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Chapter Text

Nesta sat in the living room of Feyre’s River House. The Sidra outside sparkled in the late morning sun, and she could hear Nyx babbling from the other room. She sipped on the lukewarm tea Feyre had given her before she ran off to help Rhysand change their child without a mess being made. Nesta turned and saw Elain out in the gardens, tending to a bunch of rosebushes she had planted only a few weeks ago that now sprouted with roses of all shades of pink and red. It was only spring in Velaris, but any sign of the warmer weather to come had everyone out and about, breathing in the fresh air and sun like they were fish who had just dived back into the water. Coincidentally, it also provided the perfect cover for Nesta to enact her new plan.

Feyre came rushing into the room once more. “Sorry about that,” she huffed. “Rhys likes to play games with him during Nyx’s changes, and if that happens, we’ll have a mess that hits the ceiling and walls.”

Nesta smiled politely at her sister as she settled onto the couch next to her. “It’s no problem, besides, you know how my nephew could never do anything wrong in my eyes.”

Feyre smiled brightly at her. “So, what brings you by?”

Nesta set her teacup down on its saucer. “I remembered you teach your painting class today, and I wanted to know if you’d allow me to join.”

Feyre’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Of course!” Her expression fell only slightly. “May I ask…why?”

Nesta shrugged nonchalantly, “You know….I figured I should get out more. Besides, you’ve tried to teach me before, I thought I’d give it a go again even though I was atrocious before.”

Feyre laughed, “Well then,” she said, wiping her hands on her leggings and standing up, “We shall go right away. The class I’m teaching will be at your skill level, so it’s perfect!”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me there’ll be more people than just children there?”

Feyre tilted her head, “Well, at 11, one could be considered a ‘pre-teen’ at that age.”

Nesta grumbled while Feyre giggled as she pulled her out the door, calling to Rhysand that they would be back in the evening. Nesta only heard the sounds of minor crashes and childlike giggling in response before the front door closed.

—------------------

It turns out Nesta was not a bad painter. She had sat there for what felt like forever trying to come up with any idea to paint onto her canvas. All around her, children painted their families, their houses, wild animals, mythical creatures, or Velaris. They all laughed and teased each other as Feyre went around encouraging them and giving them bits of advice here or there. Nesta, on the other hand, had stayed stock still the whole time, her brush mere millimeters away from the canvas, yet not a stroke had been made. She had no idea what to paint. At first, she thought of painting Cassian, but Feyre already had, and she did not want to see her poor attempts compared to her sister's. Then she thought of painting Gwyn and Emerie but did not want to insult them with her ill-fated attempts. Besides that, nothing else popped into her mind about what she would want to immortalize on canvas. Most of her memories she barely wanted to remember or she did not want to ruin them by horribly painting them. She looked to the walls of Feyre’s shop and noticed a painting of the Sidra as the sun set right as it dipped below the horizon. Nesta sighed and went to work, and soon, she lost herself in the monotony of dipping her brush into the paint and then sweeping it across the canvas.

“Nesta, that’s so good!” Feyre exclaimed from behind her, making her jump only slightly out of her stool.

Nesta whirled around, realizing all the kids were gone, and she had zoned out for the rest of Feyre’s class. She winced and looked apologetically at her sister,

“Sorry, I guess I kinda lost track of time.”

Feyre shook her head. “You’ve been holding back on me,” she said, marveling at the painting.

It was not bad, Nesta had to admit. But there was something missing from it that made Feyre’s art so special and beautiful. It lacked depth and emotion, she realized. Feyre paints from her heart and soul, dipping her brush into the wells of her emotions before sweeping them across her canvas, breathing life into her pictures. Nesta’s was pretty, yes, but it was just a picture. Nesta had copied the reference picture beautifully, but the painting held no meaning.

Because I hold no meaning, Nesta thought to herself, untying her apron.

“Cassian will love it.”

That statement made Nesta perk up. Still, she shook her head,

“It’s nothing compared to what you make.”

Feyre scoffed, “He’ll love it because it's yours,” and handed it to her gently. “Don’t throw it out. I expect to see it the next time I come up to the House.”

