‘If your sister is in danger from your people, I can bring her to safety.’

It went against every single rule they had made after the war, every treaty and pact. If Nesta came willingly, if they kept her in Velaris shrouded in the same secrecy as the village itself, it could be possible. Rhys would risk everything for Cassian. He’d known the moment the words had spilt from his brother’s lips that the only ending could be to bring Nesta to Velaris. A male could go mad if anything happened to their mate and if Nesta was injured at the hands of her people, there would be no force in the world that would stop Cassian from razing every village in the mortal lands to the ground in retribution. He couldn't bear to see his brother wilt any further either.

‘To your country?’

He nodded. ‘She would be safe. That is my vow.’

‘I’ve already told her to run. Nobody can convince Nesta to do anything.’

Definitely Cassian’s mate.

‘Will there be retribution to you if your village cannot burn Nesta at the stake?’

Her grey-blue eyes went wide. ‘What?’

‘The witches I know tend to gather in covens. Witch blood runs through sisters. Will they persecute you if they cannot get your sister?’

It had not crossed her mind. The village would look for a victim and not care which sister it was as long as somebody was made an example of.

Somehow Feyre’s heart beat even faster. Her inhales were audible even across the room; great, panicked breaths trying to force air into her lungs.

‘I have to go,’ she stuttered, slipping through the door.

In the gap, Rhys saw her form sprinting across the snow.

He shouldn’t follow her. He had no duty to a mortal. But this was the sister of his brother’s mate.

With a wearied sigh, he raised himself from the bed and winnowed to a spot in the woods.

He’d not estimated right and the moment the cold wind hit him, so did a mortal.

Feyre bounced off his body, flying backwards into the snow in a heap. Mortals were so delicate that for a panicked moment, Rhys thought he might have killed her. Then she let out a groan and clutched her forehead.

‘Are you made from fucking stone?’

There was a lump the size of a chicken egg already forming on Feyre’s forehead. The bruising came out in violent shades of blue and purple. Guilt crawled up his spine. It had likely been the equivalent of Feyre sprinting into a brick wall.

It might have been concussion but the mortal allowed him to escort her home since it was still dark. She had tried to walk but kept stopping to clutch her head so he carried her in his arms. If he killed Nesta’s sister then Cassian would likely kill him – and he’d probably manage it too.

They bypassed the quiet village with its thatched roofs and creamy stone houses. He spied a fountain in the centre with a few administrative buildings or shops.

Feyre directed him to the outskirts of the village.

A cabin stood alone amongst an arthritic copse of trees. The knobbly branches were skinny, stripped bare by winter. The wooden roof was rotted in places, one strong wind and it might fall in. It was somehow smaller than Nesta’s one in the woods despite having two rooms. Parts of the wooden walls were mouldy or damp with gaps that likely let the cold seep in.

‘This isn’t your home,’ he said in disbelief. He’d seen prisons better than this.

Feyre wiggled out of his hold and dropped to the snow with a crunch. ‘I assure you it is.’

‘You live here alone?’

Her eyes widened then she backed up a step, putting distance from him. ‘My sister, Elain, and my father are here.’

‘Your father,’ he repeated. The words sounded strange on his tongue. The village had seemed nice enough, not ornate or picturesque like a faerie city, but for mortals it was certainly enough. This was a hovel. Both sisters were thin, all skin and bones. No wonder Nesta had been happy to be sacrificed; this was no life.

‘What is it your father does, Feyre, to take care of his three daughters?’

The anger was slipping into his tone. Rhys had to leash it before his power made an appearance which would truly terrify the female.

‘He… He carves some wood. Sleeps. He does nothing,’ she conceded.

With a tug of his magic, Rhys returned to Illyria. He couldn’t stand there and see the misery the Archerons had to endure. No, they were all coming to Prythian. They were not staying in that awful shack with their weary eyes and too thin faces. Not with a village likely to hunt them for a crime they had no part in.

‘Well?’ Azriel had his arms folded across his chest leaning against the wall as if he’d anticipated his arrival.

‘Well, what?’

A shadow swept past Rhys’ boots and up to Azriel as if to whisper what it had seen. ‘I mean did you work out what Nesta was doing?’

‘I forgot. I met her sister.’

***

‘Halt!’

The sound of hooves came crunching over the undergrowth, but Nesta ploughed on never wavering in her speed. Her head was trained towards the ground, but she groped within her cloak for the knife that Cassian had left with her.

‘I noticed you a couple of days ago,’ came a deep man’s voice. ‘I saw you take bales of high and couldn’t believe your daring to steal.’

The horse rode alongside Nesta, but she did not dare to glance towards the fae riding it. She was about five minutes from the Wall if she kept up her pace through the dense forest. Cassian had warned her that fae were faster and stronger – but Nesta knew the secret path through the Wall. That had to count for something.

‘Then you came back for the barrel. I planted it there to see if you’d dare take it. And you did.’ There was a faint amusement in his tone. ‘Huffed and puffed as you rolled it to the woods. And now, you naughty thief, you’ve come back and tried to steal a horse from the high lord himself.’

‘Well, I didn’t manage it, did I.’

A horse would have made Nesta’s life easier. She’d ridden ponies as a child – but had never had to saddle one herself. That had been her downfall in the stables here. Nesta had wanted to steal one, tie it near the Wall then be on her way tomorrow night with it. The saddle was too heavy for her, the horse too flighty. It had kicked its legs at her so she’d changed to another stall. A grey mare had stomped her hoof at the intrusion then Nesta had heard the approach of hooves to the stables themselves and ran for it.

‘What manner of faerie are you?’

‘None of consequence.’

The man chuckled, the sound so warm and inviting, it nearly stopped Nesta in her tracks.

‘You’re lucky it wasn’t the high lord himself on patrol.’

‘And I should be thankful it is you, a lowly soldier out for a night time stroll?’

The faint whistle of the Wall vibrated Nesta’s ear drums. She heard a strange whirring sound from the man and he pulled the reins of his white horse so the beast stopped.

‘You can’t go there.’ His voice had taken on a sharp edge.

Nesta diverted her path, aiming straight to the Wall. She did not give herself time to consider the decision, not as she darted left and sprinted towards it.

The man swore then leapt from his colt. Swiftly, he tethered the horse to a tree then surged after her.

A strong hand clamped on her arm, whirling her on the spot, but Nesta slashed out with her knife. The man jumped backwards with a laugh.

‘What a fun night this is turning out to be,’ he drawled.

A booted foot kicked her lazily in the knee so her leg gave way. A hand gripped her wrist, holding it firm.

‘You’re very weak,’ he mocked.

Nesta caught flashes of red hair as she tried to free herself, but the man kept pushing her leg further outwards so she was sinking into the splits while his spare hand began prising her fingers from the hilt of the knife, one by one, until it was in his grasp.

Nesta slumped down on the forest floor, breathless, and threw back her hood.

Night had veiled the man for the most part, but now he looked down at Nesta. A brutal scar slashed down from his brow to his jaw, marring the golden-brown skin of his face. Unlike Cassian, his ears were spiked – and he was without wings. But her attention snagged on his eyes. One was russet, almost black in the darkness, but his other was pure gold. A whirring sounded again.

He staggered back. ‘Cauldron’s tits, you’re mortal.’

The man retrieved a skin of water from his pack then held it out to Nesta. ‘I take it back. You’re actually quite strong for a mortal. And quick.'

Nesta smacked the water away. 'I know better than to consume the food of the fae.’

He laughed so hard that he bent over clutching his knees.

‘What else have you been taught of us? Tell me everything.’

The iron bracelet that she had kept on her wrist for a decade had been given to Elain when she was set to become a sacrifice. Nesta had no need of it then. That might be why Cassian fell on her roof, she supposed. It repelled faeries.

‘Will you tell me your name, mortal?’

Nesta snorted. ‘I know your faerie tricks. If I give you my name, you’ll have power over me.’

‘Will I?’ He sounded delighted by it. ‘Fantastic. I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary. Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.’

‘Do you tell every woman that?’

‘Only the beautiful ones.’ Lucien grinned at Nesta, letting out a laugh again. He twirled the hilt of her knife in his hand. ‘You don’t seem very afraid to be near the fae – or to steal from them.’

Once her breathing had returned to an acceptable level and her leg wasn’t throbbing where Lucien had kicked it, Nesta rose. ‘No, not really. Because my friend is fae and he’s far bigger than you are so if you touch me, he will kill you.’

It made him laugh again. The noise was so grating that Nesta was seized by the urge to slap him. Which she did. It only made him laugh harder.

‘That was like a gnat biting me. Good try though.’

Nesta did not have time to bandy words in a forest with a faerie who was likely very bored and very irritating.

‘Who is your friend, my lady? What big, scary fae would challenge me to a duel if I harmed a hair on his darling’s head?’

‘His name is Cassian,’ she snapped.

All the colour in Lucien’s face drained until the tone was an ashen-grey. His strange eyes flitted to the knife in his hands. As if burnt, Lucien threw the blade to the ground.

‘That’s an Illyrian blade,’ he hissed. ‘It cannot be in this court.’

‘It is,’ Nesta said smugly, pretending she wasn't clutching at straws to survive the night. ‘As am I. As will he be if you do not let me pass through safely to the Night Court.’