Nesta took the painting from her sister and smiled. During the entire walk to the house, she looked over every square inch of the painting, analyzing it for any problems or critiques. She thought of her sister's words,

He’ll love it because it's yours

Nesta smiled to herself. No, he’ll love it because it's yours.

—-------------------

Cassian got home from training in the Illyrian mountains and expected to find his mate curled up in the library or in their bed with a book. He looked forward to it, knowing how she would be too engrossed in the book to hear him come in so he could surprise her with a kiss on the head as she sat in her favorite chair in the library, or he could watch her beautifully pinched face as her eyes raced across the pages she read in bed. Instead, he found her on a ladder he was quite certain the House had conjured up as he had never seen such a tall one before, trying to hang a picture on their wall. He stood in the doorway stunned, watching his mate balance on one foot on the top step of the ladder, reaching for a hook in the wall.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

Her head whipped around, and his heart lurched as the action almost caused her to lose balance. She caught herself and smiled sheepishly,

“Hanging my painting,” she almost whispered.

Cassian felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline. “Your painting?”

If it were possible, Nesta got even more embarrassed, a red flush creeping up her neck, “

“I went to Feyre’s class and made it,” she said, and he walked over to look at it. “She said it was good,” Nesta added as he looked it over.

It was good. It depicted a lovely sunset in Velaris, which happened to be his favorite time of day in his city. The sun's rays reflected beautifully off the water in swaths of pinks and purples and yellow, and the water sparkled. It brought him joy to think that that was how his mate viewed the city he loved so much, knowing how much time it took her to like it. He smiled brightly,

“It’s beautiful.”

Nesta beamed, and he wished to bottle up that look and save it for whenever he was having a bad day. He helped her off the ladder, still worried she would fall off, and hung the painting on her side next to the bed so they could both see it when they woke up.

“I’m taking more lessons with Feyre,” she said. “She wants to mold me into becoming her teaching assistant, I think.”

Cassian laughed, “I’m glad. It’s no surprise you found something else you’re good at, sweetheart.”

Cassian was happy that Nesta and Feyre were getting along. He knew the two had had a rocky relationship, and his heart warmed at the thought of them finally bonding. Plus, if Nesta was happy, he was happy. Still, as she smiled and swept from the room, something dark in his chest began to bloom. Citing that as a General, he was always expecting something bad to come around the corner. He ignored the feeling and followed his mate out to where he knew the House had made them dinner.

—-----------------

Nesta had been to all of Feyre’s classes in the last two weeks, plus a few sessions with just the two of them. Feyre had been overjoyed at her progress and had been beaming about it to the family. Nesta felt pride flare in her chest every time her sister mentioned their sessions together, and that pride burned even brighter when she would show Cassian, and he would compliment her work. Her plan was working. A few pieces Nesta had done even hung on Feyre’s gallery walls. Still, Nesta could not bear to look at them for more than a few moments, knowing that every time she painted them, she felt hollow inside. Feyre’s paintings exuded whatever feelings she tried to capture, so much so that Nesta could feel her heart constrict with sadness or joy when she looked at them. When she looked at her paintings, especially the ones of people, their soulless eyes seemed to burn into her, and she could hear faint voices calling her a fraud or a coward. Their emotionless eyes reminded her so much of how Cassian looked at her as Rhysand scolded her for giving the Mask away. She ignored those feelings and plastered a smile on her face, anything to keep her sister happy.

“A little more red, perhaps,” Feyre suggested over her shoulder. Nesta obliged, adding a dash of red to her mix before brushing it over the pink sky she was creating. “Perfect!” Feyre gasped, clapping her hands together.

Nesta only smiled and continued on her way, covering the white canvas with a layer of dusky pink to create a sky at sunrise. Nesta barely registered the jingling over the door opening until a flash of golden light caught her eye; Morrigan stood in the doorway. The second-in-command smiled politely at her before walking over to Feyre,

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Feyre looked over at the clock. “Yes! Sorry, we got a little distracted,” she said, rushing to wash the paint off her hands and face.

Mor stepped over to look at what Nesta was doing, and Nesta tried not to let her nerves show.

“Where is that?” the Second asked.

Nesta tilted her head at her painting. It was only half-finished, with a big chunk of the sky missing, half-done trees, and grass that looked like a big green blob. She shrugged,

“I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Mmmm, it’s better than anything I could do.”

Feyre snickered, “Your painting skills are about as good as your cooking skills,” she told Morrigan and then silently mouthed, “Horrible.”

Morrigan gave her sister a vulgar gesture.

“Are you going to stay here, Nesta?” Feyre asked.

“I think so,” she said.

“Do you want to join us?”

Nesta looked up between her sister and Morrigan; the latter looked uncomfortable but was trying her very best to hide it.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Nesta said, reading the room.

“Nonsense!’ Feyre exclaimed, all but dragging her up. “We’re going shopping, and it’s about high time you get something other than your five dresses and leathers.”

Morrigan snorted, “Cassian’s rubbing off on you.”

Nesta tried to calm her nerves with a laugh, “Not exactly a fashion icon.”

That earned her an actual laugh from the Inner Circle’s Second in Command, “He’d like you to think that. But he got really into it whenever I would take him shopping over the years. He doesn’t care about it for himself, but he can appreciate the art form.”

A new idea bloomed in Nesta’s mind, “Yeah….you know I was actually looking for new places to shop. I’ve been a little…nervous since all my old clothes were from the Human Lands when my mom used to dress Elain and me.”

Morrigan looked intrigued at her casual enough tone. “We’re going to some of my favorite stores,” she smiled, “I could help if you wanted?”

Nesta smiled, “Well, if you’re as good at shopping as you are at dance lessons, then yes.”

Morrigan laughed, “Sweetie, I am so much better at shopping.”

—----------------

“That is soooooo your color,” Morrigan said, shoving Nesta in front of a mirror.

They had been at this for hours, and Nesta felt more like a mannequin than a person. Her legs hurt and her back and sides itched from the assortment of materials she was shoved in, her arms had scratches from the buttons and pins seamstresses had used, and she was a tad bit lightheaded from the amount of perfume that wafted around the air in all the stores they had been to. At first, Nesta stayed back while Morrigan and Feyre shopped around, only browsing the racks quietly. Once her sister and Morrigan realized Nesta was willing to try on anything they wanted, their fun began. Feyre and Morrigan flapped and fluttered around every store they had been to, snatching things off of racks and shelves, opening box after box, and even having the store clerks check in the back in case a certain piece came in a different color. They had wanted Nesta to be bolder and move away from her more conservative (as they put it) dresses and gowns. Their goal had also been to get her in colors other than just greys and blues, and Nesta did not know which one scared her more. Still, she pushed through it all, knowing that even if she was uncomfortable, she would not look bad, just…different. And maybe different was what was needed after everything that had happened.

They already had a few dozen bags strewn around on the floor from the previous shops they visited, almost all of them for her. Nesta had tried to get them to stop, saying that Rhysand would not like all these purchases going on his tab. Morrigan had just laughed, saying she had been doing this for decades, while Feyre rolled her eyes and said that since he was not a female, he had no say. Nesta stayed quiet, smiling gratefully at them while swallowing the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her.

“Red is such a good color on you!” Feyre squealed.

Nesta wore a crimson sweater with tall black leather boots and black pants. Morrigan had pulled her hair down from its bun, pining only half of it up.

“With some eyeliner and lipstick,” and then made a kissing face, “Perfection!”

Nesta smiled back at the blonde in the mirror before she and Feyre ran off to pick out some more clothes. She had to admit that she did not look bad in any way, but she did not look like herself. Good, she thought, that was the whole point of her whole plan. After everything that had gone down in the last few months, she realized she needed to change. She had thought that becoming a warrior would have been good enough, but she should never have been so stupid to truly believe that was all it took to change how her mate and her family saw her. At night, she would lay in bed while Cassian slept or stayed over at the River House, still too mad at her actions. Or she would pretend to be okay with her mate and family not inviting her to events or get-togethers because, after all, she never used to go anyway. But for a while, she was invited and praised and talked to like she was someone other than Feyre’s selfish older sister they were all burdened with. But then she had given that stupid Mask to Bryce. She would not change what she did; Bryce’s whole world had been saved by the Mask, but it was a steep price to pay for that. So she realized she had to reinvent herself again, and this time, there would be nothing left of the girl she once was.