Chapter Text

The man clasped his hands together in his lap. Lucien had settled on a fallen log, crossing his legs together, while the horse snuffled at the ground nearby. The amusement rarely left his face.

‘Just so that I fully understand your plan. You want me to give you a horse from the high lord’s stables - for free - so that you can cross the entire length of the Spring Court.’

‘Yes,’ Nesta said with exasperation. She wasn’t sure if she had come across the village idiot. He was very slow. Lucien had asked her to explain how she knew Cassian then why she was going to him then why she wanted a horse then why her village had tried to sacrifice her in the first place. Then repeated his questions.

‘I see. And then what’s your plan because you’d have to cross the Autumn Court.’

‘Well, I will do that.’

Lucien snorted with laughter. ‘No, you won’t.’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘The high lord did this to me,’ Lucien said, tapping the long scar that tore through his face, ‘I can assure you that if, by divine intervention, you made it to the Autumn borders, my brothers would have such fun with a mortal who’d wandered into their land.’

‘Then I’ll ride through the Summer Court.’

‘And then presumably, full of vigour, you will cross the frozen wasteland that is the Winter Court before, of course, crossing the Middle. A place that is unmapped and full of ancient creatures that even many fae would die against. Then the Dawn Court. Then the Day Court. Then the mountains of the Night Court. And through all of this, nobody will stop you, you won’t ever run out of food - that I am also supposed to supply - or come into any harm?’

‘Yes.’

Lucien clapped his hands, throwing a laugh over his shoulder. ‘How I wish to have the confidence of a mortal.’

‘You’re boring me now,’ Nesta said, getting off from the other end of the log and heading back towards the Wall.

‘Wait a moment,’ he called, following after her. The first rays of sun were filtering in through the trees, catching on his red hair. This man was the type of fae that Nesta imagined from stories; pointed ears, fine clothes, and a wicked beauty. ‘What is the reason to reach the general?’

Nesta could not explain it. With every day that passed without Cassian, a burning sensation had flooded her chest. She had thought she could forget him. Thought that she might be able to remain in the cabin. She’d have died at the hands of her people if it made her a martyr, but something had ignited in her chest so Nesta couldn’t remain stagnant. It was his name that pounded in her ears, driving every decision. It felt as if a string had tied them together. Nesta could feel the distance between her and Cassian as if the string was pulled taut. She only had to follow it to find him.

‘He owes me something,’ she lied.

‘You would risk your life for it?’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t know why I am warning you, but the Night Court is wicked. Whatever he has promised you, you will find nothing good in the Hewn City, my lady, only pain.’

‘What’s the Hewn City?’

Lucien’s face puzzled. ‘It is their main city where the high lord resides – and presumably the general.’

‘No, they live in Velaris.’

‘Velaris?’

‘The City of Starlight.’

A strange expression seized Lucien. It worried Nesta. Worried her enough to turn and flee. Nesta’s feet did not stop, not as she hurled herself through the crack in the Wall, or as her boots skidded across the hard snow back in her land.

***

Cassian was slumped on the bed with one of his wings draped across the floor, in the same position he’d been in for days. Mor had brought endless dishes then returned them to the kitchen hours later untouched. He only drank scant amounts of water when she needled at him to at least sip it.

Rhys squeezed onto a spot on the mattress though Cassian didn’t respond to his presence. His brother’s skin was sallow, the chipper mood he usually brandished at them all stowed away.

‘I’ve made a decision,’ he said gently.

‘You’ll sever our bond?’

Did Cassian truly believe that Rhys would do that to him? How could he deny his brother something so sacred? He’d risk his court for his brother’s happiness. Damn the consequences, he loved Cassian.

‘I thought I was doing the right thing for both of you by keeping you apart. I can see now that it was wrong. And I’m sorry I did that.’

Rhys had not realised the physical effects it would have. He couldn’t bear to see Cassian fade further. Cassian who was the life and soul of every room with his easy smiles and booming laugh.

‘I was wrong.’

There were mates who went their whole lives without ever meeting. Despite the odds, they had found each other. And he had tried to come between that. Maybe the Mother had guided them there – and Rhys had thought to intervene against the divine right of fate.

Nesta had accepted the bond, no matter if she did not know, and the effects of denying the frenzy likely attributed to her own bizarre behaviour.

‘I can see her again?’ Cassian sat up, hope brimming in his hazel eyes for the first time in days.

Rhys swallowed. ‘We’ll bring her to Velaris. And… I want to bring her sisters.’

‘You’ve gone from no mortals to bringing three. What’s happened?’

The wards were still firmly around the cabin as Rhys explained to Cassian that Nesta’s village would be trying her as a witch and he feared the retribution that might fall on the other sisters if they could not catch their witch. That and Nesta might be more comfortable in Velaris with her mortal sisters as company – at least to have others to grow alongside. Cassian remained calm throughout even as Rhys spoke of Nesta’s new decorations, the strange symbol she’d drawn in blood on her floor, the pyres. But at the mention of the Wall and Nesta pushing through to the Spring Court, he snapped up from the bed.

‘We’re going to get her now.’

Rhys held out his hands. ‘It needs to be when it’s dark. It’s too dangerous.’

‘You’ll risk her going to Spring?’

‘It will be no easy feat to bring three mortals here, Cass. We have to wait until its dark.’

Despite Cassian’s anger, it was a good sign. At the prospect of reuniting with his mate, his brother was slowly coming back to life. The only other hurdle that Rhys could conceive of would be the frenzy itself. The denial of the frenzy was to protect Nesta more than anything, but he could see now that keeping them apart was doing more harm than good. His brother would need to leash his instincts, be delicate with her. And after seeing Cassian naked too many times to count over five hundred years, he had a real fear that Nesta would be impaled.

They agreed that they’d go in darkness – although Cassian had no choice in the matter. It was darkness or not at all, Rhys had warned him. He had also warned him that they would be collecting the sisters first because he didn’t doubt Cassian would lose all other responsibilities the moment that he saw Nesta.

In the meantime, he instructed his brother to shower and shave or Nesta would scream at the sight of him.

‘One more thing, the father. What do you know?’

Cassian shrugged. ‘Nesta hates him. Says he’s useless.’

‘Then he stays in the mortal lands.’

***

The burning pain refused to leave Nesta’s chest that day. It was an itch she was unable to scratch. Her fingernails had torn open her skin as she scratched her body, trying to soothe it. She had managed only a few hours of fragmented sleep in the light before she’d been forced out into the snow to slather handfuls on her skin to cool it.

In her plan, Nesta would wait until the first sign of villagers to light her enormous pyres then set the roof on fire. It would leave them with little doubts that she was a witch. They were superstitious enough folk. Once they sighted her with a broom disappearing off to Prythian, that would have them pissing in their breeches.

The only snag was that she could not concentrate. Cassian had become an all-consuming thought in her mind. She had touched herself five times in between rubbing snow on her body. Every memory in this cabin was replayed on a loop in her mind. He wouldn’t have offered her the opportunity to come to Prythian, if he didn’t mean it. He’d laugh when he found out what she did and then hopefully this damned itching would stop.

On the sixth time that Nesta found herself beneath the covers and thinking of Cassian’s body, somebody hammered on the door.

‘I know you’re in there, mortal.’

That damned Vanserra man.

Nesta opened the door a crack. ‘I can’t entertain today.’

He jammed his toe in the door, wincing slightly as she still tried to slam it. His wince soon shifted to a strange sort of delight.

‘I hope you were thinking of me when you were doing that.’

If her cheeks had felt warm before, they were positively scorching now. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Lucien continued grinning until Nesta smashed the door against his boot again.

‘I’m trying to help you, you impossible female,’ he complained. ‘Let me in a moment. It’s dangerous for me out here.’

‘That’s not really motivation, Lucien.’

Suddenly, all his weight pressed towards the wood. He was far stronger than she expected. So Nesta leapt away and Lucien came staggering in.

‘What’s with all the blo-’

Nesta swung her broom over Lucien’s spine as he bent to examine her markings on the floor.

‘That was not nice,’ he reprimanded, rubbing his back. ‘You really are a witch.’

‘Does it look convincing?’

‘The sprinkling of offal on the step is a nice touch.’

Begrudgingly, Nesta brewed tea but kept her eyes trained on the strange male examining the marks she’d carved crudely into the wall with her knife. As they drank, he confessed that he felt guilty to leave her in the cabin alone with her village out for her blood. Nesta didn’t know him well enough. She ought to have been suspicious, but the man had something likeable about him. Something trustworthy.

‘I will take you to the Night Court.’

‘You’ll do what? You’ll ride with me all the way? Truly?’

Lucien let out a low laugh as he swirled the dregs of his tea. ‘Absolutely not. I don't blisters on my backside. If either high lord catches wind of this, I am dead. But I will winnow you.’

‘Winnow?’

He pinched two portions of the table cloth together. ‘Like stepping between two points. A long-distance travel method. You’d have to hold my hand.’

‘Sounds terrible. I shan’t enjoy that.’

He smiled again. ‘Lucky for you it will take only moments. And I am risking my neck for you.’

The terrible scar on his face had stopped dominating Nesta’s view of him. He gave smiles freely, his humour as dry and sarcastic as her own. It helped that he dressed exquisitely. The fawn-coloured breeches were immaculate with no flecks of mud or snow on them. His waist coat was embroidered with golden leaves and vines. Far prettier than Cassian's dirty leathers.