New clothes were only the first step in this whole process. She hoped the clothes would hide the closed-off, prim, and proper girl she used to be, or at least, the new garments would be distracting enough for people not to notice how uncomfortable she still was in large social settings. Makeup would be the next project. She wanted to lather enough on so it would hide how cunning and cruel she had been told her eyes were, lipstick to make her look happier even when she was not, and blush to make her brighter even though she had always been called a cold kind of person. Then her hair would have to be changed as well, but that was a later-date kind of problem. Maybe people would stop comparing her so much to Feyre if they simply…looked different. Besides, she did not want anyone to catch on to her plans or ask her any questions.

Morrigan and Feyre ushed back over to her holding a box of makeup she had no idea where they had gotten. She did not ask and smiled as they pulled her into a chair and began their work, smearing colors over her eyelids and powdering her face with substances that made her want to sneeze. After what seemed like hours, they wheeled her around to look at herself in the mirror. She was completely unrecognizable. With the light pinks and gold powders coloring her face, no one would ever guess it was her.

“It’s…perfect,” she breathed.

Morrigan and Feyre squealed with joy, clapping their hands together. “It really brings out the blue in your eyes,” Feyre said, leaning closer as Mor nodded.

“Thank you, Feyre, Morrigan,” she said, still taking in her reflection.

“Please, it’s Mor,” the blonde said with a bright smile. Nesta memorized the way Mor’s eyes crinkled at the sides and how her cheeks plumped up in the perfect way they always did. She memorized how Feyre’s eyes sparkled in the light and how she tilted her head back as she laughed a joyous sound, knowing what her next steps would be.

—----------------

3 weeks later

—----------------

Cassian had seen very little of his mate in the last few weeks. She seemed to always be off with her sisters or Mor and would come back with new paintings, food, dishe,s or bags of clothes. It was odd, and that sinking feeling in his stomach continued to fester, but he brushed it off once again. He chalked it up to feeling odd because Nesta had never gotten well acquainted with his city or his family, and this was just…new. She looked happy, smiling at all her new garments or how proud she looked when one of Elain’s dishes she had been taught to cook came out perfectly. Still, it surprised him every night when he came down to eat and saw Nesta in the kitchen. He had asked if she needed help on more than one occasion, to which she always said no and that she could handle it. To be fair, she always did, and the meals came out perfectly. He did miss talking with her at the table, for it seemed she spent more time prepping the table and the meal than she did sitting down to enjoy it. Things had been tense between them after the whole Mask fiasco, but they had started to get back to normal before this. Cassian shoved that thought aside, Maybe this was their new normal? He had suggested that the House could help with the lights flickering like it agreed, but Nesta had only laughed it off, saying she wanted to try a bunch of new recipes Elain gave her.

He had been more surprised the first morning when he walked into their bathroom and saw the bathroom counters cluttered with makeup palettes and brushes and bottles of Mother knows what. If he did not know any better, he would have thought he had stepped into Mor’s bathroom and not his and his mate’s. Nesta was leaned over the sink in complete concentration while brushing coal over the eye. Cassian watched as she worked, and before him, his mate was transformed into someone he barely recognized.

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asked, looking at the clock to make sure it was nine in the morning and not nine at night.

Nesta smiled, “Mor and Feyre want to take me shoe shopping.”

Cassian’s brain stuttered and paused; Mor. He realized he had never heard Nesta call Mor by her nickname since he had met her, the same as how she always called Rhys, Rhysand. He never said anything and honestly, did not find it that weird since she had never been close to either of them. Once again, he ignored the rolling in his gut and chest and smiled and tried to be grateful that his mate was getting along with his best friend.

“That’s….great!” he said.

As she brushed on the last of the sparkling brown eyeshadow over her lids, he could not help but wish she would wipe it all off. Nesta would always be beautiful to him. She was more beautiful than any Fae female he had ever seen when she was only a human, and as a Fae, she was utterly devastating. Nothing about the makeup changed that, but it had changed…her. Her eyes looked more blue than silver, and he found himself staring at her reflection to try and find those grey slivers. She looked less sharp and more doll-like, reminding him more of Elain than Feyre, which had never been the case. She quickly shoved everything into a bag before rushing to put on her new outfit, which, if it were possible, surprised him more. Nesta chose to wear muted colors that complimented her skin and eyes while not drawing any more attention to herself than necessary. This outfit, however, had the opposite effect. She wore light white linen trousers and a white top. The sweater she threw over it, however, was light blue, almost pastel, with stripes of pastel yellow. Then there was the golden necklace with charms dangling from it and inladen in them were stones of every color of the rainbow. He blinked rapidly before looking again to make sure he was seeing everything correctly. She smiled at him,

“What do you think?”

“It’s…bright!” he said, “You look so…bright like the sun.”

She seemed to like that compliment, for she hopped over and kissed him before rushing out the door. He caught a whiff of her scent: vanilla, the pages of an old book, chamomile, and smoke, and he breathed out. At least that part of her had not changed. If it had, he would have wondered if that was truly his mate.

—---------------

“Mother, I wish I looked that good in heels,” Mor said from her place on the chaise lounge.

Nesta stood in front of a mirror in the strikingly high and sparkly heels she was in. Mor and Feyre had gone on a rant about how unfair it was that Nesta’s feet did not ache after wearing heels for a long amount of time. She had told the two of them that it was just from practice, but she did not mention how her mother and grandmother had forced her to dance and walk in them until her feet bled. Even when she fell from pure pain, her grandmother’s cane would come down hard on her back, stomach, or shins, forcing her back up.

Beauty is pain, my dear. And a woman should never show that pain.

“We’ll take all of them,” Feyre said cheerfully to the owner. The owner beamed and rushed around to help box everything up before ringing them up.

“Why the long face?” Mor asked, noticing Nesta’s gaze.

Now was the perfect opportunity. “Oh, nothing. I just...” and she started brushing her hands through her hair, “I feel like my hair doesn’t match my clothes.”

“Ahhhh,” Mor said, “I get that. I’ve dyed my hair every color under the sun in the last 500 years.”

Nesta turned. “Do you have a good place to go to?”

Mor lit up. “Mhm, she’s actually right down the street. Usually, you need an appointment weeks in advance, but…for me, she’ll make an exception!”

They hurriedly checked out and rushed down the street. Within a few minutes of Mor stepping into the store and sweet-talking the owner, Nesta was in a chair with a cloth cape wrapped around herself.

“So,” Hana the stylist asked, “What are we going for today?”

“Ummmm, I think lighter?” Nesta asked, looking back to Mor for support.

The blonde smiled, “Yes! Maybe some highlights or even just a full-dye job would be amazing.” The blonde’s eye caught another female in a different chair, and she excused herself before rushing over to greet her.

Hana smiled but tilted her head. “Are you sure? You have such a beautiful natural color.”

Nesta was silent for a second, and Feyre came up to her side. “It’s true. Your hair has always been gorgeous.”

Nesta smiled, but Feyre continued.

“I remember when we were kids, I always wanted to do your hair. Finally, one day, you let me and taught me all the different kinds of braids and hairstyles. I practiced every day for weeks.”

That was a fond memory for Nesta, or it was, but it was also the exact reason she wanted to change. She did not want to be reminded of her one kind moment with her sister, and she did not want to have everyone tell her they were alike because they were not. Feyre was full of hope and beauty and strength and courage. Nesta was nothing like her. She took her sister's hands,

“It’s a beautiful color on you, sister. With your bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. I think on me it makes me…dull. Besides, the dye comes out eventually,” she said, her resolve solidifying.

Feyre looked like she had more to say, and Nesta could see the hint of worry in her sister's gaze. The pinching of skin between her brows and the slight purse of her mouth was like she was biting her tongue. But finally, Feyre smiled,

“If that’s what you want. You’ll look stunning either way.”

Hana also smiled. “Alright then.”