Nesta drummed two fingers on the table top. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m curious.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, narrowing her eyes, ‘But you almost shat yourself when I mentioned Cassian’s name so why would you risk yourself for an impossible mortal that you don’t know?’

‘I cannot in good conscience let you try and cross Prythian where you would undoubtedly meet a disastrous end. I cannot believe you haven’t already been killed in the woods by naga.’

‘Cassian won’t hurt me.’

‘Then I’d rather deliver you into the jaws of the wolf itself and know at least you go to your chosen death.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ she said. ‘I think you’d table-cloth me back here if you did have doubts that Cassian would lay his hands on me. You could have told your high lord that I was stealing from him – and you still haven’t. I think you’re a good man.’

‘Stop or you’ll make me blush.’ His smile lasted only fractions of a second. ‘Cauldron, witch, will you stop scratching yourself. Have you got fleas?’

‘My body is desperate for Cassian,’ Nesta admitted with a grimace, as she showed Lucien all the strange blotches that had shown up on her body in the last couple of days. The more she thought of him, the worse it got - and she couldn't stop thinking of him.

‘You don’t have the plague, do you? I’ve heard mortals are vectors for disease.’

‘How dare you.’

Lucien clapped his hands together. ‘When darkness falls, I’ll use my magic and help you set this place on fire then we go. My final offer. Then I never have to worry about completely unhinged females sneaking into my court again.’

Chapter Text

In five hundred years, Cassian had never known his brother to be anything other than calculating and wise. Wise beyond his years, in fact. No decision was ever rushed. Until this one. Until they had scant time to scoop up two mortal females with their belongings then save Nesta before she became fodder for a pyre. Cassian had at least expected Rhys to have had a conversation with Nesta’s sisters about bringing them to Velaris.

Instead, him and Azriel stood at the end of the path on guard while Rhys received a verbal lashing from Nesta’s youngest sister on the door step. It appeared that all of the Archeron sisters liked to cause trouble. This one had also apparently stabbed Rhys in the hand. Then went for a second attempt. Azriel had laughed himself hoarse and declared that Rhys needed to start training again.

‘The villagers will come for you when they can’t find your sister.’

‘Then we won’t answer the door.’

Rhys was close to tearing his perfectly styled hair out from going in circles with the mortal. ‘And they will just go away then? Are you that foolish to believe that?’

‘Elain is engaged to a man from the village. We cannot run away to Prythian with faeries we don’t know.’

‘You know Cassian and we’ve met previously. Out of the three of us, Azriel is the most virtuous so you really have nothing to worry about. Many females would love the opportunity to gallivant to Prythian with us.’

Cassian’s skin was crawling. That fiery bond which connected him to Nesta the moment she’d offered him food was itching so close to her. He was desperate to find her. He had to keep tamping down on those instincts to leave the others and seek her out. It was too dangerous for them to be here again. Dangerous to linger so long. Especially when their general could not focus on anything but the curve of Nesta’s lips.

‘Stop saying females. We are women.’

Feyre was going toe to toe with Rhys, meeting him with every snap and snarl, not caring who he was. Cassian wasn’t even sure if she knew just who he really was.

‘Feyre, I am asking you, do you truly believe this Graysen won’t be part of the witch hunt that is after Nesta? Do you truly believe his father – with the largest manor in your village – won’t be leading the hunt?’

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, uncertainty settling in. Cassian had seen the manor the night he’d been shot. It was a fortress of stone and ash. Perfect for hurting the fae. He was a male with the most to lose from their perfect harvests coming to an end without Nesta's sacrifice.

‘Will your father come to your aid?’

The uncertainty bloomed. Feyre shifted on her feet. ‘And if we wanted to return here?’

‘Then you have my word it will happen. You are not a prisoner. This is to save you.’ Before any of them could react, Rhys had slit open his palm so ruby red blood dribbled from it.

‘What the fuck is he doing?’ Azriel hissed.

‘On my blood, I vow that you will come to no harm, Feyre Archeron. You or your sisters.’

That seemed to be enough to convince her. The prick had never sworn a blood vow to them in five centuries.

‘I need five minutes to pack,’ she murmured as she slipped back through the front door.

Azriel whirled on his high lord. ‘What is wrong with you? A blood vow? To a mortal?’

A guilty expression took over Rhys’ usual confident exterior. His brows tugged together. ‘I don’t know. I just had to do it. I can't explain it.’

The shadow singer pressed two fingers to his temples with a wearied sigh. ‘I have a high lord spilling his blood for a mortal girl and a general who is panting like a dog at the thought of seeing her sister. Why is Mor not here with me for support?’

‘She’s waiting in Velaris preparing their rooms so they feel more comfortable.’

‘I hope Nesta’s is soundproofed from whatever unspeakable acts those two are about to commit.’

There was a smell of smoke on the air. Cassian’s heart thumped harder with every passing minute. If they waited any longer then Nesta could be in serious danger.

When the two sisters emerged, the middle one was sobbing. She clutched at Feyre who pulled her further out of the doorway with a grunt. Only one bag was stuffed with clothes and whatever else they deigned worthy of bringing to Prythian. It had to be scary for them – and Cassian was trying his best not to rush them, but he had waited long enough for Nesta.

‘You can take the crying one,’ he murmured to Azriel then shoved him forwards a step.

The middle one did not want to go. She begged Feyre to see sense, vowed that her fiancée would never do such a thing. She’d even said a prayer when Azriel had stepped closer to her and extended an arm.

‘Very sorry,’ Cassian said, striding towards her, ‘We don’t have time for this.’

Roughly, he hauled Elain over his shoulder and started for the woods. He felt a hand smack his arm and the youngest was there stinging him over and over like a wasp.

‘Rhysand.’

Rhys sucked in a breath. ‘Sorry, Feyre.’ His magic enveloped her, wrapping around her thrashing ankles and wrists to bind them then Rhys had her in his arms.

Behind them, Azriel spluttered. ‘Are we seriously kidnapping mortals?’

‘You can carry the bag,’ Cassian grunted before breaking into flight.

***

‘Do not rush it, Lucien. Has a woman never told you that good things aren’t to be rushed? We must go slow and enjoy every moment.’

‘I’ve never had complaints,’ he replied, as he dipped another rag into the faerie wine that Nesta had stolen from the Spring Court.

‘No, I suppose your hand cannot speak back to you.’

Lucien laughed with a sardonic shake of the head. ‘When the general of the Night Court spikes your head outside the Hewn City, I will try to pay a visit to admire his work.’

‘Maybe he’ll chop off yours and spike it next to mine. Then we can talk for eternity.’

‘I’d rather a crow pecked my eyes out.’

Nesta wrinkled up her nose. ‘Don’t you mean eye?’

‘You are not a nice person,’ Lucien admonished as they finished setting up her ring of pyres.

‘I never claimed to be.’

The pyres were almost all connected by a ring of clothing that she had chopped into rags and soaked in alcohol. The circle was broken only to create a path to the cabin. Nesta had roped Lucien into helping her collect the rest of her kills from snares and the male had been kind enough to take down a deer for her with a cleverly timed arrow through its rib cage. Its head was mounted above her door and they’d feasted on the rich meat throughout the day as they worked. They spread its organs like a macabre pathway to her door.

Lucien had claimed to have bedded a witch and offered more advice to make her home convincing. He also claimed to have bedded a dryad, a water nymph, and even a norn. Nesta had asked him why he thought she’d be interested in his sexual exploits and he gave a dazzling smile instead of an answer. Thank goodness he’d not been the one to land on her roof or she would have beaten him with the broom until he died.

‘It’s a long way to the Hewn City from here. You might feel as if you’re suffocating. I don’t know if a mortal has ever winnowed that far. You might die.’

‘My death will be on your hands.’

‘I shall try not to weep, my lady.’

Nesta inspected her work as the final rays of sun bleached the sky to a bruised blue. ‘On the contrary, I’d prefer it if you did. Mourn me like a saint.’

They drank a cup of the faerie wine in a toast; Nesta tipped most of hers into the snow to Lucien’s horror because it tasted like anise and fire on her tongue. She’d coughed through her first mouthful.

‘Nesta Archeron – the exile.’

‘The witch of the wood,’ Lucien said, sinking the remainder of his cup.

With his keen hearing, Lucien could make out the sounds of at least twenty sets of boots trampling through the snow towards them. But Nesta didn’t make a move until she heard it herself. Sure enough, the men from her village were surrounding her cabin on all sides like wolves shepherding their pray. Their torches bled into the darkness, pinpointing their positions.

‘Are you ready, my lady?’

Nesta knelt in the snow, not caring that it soaked through her dress to her stockings and spread. Sparks burst from her striker then her kindling caught alight.

Lucien yanked her back as the pyre burst into flames though the ends of her hair were singed from the smell of it.

‘How strong is that alcohol?’

‘Strong,’ Lucien replied. ‘It’s from the Day Court. Thank them.’

The pyre burnt then the flames crawled to the rag that connected it to the next and the next until her cabin in the woods was ringed by massive fires that billowed smoke into the night.

‘An excellent use of the Spring Court hay, I must say.’

‘It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?’

The villagers were closing in around them, their cries and shouts of “witch” growing ever louder. They clamoured for her death. For one to steak her through the heart.

‘Can I add a touch?’ Lucien asked, nudging her with his elbow.

She had the sense he quite liked teasing mortals. He’d teased her enough that day – and she to him. Nesta nodded, ‘As long as it’s not murder.’

‘I’ll try to refrain.’

Lucien swept his hand through the air then ball of flame gathered itself in his palm. It burnt as red as blood. He tossed it at the roof then watched in appreciation as it burnt.

‘Green is more witch-like.’

Nesta heard his small, reluctant laugh but sure enough, the flames devouring the roof of her cabin turned a shade of emerald and the edges were tinged with black.

The scarred male extended his hand to her, ‘My lady?’

***

Most of the villagers were pissing their pants and running in the other direction when they got to the woods. If terror wasn’t squeezing every muscle of his body, Cassian might have laughed at whatever Nesta had done to them.

He hefted a crying Elain into Azriel’s arms like she was a sack of flour.

He bellowed Nesta’s name.

An arrow flew at them, narrowly skimming past his wing. His siphons flashed in answer, ready for a fight after weeks spent cooped up in Illyria.

‘Where is she?’

The cabin had been transformed into a nightmare. Rhys had told him as much, but it was different to see it for himself. There was blood smeared all over the walls outside, the roof was aflame, and they could barely see through all the smoke. His Nesta who had cried when he'd tried to get her to kill a rabbit had managed this.

With their eyesight, they had an advantage at least over the villagers who were stumbling blindly across the snow, covering their eyes with their cloaks to stop the smoke stinging them.

Again, Cassian called her name.

But something wasn’t right.

The bond between them was taut once more as though Nesta had gone far away. He’d know if she was hurt. He’d tear the world apart to find her.

‘Cass, we can’t keep these mortals here.’

Another arrow hit the tree beside Azriel.

‘They serve the witch!’

The mortals only saw three massive, winged fingers through the smoke, illuminated by the twisting ribbons of flame. They did not know they were fae.

‘She’s pretending she’s a witch,’ Cassian muttered under his breath. ‘Of course, she is.’

‘If she knows a way to Spring, she might have gone there,’ Azriel said. His own cobalt siphons were bright in the dark, anticipating a fight against these mortal men.

Cassian couldn’t deny that he wanted to hurt them. They had come for his mate. They’d have broken her before they killed her.

‘I’ll take them to Velaris. Then return here. Find Nesta. Az – don’t lose him.’

Elain still cried even as she was placed into Rhys’ arms, but Feyre at least had set her mouth into a thin line as she watched the remainder of her villagers ransack the cabin in search of Nesta.

The situation wasn’t ideal. All Cassian could think of was that his mate might be running through these woods with fear in her heart, running from her death. His temper was on the edge. Azriel would be stuck to him, ensuring he didn’t go too far. But if he couldn’t find Nesta then there were no limits to what he wouldn’t do.

A wind whipped through the woods, clearing a sheet of smoke.

Two mortals guarding the front of the property whirled towards them, swords raised. The younger one stopped.

‘Elain?’

It made Elain stop crying. Her face fell into disbelief.

‘You would… You would harm my sister?’

‘Faeries,’ the other man bellowed, rousing the remaining mortals.

From the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Rhys disappear into nothing, taking the younger two Archerons with him.

‘Ready brother?’ Azriel asked, voice low and dangerous.

They would only do to the mortals what they sought to do to them. For every raise of the sword, the Illyrians met them with lethal accuracy. The ones that ran, could run. They’d let them go. Let them believe they served the witch who haunted these woods.

When it was done, when nine mortal men lay dead in the snow, they stopped.

Their blood was indistinguishable from the blood already spread by Nesta. Cassian knew in his heart that it was not hers. It could not be. He would know if any harm had come to her.

His instincts were pushing at the seams, determined to come out. If he let them, Cassian would slaughter that whole village, including the father who never fought for Nesta; the one who let her be exiled.

They flew low through the trees, hunting for a lone figure making her way to the Wall. Even with their vision, no tracks could be seen upon the fresh snow.

‘She’s not here.’

‘I fucking know that,’ Cassian snarled.

They landed back at the cabin then seconds later, Rhys winnowed in. ‘No sign of her?’

Azriel moved quickest, shoving Cassian back before he could get to Rhys. He couldn’t take these stupid questions. Every minute that they’d tarried had been a minute that they pushed Nesta closer to danger. He never should have agreed to finding her last. Never should have waited until darkness. They could have swept in, winnowed to the door and taken her. Taken her weeks ago rather than locking him up in Illyria.

Rhys sniffed the air. ‘That’s Helion’s wine.’

‘I don’t give a shit if the Mother herself made the wine.’

His violet eyes narrowed on roof. ‘It’s green. Fire isn't usually green.’

‘Azriel, protect your high lord because I’m about to knock his teeth out.’

Rhys held up a hand. ‘It’s burning by magic.’

‘Autumn? Not Eris, surely not.’

Azriel’s shadows darkened as they slithered across the ground like vipers. ‘You said she’s been going to Spring.’

‘Lucien Vanserra.’

‘If that little Vanserra whelp touches her, I will make him wish his father had killed him.’

Chapter Text

They scoured the Spring Court as well as they could while the darkness still veiled them, but there were no signs of Nesta or the Vanserra prick. They had edged as close as they could to Tamlin’s manor, scoping the forests for any traces of either of them to no avail. If Lucien was like his slimy brothers, he could winnow – then he could have taken Nesta anywhere in the world. They knew little of him, only that his father had him exiled and mauled his face in one of his rages. They’d never deemed the youngest Vanserra worthy of spying on. Cassian prayed to the Mother that they wouldn’t regret that decision. If Lucien was anything like his brothers, then they had precious time to get to Nesta before she was seriously hurt. If he decided to return to his father, risk his exile, to present Cassian’s mate to the high lord of the Autumn Court then Nesta was as good as dead. There was only a sliver of a chance she wouldn’t be hurt in the Spring Court either.

‘We can’t just go barging into Tamlin’s manor demanding if she’s there.’

‘I know,’ Rhys snapped, eyes not wavering from Cassian’s tense body. Both of them were simmering away with only Azriel’s cool head holding them steady. Likely he was weighing up their options, wondering whether Nesta’s head was about to be presented to Beron Vanserra on a platter.

Cassian was half tempted to hammer on the doors of the Spring Court and demand Lucien be brought forwards. They were wise to be hesitant though. Tamlin was a force to be reckoned with. Beyond his raw strength, the male had legions of loyal soldiers at his command – ones who he’d bled beside in the war, that he’d grown up with in war bands. They would die for him without hesitation. It wouldn’t be easy to make it to the front doors. There was bad blood between them all and Rhys would love nothing better than to settle the score – or to ease his guilt over not coming for Nesta sooner. They didn’t need a war with Spring, even Cassian could agree to that.

‘We return to Velaris,’ Rhys said, voice nowhere near as calm as he tried to make it. ‘Check on the sisters and reconvene.’

‘I’m not leaving without Nesta.’

Azriel sighed with impatience. ‘The sun is almost up. There’s no sign of her. We can’t scent her. I can send my shadows in, but in all likelihood, she isn’t here, Cass.’

It was Rhys’ turn to block Cassian’s path before he parted Azriel’s head from his body. His chest heaved with every breath aching in his lungs. He couldn’t bear to think of Nesta coming to any harm due to their mistakes.

Azriel went on, ‘We’ve dumped her two sisters with Mor and they need support too. I’m happy to keep searching with you, brother, but Nesta is not here.’

‘Send your spies into Spring. We’ll go to Velaris. Then return.’

What choice did Cassian have? His body was on fire, a rash had erupted all up his arms and he’d scratched the skin until it bled. He needed Nesta as much as she needed him. The bond was demanding their reunion. It burned fiery hot, angry that they had come so close to her then not met.

‘Fine.’

Without a warning, he was free falling above the House of Wind. The cold wind rippled against his leathers. His wings splayed out on instinct, slowing the fall, but his knees still popped from the impact. Dawn was bleeding into the skies of Velaris; he’d have liked Nesta to have seen the night sky as her first impression of his home. But now he’d take her safety over anything. She could see Velaris pouring with rain for all he cared – he just wanted her in his arms.

Mor strode onto the roof, eyes wide. Her red dress billowed out behind her. ‘We have a big fucking problem.’

‘Don’t tell me a mortal has escaped,’ Rhys groaned.

‘Much fucking worse.’ She pointed a finger at Cassian. ‘You are so lucky that Amren needed something from the vaults in the middle of the night for whatever it is she is up to. Your mortal mate is knocking on the doors of the Hewn City with a fucking Vanserra in tow.’

‘Peace,’ Azriel said, clutching his hands into prayer, ‘Just one week of peace is all I ask.’

***

This was a city unlike any Nesta could have ever imagined. Carved into the black rock mountain were avenues, separate buildings with twisting spires, illuminated homes and bridges criss-crossing the glowing, green streams that ran through it. It was a metropolis carved into the mountain itself. All of it was inlaid with artwork of great, ancient beasts, faeries fornicating, of mortals dancing while fae whipped their bare backs. The pillars were carved to look like curling vines of night-blooming flowers. Silvery light glowed and bobbed in the air.

‘What is this place?’ Nesta asked, keeping her hand in Lucien’s and squeezing his warm fingers tighter. ‘You’ve table-clothed me to the wrong place.’