—----------------

Azriel sat in the living room, going over reports. He had been in Illyria for far too long, but with rumors of a rebellion, it meant he and Cassian had to spend more time there. In truth, a lot of times, he would stay on the outskirts or with his mom and send his spies to do a lot of the work. He just hated being around those people, specifically the males who reminded him so much of his father. Cassian liked it better than he did and wanted to do more for the people. Azriel did, too, but his hatred for the males got in the way of an actionable thing he could do to help them.

He rubbed his eyes, the words on the reports swimming in on the page. Every lead he had gotten turned out to be fruitless. Every few decades, there were always talks over rebellion in Illyri, and never in their lives had it come to anything. Still, with Rhys being a new dad, he wanted to make sure there were absolutely no threats. Azriel could understand where he was coming from, he just wished that hunting down every possible piece of intel did not mean being in Ilyria more than he was not.

He heard steps coming up from the lower deck where Nesta and the Priestesses trained and looked up. At first, he thought a stranger had somehow broken their wards and walked into their house. He stood up, ready to confront whoever this was, until his shadows skittered up to whisper,

Lady Death looks very different.

Azriel tried not to gawk as Nesta strode into the House. She wore a very colorful sweater, he nails were painted light pink, and her hair was…almost blonde. It was not so blonde like Mor’s hair, but it was a far cry from Feyre’s golden brown that the two sisters shared. She strode in with an assortment of colorful bags in hand, wearing what he observed to be new high-heeled brown boots.

“Nesta,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual and light, “New…”

New hair, new clothes, new everything?! He wanted to ask.

“...New look?”

Nesta smiled brightly. To probably anyone else, she looked happy and excited, but he knew her better than that. He had truly seen her smile when she and he were playing chess, and she won, as well as the joyous smile and laugh she made when she was with her Valkyries or alone with Cassian. This smile…it was fake, he was sure of it, and it was enough to solidify the feeling that something was wrong.

“Do you like it?” she asked, dropping her bags and spinning around.

Azriel did not know what to say. Nesta was a very attractive female in general, with her looks and how she held herself. She did not look bad in any way, but she did not look like herself, which was what was holding him back. When people look like they are hiding themselves away or covering up something, it always looks off to him. Maybe that was because he had a knack for uncovering the truth about someone or because, with Nesta in particular, he could read her, so he knew something was wrong, he did not know which.

“You look good,” he said and then forced a small smile. “It’s a big change.”

She smiled that wide grin again, and he suppressed the shudder that went through his body. “Thanks! I thought everything about me had been remade, why not this?”

Azriel kept his polite smile on his face as she went upstairs.

Cassian is in for a shock, he thought to himself.

—--------------------

Cassian walked into the kitchen later that night, tired from having to kick some of the new Illyrian soldiers into shape. Somehow, every year when new recruits showed up, they always shocked him with how large their egos were. He knew people whispered about him,

Enalius Reborn. Lord of Bloodshed. Prince of Bastards.

He laughed the nicknames off, but silently, he relished in them, if only because he knew it meant these soldiers would listen to them. They did not have to like him; in fact, most of them did not. But they feared him and were in awe of them. He tried not to let it get to his head, but on more than one occasion, his family had said that he should since maybe then he would stop thinking of himself as the bastard born nobody he still felt like. At the end of the day, he just loved the fight. He loved how his blood sang with the song of battle and how his mind cleared when it was just him and his opponent in the ring or on the battlefield. That did not mean that he liked dealing with a bunch of arrogant assholes who wanted to prove they were the alpha male time and time again. Many people thought females were the most cliquey with how they gossiped and looked down on others for not wearing the right makeup or shoes. He laughed at them and told them to spend an hour with a bunch of hyped-up male soldiers who wanted to prove they were the best by pummeling others into the ground, then they would see what cattiness really looked like. In his 500 years, he had learned to ignore most of the comments, and he was more than capable of proving himself in the ring, but it still tired him to the bone.

That was why he was looking forward to a little downtime with his mate. He had been trying to make up for his coldness the last few weeks, and he was slowly but surely succeeding. There had been nights where he all but ignored Nesta, too angry to even look at her, and turned to face the wall in his sleep. Everything had worked out in the end, and so he started trying to mend the distance that had formed between them. To her credit, it had been easier than he had thought. At first, he thought she was spending more time with Feyre and Mor to avoid him, but seeing how excited she was after every shopping trip, lunch or dinner date, cooking lessons with Elain, or painting class with Feyre, he started to feel a little better.