He had winnowed them to a central path that led to the massive iron gates then promptly tugged them from it behind a boulder out of view from the armoured sentries.

‘This is your beloved’s home.’

‘I never said he was my beloved,’ she replied hotly.

Her cheeks burned at the insinuation – but it was not the only part of her body that did. She needed the snow again to cover her skin; her muscles ached. She could not stop thinking of Cassian – of his body, of seeing him in the bath of her home, the muscles glistening in the fire light, of him guiding her hand to bring him to climax, seeing the hard length of him laying flat against his body, of how she regretted not seizing that chance of lying with him then.

‘Can you not think of sex with your beloved right now?’ Lucien scolded.

‘I never said he was my beloved,’ Nesta repeated.

‘That might be the only thing that could save you in this place. The Night Court is not good. I did warn you.’

Nesta scrunched up her nose as she peered from around the boulder at the still sentries on duty. Their black armour made them look bulkier than they likely were, but they were far taller than her. Their swords crossed over their bodies ready for any assault.

‘This isn’t Velaris.’

There was no beautiful night sky or rows of boutiques and bakers or clothes shops that stocked her gorgeous, fur-lined clothes that Cassian had bought for her. The buildings were supposed to be grey stone with green, slate roofs and a long, winding river was meant to run through the middle of the city where restaurants lined it.

Lucien’s eyes twinkled in the silvery light – both of them – and he murmured, ‘It certainly isn’t.’

This place felt wrong. Nesta couldn’t explain the feeling in her gut that had her wishing she could return to her cabin. There was a darkness to the Hewn City that made her afraid. She nestled closer to Lucien even if he tried to push her away. There was a voice telling her that she should not be here, a hand on her shoulder trying to guide her in the other direction.

‘Go and knock on the gates.’

‘I certainly will not. You said Cassian owes you something. Go and collect it, witch.’

Nesta shivered. Now that she was her, she wanted to go home. ‘They have mortals being hunted for sport on those pillars.’

‘How fast can you run?’

She clutched his arm, terror stilling the blood in her veins. ‘Someone’s coming.’

‘They can probably smell you and want to eat you.’

A small woman strode past the guards and was heading their way. Black, silky hair was cut about her chin, bobbing as she walked. Her clothes matched her eyes; swirling smoke that never settled. Beside her, Lucien tensed. He even pulled Nesta further behind him. Whoever this woman was, she didn’t seem to be good news if she made Lucien nervous.

‘Not Eris,’ she said. ‘Not Beron either. From that ugly disfigurement, the youngest Vanserra.’

‘How dare you!’ Nesta couldn’t help it. Every part of her was crying out not to speak to this woman, to stay hiding behind Lucien, but she wouldn’t hear such awful words said about his scar. ‘What a horrid thing to say.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘A mortal mate for one of the most powerful Illyrians. Fate has a strange sense of humour.’

Lucien’s face leeched of colour. ‘The general is your mate?’

‘He’s a friend, I suppose.’

‘This is not the place for such conversations. Follow me and keep your hoods up. Especially you, girl, keep your hood up and face pointed at the ground.’

Nesta did not want to follow this strange woman into the city that made her skin prickle, but Lucien was already following with his hand reaching out behind him for Nesta to hold. He was afraid, she realised, by whoever this female was. She could not remember Cassian mentioning a high lady. And if she scared Lucien enough to comply then maybe Nesta had made a mistake coming here.

They were led to an obsidian stone room with a long table running through the middle. Some of the chairs, Nesta recognised as ones that could accommodate wings since Cassian had to spin hers around to sit comfortably. Did they all have wings, she wondered or was it only the men?

‘Remain here,’ the woman said before locking them into the room – as if they had any other choice.

‘Table-cloth us back to my cabin, Lucien.’

‘I cannot. There are wards on this city.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Nesta whispered.

‘Do you know who she is?’

‘The high lady?’

Lucien shook his head, his hand was still in her own, gripping it tightly. ‘Amren. Legend says she is a true immortal. A warrior serving a vengeful God. After millennia in the Prison, she yielded her perfect grace though her powers are no less bright.’

Nesta stared at Lucien. ‘I don’t know what any of that means.’

‘I am going to die with an ignorant mortal.’

They remained with their chairs huddled together. Nesta kept hold of Lucien’s hand in case he tried to table-cloth away without her despite his insistence that the wards – whatever they were – were impenetrable. His skin had not returned to its golden-brown and still his pulse was a racing song beside her.

‘Thank you for helping me,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t let anybody touch you.’

The corner of Lucien’s mouth tipped up. ‘Thank you, my lady, but I fear without your broom there’s little a witch in the woods can do.’

Maybe faeries were not so bad. Nesta had been a sacrifice, an exile, a witch, and now a friend of the fae.

As the key turned in the door, Lucien rose. ‘Stand with me,’ he murmured.

Nesta remained at his side, hand in his to weather the storm, but once the door opened, her heart shuddered. It felt like a piece was sliding into place, a piece that had always been missing. Cassian burst through, eyes wide with terror.

‘Nesta, has he hurt you?’

In one moment, Nesta was beside Lucien ready to break away from him to greet Cassian, and in the next, he’d hauled her in front of him like a shield, backed up to the wall, and pressed a knife to her throat.

‘Haven’t you ever been taught to never trust a Vanserra?’

‘Funnily enough, Lucien, your family isn’t thought of by mortals at all.’

Azriel had pinned Cassian to a wall over his yelling that he would rip Lucien into pieces and feed them to his father. They were a blur of magic and wings, both thrashing against each other. A blonde woman had entered, trying to instil calm too, then the small, silver eyed one who eyed the situation with disdain. Rhysand, the high lord, had black dust swirling around his hands when he finally entered the room.

‘Lets all take a moment to calm down.’

‘If you harm my mate, Vanserra, your mother will be sent your other eye amongst other organs.’

‘It’s nothing personal, Nesta. I had fun with you,’ Lucien replied smoothly, keeping the knife pressed to her neck. ‘I wanted to ensure Nesta made it here safely – but I want to ensure I can also leave this place in one piece.’

‘Then let her go and you can winnow back to Tamlin’s skirts.’

Lucien’s face was tight as he shook his head. ‘I can see the wards. I can only winnow past the gates and I know you will not let me walk freely. You’ll let me leave or else.’

The blonde one shook her head incredulously. ‘You aren’t in the position to make threats, snake.’

A long pause followed. Nesta tried not to move as Lucien kept his dagger against her skin. Oddly enough, fear didn’t greet her. It was more irritation with herself that she had been foolish enough to trust this annoyingly charming faerie. And, more unexpected, was how desperately she wanted to kiss Cassian. She was preparing herself to let the knife cut through her skin if it gave her the chance to touch him. Her body was alight with desire. There was nothing she wanted more than to get to him.

‘What is Velaris?’

***

‘You told your mortal mate too much – and yet not enough. Not enough for her to guard her words around me.’

Nesta’s face had gone white suddenly. The Vanserra had her chin tipped up to the air as he continued pressing the blade into the creamy skin. Each breath had her skin pushing closer to the blade’s edge. If Cassian saw a bead of blood, the last fraying instinct that he was clinging onto would snap entirely. And only the Mother knew what he would do then.

Rhys seemed to realise the same thing as Cassian struggled against Azriel and Mor’s hold on him. ‘Lucien,’ he said, voice low and urgent, ‘Nesta is Cassian’s mate. She has accepted the bond but they haven’t had the frenzy. You have a knife to the neck of the general of the Night Court’s mate. I have a male in this room who is about to go berserk and kill all of us except Nesta if you draw a single drop of her blood.’

Lucien’s hand tightened on the blade on instinct and Nesta screwed her eyes shut.

‘The other high lords will be interested to know exactly why you feel entitled to break a five-hundred-year-old treaty, Rhysand, and bring mortals to your court.’

‘I wish I hit you harder with my broom,’ Nesta hissed.

How many males had she hit with that thing? Oh, he already loved her.

Rhys’ grin was feline. He’d shared something with Amren, Cassian could tell by the smirk on her own face.

‘Alright, Little Lucien, you can see Velaris. And you have my word that you won’t ever be harmed be me or my council. I swear it on the Mother herself.’

‘I keep hold of Nesta until then,’ he said.

‘Not a problem. Mor and Cass first. Amren and Azriel. Then the three of us will go together.’ Rhys voice was placating like one a father might use to soothe a crying child.

He felt Rhys’ voice in his own head imploring him to trust his judgement in this.

Cassian wanted to fight against it. It was the same judgement that had left Nesta festering in a mortal cabin while he wasted away in Illyria without her. The judgement that had meant they went for Nesta last when she was the most important mortal in the world. But he had trusted Rhys for all of his life. He had to trust a little more.

Mor kept hold of him as they winnowed directly to the house. A sour-faced Feyre and a still-wailing Elain came scurrying out to the roof in their thin, scruffy gowns. Velaris would be a good home for both of them.

‘Did you find her?’

Cassian could not speak. It would not only be his heart breaking if Nesta was hurt.

‘She’ll be here soon,’ Mor replied. ‘Go back into the house.’

‘No.’ Feyre had planted her feet with the same stubbornness as her elder sister. Cassian wished the other one would stop her mourning cry or it would wake everybody in Velaris.

Azriel appeared above them, wings billowing out to land, with Amren in his arms. Neither of them looked particularly happy about the situation.

Finally, Rhys winnowed to the roof with his arms gripping both Lucien and Nesta.

‘Velaris,’ he said.

The sun was crawling ever higher into the sky, scattering light across the serpentine Sidra. It hit the frost lacing the roofs, making them shine. This city was beautiful. A city of starlight and wonder.

It was enough for Lucien’s grip to loosen on the knife.

Before any of them could react, Nesta had thrust her heel up to his groin.

‘That’s my mate!’

Nesta was in his arms in moments. That roaring voice in his head had grown louder. She was here. This was real. His mate.

‘I love you,’ he said in between kisses. ‘You stink of smoke and Day Court wine and Vanserras but I still love you.’

Nesta peeled her mouth from Cassian’s. ‘Did you see my cabin?’

‘You became the witch in the woods.’

Nesta’s smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, so full of pride and satisfaction. ‘I wanted to make you laugh.’

And she did. She had. She was brilliant and a little bit unhinged, but in the most perfect of ways.

For a while, he just held onto her. Because he could. Because she was here. Because she was safe. And she always would be; even if the Mother only granted them thirty or forty years, Cassian would savour every minute of them. Time would always be their enemy, but time was never promised.

‘Don’t hurt him,’ one of the sisters cried suddenly.

Nesta thrashed out of Cassian’s arms to land on the roof. ‘Elain, what are you doing?’

The crying had ceased. The middle sister, in her tired, lavender gown was shielding Lucien Vanserra’s body with her own, protecting him. He looked as if he was sizing up the sheer drop from the ledge, debating whether he’d survive it. ‘Please, don’t hurt him.’

‘Elain, he just had a knife to Nesta’s neck,’ Feyre said, face wracked with disgust.

‘He won’t be hurt,’ Rhys said calmly, spreading out his hands. ‘I made that vow. But you won’t ever leave Velaris, Lucien. You know its secret now. You will remain here until you wither and die. That is the price you pay for daring to touch a female who is part of my court.’

Elain wrapped her arms around the male, her tears had been exchanged for an unexpected, fierce streak.

‘I dream of you,’ she whispered. ‘So many times, I’ve dreamed of your face.’

‘They’re called nightmares,’ muttered Azriel.

Cassian knew if he did not claim his mate in the next few minutes, he was going to combust on the spot. His siphons were ready to erupt with power. But Nesta remained throwing her arms in the air at a loss for words, then she snapped, ‘Elain, do not be so silly. This man has bedded witches and dryads, you can do far better.’

‘That was told in confidence.’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘It was a brag, Lucien. And a poor one. I might have kept your secret if you didn’t try to kill me.’

‘It was nothing personal as I said.’

Had these two been locking horns like this since they’d met?

The middle sister, kept her arms firmly around Lucien as if he hadn’t just threatened her sister. Then again, Cassian supposed she had also seen her mortal fiancée as part of the hunt to kill the same sister, so maybe Elain wasn’t quite right. Certainly, she was staring at Lucien as if he was the most magnificent male in the world.

They’re not mates too, are they?

Rhys, I don’t know or care. The frenzy is about to become a public spectacle.

‘Put Lucien into the room at the farthest end. Amren will be your companion today, little fox. Elain, you may keep your arms around him like a limpet if you so wish. He won’t hurt you in Amren’s presence.’ Vanserra didn’t seem overly thrilled by the prospect of a mortal woman staring up at him with her moon-wide eyes, which was likely why Rhys allowed it. ‘Feyre darling, has my lovely cousin shown you to your room yet?’

‘We’re just supposed to go to our rooms and pretend everything is normal?’ Feyre had her hands on her hips. ‘We are in a faerie city. One of my sisters is staring at that thing like its love at first site… Nesta, you’ve singed off your eyebrows!’

‘Have I?’

‘Just a little,’ Cassian admitted. ‘You look even more beautiful for it.’

At the compliment, Nesta rolled her eyes. She stepped away from him, and Cassian fought the urge to tug her back. He’d struggle to let her go again, he knew, but her sister needed her more. He'd have to suppress his instincts, just a little longer.

Nesta reached out an arm for Feyre and pulled her into an embrace. The younger one burst into tears the moment they touched.

Rhys’ voice came into their heads again, asking them to give the sisters a moment together.

***

‘I thought they’d kill you and you didn’t want to go then he came and said he could take us and I didn’t know if they’d find you and the cabin was on fire and the men were coming and Graysen would have killed you.’

‘You’re safe,’ Nesta hushed, stroking Feyre’s hair as she cried. Her sister had never wanted to share her battles, just like Nesta. Elain never minded who she cried to, but her and Feyre were the same. Private. Content to be alone. But it wasn’t always good to lock yourself away – she’d learnt as much in the cabin, learnt as much when she decided it was better to die than to accept Cassian and Azriel’s help. Something had snapped in Nesta, a desire to damn the consequences and seek out the lumbering male who’d nearly made a hole in her roof. It was not shameful to accept help. It would not be offered if it was a burden.

Through her tears, Feyre explained how they came to be in Velaris – and Nesta felt a sick sense of satisfaction that their father was not extended the courtesy. Nesta did not tell her sister about the Hewn City. For now, Velaris was a safe place. They would deal with whatever came next together. Even if that involved prising Elain away from Lucien Vanserra.

‘You did all that to your cabin to make a faerie laugh? I thought you were going mad.’

‘It must have been madness from the start when I hid Cassian from the villagers.’

It had been a long, long time since they had embraced each other. Feyre had been tiny the last time it happened. Nesta had blinked and Feyre had become a woman; her reflection in appearance and spirit. They had battled enough. They could try to be sisters now. With no poverty pressing down on their mood, without a father who was useless, with hope for the future, they could be sisters again.

‘This is a beautiful city,’ Feyre said, sniffing back her tears.

‘It is, isn’t it? We could try to love it. But if you want to return to the village then that’s where we will go.’

Feyre nodded, eyes still rimmed with tears. ‘I can’t tell if it’s the tiredness or hunger making me so emotional.’

‘Rest, eat, bathe then we could explore the city.’

‘I’d like that.’

Nesta watched her littlest sister be escorted to her room by the blonde woman, Mor, who chirped away happily despite the lack of sleep they were all experiencing. Before she had a chance to check to see if Elain had forced her engagement ring on Lucien’s finger, Cassian was dragging her down the hall by the hand.

‘Amren will kill Lucien if he tries anything. We have unfinished business.’

‘Unfinished? I recall you finishing.’

‘But you did not hence why it is unfinished.’ Cassian pinned her to the wall of his room, so Nesta had mere seconds to take in the racks of weapons on the wall before his lips were on hers again. He was surprisingly tender for such a large man. His kisses came with a dizzying intensity where Nesta felt as if the current might sweep her away.

‘You need a bath,’ he said, kissing her brow. ‘You stink of smoke, faerie wine, and dead animals.’

‘You have blood on your clothes.’

‘Then we are evenly matched. And,’ he led her by the hand through his tidy room, ‘the baths here can fit a handsome winged faerie and his beautiful mortal mate in comfortably.’

The bath had already been drawn for them. It was frothy with mountains of bubbles and scents of citrus rose from the steam rising from it. Candles encompassed the room and the curtains had been drawn.

‘Slow,’ Nesta whispered as Cassian tore off her clothes like a man starved.

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment then took more care to unlace her boots then remove her stockings. Her heart thumped louder with every layer he discarded. Despite following him to Prythian, this was still new territory. Letting a man touch her. Kiss her. It was still new.

Yet her body thrummed with energy. Nesta fought against her own urges to wrap her legs around his hips and kiss him until she starved of air.

‘Slow,’ she repeated to both of them.

‘Slow,’ Cassian agreed. ‘We have time now.’

Chapter Text

Slow. That was the mantra. Slow.

Any slower and Cassian might explode.

Their first moments together had consisted of a bath where Nesta hid her body then they had fallen asleep on the bed for a few hours. When Cassian had awoken, Nesta was gone. His heart had lurched with panic until he found her enjoying a very late breakfast at the table with her sisters and Lucien. He took a moment to admire the scene; his beautiful mate never letting Lucien Vanserra apologise for holding a knife to her throat. Every time the male tried to speak, he was shushed or clipped or spoken over. She was as sharp as steel, all bite and edges. Cassian loved her.

But he really was going to explode soon if he couldn’t have her.

It took coaxing, but Nesta did share his bed each night though only to sleep and her cheeks still dotted with pink when she entered the room as if it were a scandal.

‘You haven’t even started the frenzy yet,’ Azriel said with bewilderment.

‘It’s not like I’m not trying,’ Cassian replied, watching Nesta lead Feyre through the library to collect a book.

They spent hours kissing then Nesta was curl up to sleep and Cassian would lay as still as a tomb stone trying not to combust. Soon, if Nesta so much as touched his knee, he might come in his pants. Showers were taken with cold water, he said prayers to the Mother constantly to distract his brain. If Rhys ever sent him to Illyria, he’d be too out of focus to do anything worthwhile.

‘Does she actually know you are mates?’

‘Surely she feels the bond.’

Azriel rubbed his temples. ‘She is mortal. She doesn’t have any idea what is happening. Cassian, you prick, you need to speak to her.’