He heard the clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen and knew Nesta was cooking up another recipe Elain had given her. It was an odd sight that he still had not gotten used to, seeing Nesta humming to herself in the kitchen, floating around as she whisked mixtures in a bowl or chopped up vegetables. Sometimes, he could tell that, in a way, she was dancing as she worked. She would twirl as she moved to the next counter or sway as she stirred; it was a lovely sight to watch. He rounded the corner,

“Hey, Feyre- sorry, Mor-”

He froze and did a double take. He had to rub his eyes to make sure he was not hallucinating. When she had first looked up at him, he noticed the blue eyes and thought it had been Feyre who helped come up to cook. Then she had turned, and the blonde waves had him thinking it was Mor. It was, in fact, neither of those females. Nesta smiled at him, but he could not move a muscle and only stared back at her.

“What? Are you surprised?” she asked.

Cassian’s thoughts finally caught up with him, and he cleared his throat, “Wel, l uh…yes, very um, surprised,” still taking everything about her new look in.

She giggled, “Do you like it?”

Cassian looked at her wide-eyed and hopeful smile and swallowed back any critiques he had. “You look beautiful,” he said honestly. “I just…think I’m still in shock.”

She laughed, “Yeah, I keep catching myself in the mirror and get surprised but…I like it.”

He nodded along. As much as he wanted to, he could not tell her his true feelings about her new look. Yes, it was true she was beautiful because it was Nesta, but he did not like her new hair…at all. He thought he had told her before, but he always adored her hair and how the golden brown waves cascaded down her back like a waterfall. His favorite part of the day was when they went to sleep, and she took out her braided crown or other hairstyle to let her hair cascade down in waves down her back. Not only did she color her hair, but it seemed like she had cut it to make it more layered, and each layer was loosely curled and bounced around as she moved. If it were any lighter, it would have been a dead ringer for Mor’s hair or any blonde female he saw when they all went out to Rita’s.

“Was this Mor’s idea?” he hedged.

Nesta shrugged, spooning out meat and vegetables onto plates. “It was mine, but she helped pick out the colors and what style. She knows more about hair than I do. Feyre said I shouldn’t go too blonde, but next time I think I might-”

“No!” he all but screamed.

Nesta looked at him and raised a brow.

He swallowed, “I-I mean no, I really like…this look now. Also, I’ve heard that dye can damage your hair.”

If it were possible, Nesta raised her brow even higher up. “You care about hair dye?”

He got a hold of his face and smirked, “Well, when you have luxurious hair like mine, you do some research, sweetie.”

Nesta tipped her head back and laughed loudly, and though the sound usually warmed Cassian to the bone, this one felt hollow in a way he could not explain. Thankfully, Azriel rounded the corner, drawing Cassian’s attention. His brother eyed Cassian with a knowing look, to which he responded by aggressively shrugging and mouthing,

“I had no clue!”

Azriel still eyed him but walked past him to get a plate. “This looks lovely, thank you,” and he kissed his mate on the cheek.

Nesta beamed and handed Azriel his plate before doing the same for Cassian. When he got close to her, he breathed in, trying to retain the scent to settle him. It was at that moment that his eyes widened, and he hurriedly pulled away.

“Is that…uh…new perfume?” he asked.

Nesta smiled and nodded, “Yeah! Amren, Mor, and Feyre helped me pick it out.”

Cassian could still smell Nesta’s vanilla scent, but there was only a hint of chamomile, and the smell of the smoke and books was all but gone. He felt a little dizzy, and he had no idea if it was because of the lack of Nesta within everything or the perfume.

“It’s a mix of honey, lilac, and cinnamon,” she said, handing him a plate. He numbly took it and walked to the table to join Azriel, trying to stifle his need to sneeze with the hazy sensation he was feeling. They all settled around the table to eat, and he let Azriel and Nesta talk as he tried to come to terms with all the changes he had just been bombarded with. He knew he was staring, but he could not help it; it was like someone had taken over Nesta’s body and was using it as a doll for dress-up. He made a mental note to have a word with Mor at a later time.