It was a strange conversation to have. It felt like explaining the fundamentals of life. Cassian had to track right back to the formation of Prythian itself and the magnitude of the Cauldron. Nesta pressed her hands together, taking it all in with a sceptical expression.

‘Faerie magic has bound us together forever. I bound us together without realising. Because I fed you.’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ It cut Cassian in two to hear how clinically she spoke as if the bond meant nothing to her. It was all he could think about, this all-consuming need for her. ‘We’re not even married.’

‘Do you want to get married?’

Nesta gaped at him. ‘That was the worst proposal I have ever heard.’

This impossible female.

Cassian grabbed a slice of bread from the table and gnawed at it until it resembled a ring. Like the mortals did, he got down onto one knee. ‘Nesta Archeron, will you marry me?’

‘That was the proposal? That’s all I get?’

Cassian heaved himself to his feet. ‘So, that was a no?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she snipped. Nesta took the mauled chunk of bread from him and slipped it onto her finger. ‘Although you will need to replace my ring every time it grows mould or gets soggy. Or if birds start pecking it.’

***

Feyre was not adjusting well to Velaris. A pretty city didn’t suit her, she was more used to getting her hands dirty and running wild with boys like Isaac Hale. Nesta had tried to help her grow more comfortable with activities like reading or needlework to occupy the time, but Feyre was more used to throwing a knife or climbing a tree.

More often, she sulked alone in her rooms, lamenting the life they left behind. As soon as it was safe, Feyre could return to the village. Rhysand had promised her as much and even would buy her a more comfortable house. Nesta had tried to explain to her that a return to the village with wealth would make her the prime target for eligible bachelors to descend upon then she really would be forced to be the dainty wife.

And then, one day, a break through came. They had tried taking Feyre into the city, to cafes and restaurants to try new food, offered to take her flying but she balked at the heights involved, Elain roped her into gardening alongside Lucien, Nesta had tried to find books for her. It was Rhysand who managed to find a way to reach Feyre. Painting sparked her interest until it became an inferno. A whole room had been cleared out solely to be her studio as she learnt. He found teachers for her. He scoured Velaris to bring her different kinds of paint and canvases. Hours and hours would be spent there, blanketing every surface Rhys supplied with blocks of colour. She’d forget to eat if somebody didn’t drag her out each day. When Feyre emerged, green stained the ends of her hair or blue was smeared across her cheek.

Nesta was able to breathe a little easier once Feyre settled. She wouldn’t go near Amren with her strange eyes and glasses of what Nesta suspected was blood. Mor and Azriel would spend time with Feyre – likely out of duty to their high lord – but the man himself was happy to try his hand at painting too in between his duties. Sometimes, Nesta would go to her sister, but hear her laughing and speaking with Rhysand so she’d return to her own sanctuary and leave them in peace.

Once, Nesta had even seen them in the library together. Feyre had always struggled with reading. She said the letters moved around the page or flipped when she tried to read them. She could be defensive about it. Didn’t like when others knew. But Rhysand seemed to be trying to help her which meant a lot.

‘Are they friends as well?’

‘Mates,’ Cassian corrected as he slipped his arms around her body then rested his chin on her head. ‘I don’t know. You don’t know until the bond snaps. You want her to stay here?’

‘Of course, I do; she’s my sister. She’d have a better life here. I haven’t seen either of them smile so much since before we lost our money.’

The wedding would be soon for them, thank goodness, as Nesta had a one-track mind. It was only her stern morals stopping her from locking the bedroom door with Cassian inside and not emerging for days. Even now, feeling his body behind hers made her knees feel weak.

‘Did Elain ever tell you she dreamt of Lucien?’

‘Certainly not. I thought she was smitten with Graysen.’

‘I suppose seeing him as part of the hunt for the witch in the woods turned her off of him.’

***

‘Quite frankly, I want you nowhere near my city. You have options, Lucien. Do not think I am not benevolent.’ Rhys languished in his chair, doing a very good job of pretending he was completely bored by Lucien’s presence. Or he might not have been acting. ‘The first is that I tear through your flimsy mental shields and remove any traces of my city then dump in you in Spring. Or you could remain here for eternity.’

‘I might still push him from the roof,’ Amren supplied.

‘The first, of course the first.’

Rhys winked. ‘I thought as much. Poor Elain will be devastated.’

‘You wouldn’t remove my memories of them.’

After her initial obsession with Lucien, they thought she might have grown bored after a day or two. But Elain still followed him like a shadow, smiling at all of his jokes, sharing every meal at his side like a diligent keeper. Lucien had warmed to her quickly too and could be seen helping her to prepare flowerbeds for spring so both had hands black from soil or they’d talk easily over a cup of tea until both were yawning and Nesta escorted her sister to bed. The male was not as bad as they thought. Beron had exiled him after carving out his eye simply because his youngest had played a trick and wasted his best barrel of wine. Cassian wouldn’t ever forgive the male for attempting to harm Nesta, but he swore he’d panicked in front of Amren and just wanted safety. He was tolerable, Cassian supposed.

‘And run the risk of the Archerons being hurt when you scurry back to your master?’

‘But Elain is my.’ He cut himself off.

‘What is she, Lucien?’

No bond had snapped yet, but it seemed to be a waiting game. They all expected it to happen at any moment. Lucien and Elain were already finishing each other’s sentences; they had developed a harmony in such a short space of time where they moved in synchronisation with each other. It didn’t seem possible for another mating bond to snap with a mortal – but maybe the Archerons were different.

‘You wouldn’t be so cruel.’

Rhys examined his nails. ‘Wouldn’t I?’

‘You could always denounce your ties to Spring and pledge allegiance to the Night Court.’

Perhaps if the suggestion was offered up by anyone other than Amren, Lucien might have been more inclined to agree. He was still terrified of the female. One look from her could quell him entirely.

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Return to Spring,’ Rhys said, ‘If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again. In this life or the next.’

‘Elain’s not immortal.’ Lucien’s voice was wracked with pain. ‘She doesn’t have the same luxury of time as we do. Rhysand, this isn’t fair.’

‘Decide what’s most important to you – your loyalty to Spring or a future with Elain.’

They left Lucien to dwell on it in the library, and sure enough, seconds later, his shadow was entering it inviting him to eat lunch with her, with a kind smile brightening her lovely face.

‘We don’t really want him in our court, do we?’ Mor could not move past her revulsion of his older brother.

Rhys’ face twitched into a smile. ‘Doesn’t Lucien look familiar to you?’

‘He looks like a snake,’ Mor said, ‘he’s a Vanserra.’

‘Is he?’ Rhys winked. ‘We’ll let him stay for the wedding. Maybe the declaration of love will make the bond snap then I’m sure it will sway his opinion.’

***

The wedding planning was a nightmare. How could Nesta think about frilly table cloths when all she wanted was for Cassian to bend her over the table? They had set the wedding for two weeks’ time which apparently would be plenty of time – and would motivate them to plan it quicker.

Doubts were creeping in. Cassian had stopped his over-familiar touches, stopped sitting practically in her lap or pawing at her. At night, he had begun to hesitate before kissing her, offering a chaste peck instead then would lay like one in a coffin with his hands crossed across his body, staring up at the ceiling taking deep breaths.

‘Is this a punishment? Or have your affections changed so readily?’ Nesta sat up in the bed then leaned over him to light a candle.

Cassian clamped his hands over his eyes rather than seize the opportunity to peer at her breasts in her scooped nightgown. She had specifically picked the most outrageous night clothes she could find when Mor had taken them shopping in Velaris. And still Cassian was not touching her. It wasn’t right for Nesta to make the first move. He was the man. He should be the one touching her.

‘We are waiting until we are married,’ Cassian said through gritted teeth.

Nesta let out a little whine. ‘But. But we will be married soon. And we are faerie friends.’

‘Mates,’ he groaned

Nesta straddled his lap then prised his hands away. ‘Why won’t you look at me? Am I hideous?’

‘Mother hold you. Mother carry you. Mother take you to the eternal land-’

‘Are you praying?’

‘I have to,’ he rasped, his hazel eyes would look at anything but her.

Nesta swallowed. ‘You don’t love me.’

‘It is because I love you that I am clinging to this last thread of sanity so I don’t lock us in this room for a year.’

Heat bloomed up her neck along with a sense of pride. ‘You want to bed me?’

‘Witch, I wanted to bed you the first night I saw you. Stop wiggling on my lap.’

‘Like this?’ She asked rotating her hips in a slow circle.

‘Sweetheart, stop. If you carry on, I won’t be held accountable.’

There was a fire inside of her that could not be quenched. She needed him. Had needed him for a long time. ‘What will you do to me?’

Cassian inhaled through his nose. ‘Nes, you wanted to wait until marriage.’

‘No, I didn’t. I just wanted to ensure we were engaged and that you would marry me. I’ve been waiting for you to touch me.’

She could not tell if Cassian was about to cry. His face certainly passed through a wide range of emotions in a short space of time. ‘Say it.’

Nesta ran a finger against his bare chest. ‘Touch me.’

***

Cassian was a starving male at a banquet, a pauper in a treasure vault. He didn’t know where to touch Nesta first. His body was convulsing already in anticipation. Slow, he reminded himself.

First, he tossed away her obscene scrap of a night gown so she was naked before him. His tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth then Cassian moved to her breasts. They filled his hands and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of them endlessly. The skin was soft beneath his lips, her darkened nipples already peaked.

He lay her down to the blankets then slowly kissed along her inner thigh. She tasted of sweet vanilla and jasmine petals. Cassian paused to look upon her sex. It called to him, the scent dizzying. His tongue parted her, stroking against the soft skin with tender touches before pressing further in.

At Nesta’s deep moan of pleasure, his heart and soul fell into her. His mate, claimed at long last.

With reverent touches and delicate kisses, Cassian explored his mate. The drive wasn’t solely for pleasure, more to lay claim to her. He wanted every male in Prythian to know that she was his. Each primal sound that tore from Nesta bolstered Cassian’s enthusiasm.

Her thighs clamped around his head, each clench of them more powerful than the last as her orgasm built. The only sounds in the room were Nesta’s moans and the sound of his tongue lapping against her sex.

Cassian continued through Nesta’s trembling. He had to be careful with her, he knew, but she had so readily taken two fingers. The ring of muscles clenched around them as her back frequently lifted itself off the bed. He crooked them faster, driving them in and out in time with her ragged breathing.

Tremors rolled through Nesta’s body as she finally gave in and came. Cassian’s cock pulsed with her moans. Her cries were a symphony, the way her entire body shook with her climax was a gift from the Mother herself. So beautiful. All his.

Cassian winced as he eased off of his knees.

‘What are you smirking at?’

‘You’re moving like an old man.’ Nesta lay back on the pillows with her breasts on full, glorious display.

‘I am old. I’m five hundred and thirty-seven.’

Nesta patted the space beside him. ‘Come here then and I’ll take care of you.’

She steeled her nerves then a hand clasped around the shaft of his cock. Her touch was curious, testing all the ways to make his hips jerk. With how tightly-wound Cassian was at the moment, he surprised himself when he didn’t come at the first brush of her fingers against him.

Her hand moved in a steady motion, gripping his cock tighter at the base then loosening near the top. Once Nesta had found her rhythm, she twisted her wrist at the end or pressed her thumb against the head. It was bliss to watch her. Her fingers explored just as much as his own had done to her. The soft touches had Cassian shifting on the spot, driving his hips upwards into her hand.

Then Nesta took him against her lips. Her lips nuzzled against the underside of the tip, kissing it sweetly. It sent a jolt up his spine and the dam burst.

Before he could stop it, a streak of cum jetted across her face – but Nesta, his wonderful mate, enclosed her mouth around the head of his cock and sucked down every drop spilling from it.

‘I don’t think I could have waited another two weeks,’ he breathed, flopping back onto the pillows. 'It won't always be that fast. I promise.'

Nesta pushed back his black hair from his face then kissed his forehead.

‘You want to stop?’ He asked.

‘Absolutely not. That wasn’t nearly enough.’

***

There was a driving need to have Cassian inside of her. Nesta knew she would not be able to think straight until she did. She straddled his lap again to give herself the illusion of control. She was fully spread open across his massive, muscled thighs. The black tattoos stood out on his toned chest, so Nesta allowed herself the chance to kiss her way along them, imagining a younger version of Cassian fighting his way to a mountain to earn them. What a life he'd had. And she would learn all of his history.

The tip of his cock rubbed against her slit as she rolled her hips in torturously slow back and forth movements. It was slick with pre-cum and her own wetness as Nesta sank down onto it.

Cassian held her still, preventing any further movement. He kissed her. ‘You say stop when it hurts.’

It might be sooner than he expected. The size of him was enormous. Nesta had barely been able to enclose her hand around it, but she let her body lower a little more, taking in another inch then another before Cassian had his hands around her hips to lift her back off.

The moment she was without him, Nesta needed him again. Needed that sensation of being filled and stretched by her mate.

Nesta pushed through the discomfort until it gave way to pleasure. Cassian thumb circled the apex of her thighs until she could no longer function.

‘I can’t do this when you do that,’ she breathed, tipping forwards towards his chest.

‘Then let me do both.’

Cassian went his knees between her legs and continued his languid touches as he thrust inside of her. Although the movements were slow, the intensity was dizzying. Nesta didn’t even know her own name. All she knew was this man was giving her everything she ever wanted.

They came again together, Cassian’s seed spilling inside of her as Nesta’s legs shook around his body.

Together, they flopped on top of the blankets, his wing coming around her to shield from the chill in the room.

‘You tired?’ Nesta shook her head and his face turned into a grin. ‘Good, because you’re not getting any sleep tonight, sweetheart.’

***

The wedding planning had been left to everybody else. Meals were left outside their door the first couple of days, but the House of Wind had been evacuated. Cassian couldn’t feel too much guilt. It gave them more rooms to play in. There wasn’t a room he hadn’t fucked Nesta in. She was worse than him, demanding sex constantly, him on his knees, her on top of a table. He didn't know where she was getting her ideas from, but Cassian was a willing victim to all of her experiments. But after two weeks of mindless consummation, Mor and Rhys had arrived to drag them to their own wedding.

Mor took Nesta off to her sisters – and even in that brief absence, Cassian already missed his mate.

‘I’m glad you’ve not snapped her in half.’

Cassian winced at the visual. ‘She’s trying to kill me off. I can barely keep up.’

Rhys laughed at that remark then his face became pensive. ‘I have an early gift for you. I’ve been in the library a lot and found a spell that Helion could cast. It will tether Nesta to you,’ he explained. ‘When you depart this world, that’s when she will go – and no sooner.’

‘I can have more time with her?’

It was a thought that Cassian pushed to one side each time it bubbled up in his mind. The thought of Nesta turning old and grey, never really bothered him. It was the idea that he’d have to continue on without her that was worse.

‘She’ll be tied to your life. If you were to fall in battle next year, she’d also die. But if you live to two thousand, then she’ll be there every step of the way.’

‘Old and grey together,’ he mused. ‘She won’t age like a mortal, will she?’

His horrified face made Rhys titter with laughter as he looped his tie around his neck. ‘No, fortunately not. I don't think mortals can manage more than eighty years before they start decomposing. I’ve also told Lucien that it’s a possibility with Elain – but only if he remains with this court.’

‘The bond snapped?’

‘Three days ago. She cut her hand trying to cook with the wraiths and Lucien went berserk at the sight of her blood. Likely why she dreamt of him since she was a girl. Some latent part of her always knew he was hers. Mor has the pleasure of filling Nesta in on the parts she’s missed – and about the spell. It’s both of your decision. Think it over.’

It required no thought from Cassian. Of course, he would want more time with Nesta. He’d take every drop of it the Cauldron would give them.

‘Is Feyre still painting?’

A blush swept across Rhys’ cheeks before he could turn his body away. ‘Yes. We flew a few days ago too. Not too high. Just around Velaris.’

‘Poor Azriel.’

‘What?’

‘Lost both of his brothers to an Archeron.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘Feyre is just a friend. I’m helping her to settle in. For your benefit. For Nesta.’

‘What an altruistic high lord you are. I’ll ask you again in a week if she’s still just a friend.’

***

Nesta owed her thanks to Mor who had taken on the bulk of the wedding planning alone. It was exactly how she would have wanted it. Simple yet elegant. Flowers wreathed the arch where Cassian stood. If she didn’t know him any better, Nesta would say that he was nervous. He was shifting his weight between his feet, fiddling with cuffs, and murmuring constantly to Azriel and Rhys. Or maybe being in formal attire made him that way.

Her sisters were resplendent in long gowns of periwinkle blue and bouquets of white lilies. They walked the aisle together in lieu of her father doing it. It had been her sisters who Nesta had leaned on; her sisters who had nuzzled together in the frigid cottage for that extra bit of warmth. They would manage this new world together.

They presented her to Cassian and Nesta couldn’t stop herself from beaming.

‘You look beautiful.’

Mor had also chosen her dress; it was white silk gathered into a cowl-neck and slunk along her curves to the floor.

‘You saw me less than two hours ago.’

Cassian shrugged one shoulder. ‘You looked beautiful then too.’

Likely because her mouth was filled with his cock beneath the table after they'd slept together on it. That memory resurfaced in him too and a smile flitted to both of their lips.

A priestess had been commandeered to lead the proceedings though she read the mortal ceremony with uncertainty, the words unfamiliar to her. Nesta didn’t care. She was marrying Cassian, the man who had been kind enough to teach her how to light a fire easier and hunt so she could survive without him. The man who had teased her and coaxed fun back into the dire days of the cabin. Nesta would never give thanks for the injuries that had shot him out of the sky, but she was glad that of all the roofs to land on, Cassian had chosen hers.

‘Nesta, I promise to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.’

His hands were gentle holding hers. The sun shone through his wings, making them glow red like the stones he wore. He was hers.

‘With this ring I, Nesta, take you, Cassian, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.’

Cassian repeated the words too. Behind her, Nesta could make out Elain’s sniffing and weeping. She’d always been a romantic.

‘By the power vested in me by the Mother and the Cauldron, I now pronounce you husband and wife.’

Cassian grazed his knuckles down her cheek like one of the first times they’d met. That time, he’d smacked her in the mouth with a wing. She knew now to avoid them.

He pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘Husband and wife. Mortal and fae.’

‘The exile and the injured.’