—-----------------

Dessert was a chocolate and vanilla cake with pudding in the middle with fresh strawberries from Elain’s garden decorating the top and mixed into the pudding. It was amazing, and Cassian was already on his second serving. Azriel shook his head,

“How do you eat so much?”

Cassian gave him the finger. “Acting like you aren’t just as bad sometimes,” he grumbled through a mouthful of cake, taking notice that Nesta herself had not gotten her a piece, nor had she eaten much dinner.

Nesta chuckled, “My mother always said the key to a marriage was through a man's stomach,” she said more to herself than anyone.

Cassian ignored the chill that came over him at her words. He knew that when Nesta thought of her mother, it was usually not in a pleasant way. There was something about the way she said it, like she was reflecting on good motherly advice, that scared him the most. That and the fact that it reminded him a lot of what he heard the females say in the camps he grew up in. Even after the males beat them and clipped their wings, they said that as long as the males were provided a good meal, they would never be that angry. The dessert turned to ash in his mouth, and he pushed his plate away. He could tell by the look on Azriel’s face that he felt a similar way. Still, neither of them wanted to say anything for fear of making Nesa upset, so they shut their mouths, and Cassian prayed that when she saw her friends later in the week, they would change her mind.

—------------------

Gwyn and Emerie had been staring at her the whole training session. Their eyes had practically popped out of their heads when they first saw her; Nesta knew it was a shock, but people would get used to it. Gwyn had been busy with Merill’s work while Emerie had been getting ready for a big festival in Illyria, so they had not seen her in some time. She had tied her hair up in a ponytail instead of her usual braid or coronet and loved the way it flounced and bounced as she walked. Cassian had been looking at her more and more too, which she loved. If she had known this was all it took to grab his attention, she would have done it months ago.

“Okay,” Cassian announced to the Valkyries and Priestesses, “Today we’ll be doing some sword training.”

Nesta bit her lip. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather practice hand-to-hand combat.”

Cassian and Azriel looked at one another and then nodded. The Valkyries went off to spar with Cassian while she and Azriel took to the mat. She could hear the sounds of swords clashing, but they seemed far away to her. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Nesta had had a little conversation with Rhysand recently that she had been thinking about,

Nesta sat in the living room, sipping on a cup of tea as she stared out at the Sidra. Rhys came around the corner, holding Ny,x who lay fast asleep in his father’s arms.

“Nesta,” he said, “I didn’t expect you here. New….hair?”

She nodded, ignoring his curious eyes. “I walked Feyre back from her studio and just needed a break. My arm hurts from holding the brush up in the way she taught me.”

Rhysand chuckled, settling down onto the couch in front of her, “Yes, my mate is very particular when it comes to those things, though, she tells me you’re her new protege.”

Nesta tried not to let her pride show. “She’s a great teacher. She tried to teach me before, and I was horrid, but if anyone could do it, she can.”

He nodded in agreement. Nesta took this lull as the moment to ask her question, which was the real reason she came over,

“I was wondering,” she said before taking a sip, acting nonchalant, “Do you remember Cassian’s Valkyrie lover?”

Rhysand’s eyes shot up to hers, and he raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged and made a noncommittal hum, “Just curious. He brought it up a while ago when I mentioned Gwyn writing about the Valkyries.”

Rhysand slowly nodded, “Well, as you could expect, their bond was forged through their mutual love of battle. They were two of the best warriors I’d ever seen, and they complemented each other on the field beautifully. They just…understood each other. They would share war stories and admire each other’s scars like they were symbols of love and courage. They knew the ups and downs of battle and how it felt to lose people; they understood how each other came alive with a sword in their hand. ”

“I heard she died,” she said softly.

Rhysad sighed and nodded. “She went into battle and never returned. Cassian was heartbroken.”

Nesta nodded, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice, “So…they’d still be together if she hadn’t died?”

The trance of past memories for Rhysand seemed to break, and his eyes refocused on her. “That’s not what I’m saying…”

She shrugged it off, hearing the hint of skepticism and maybe even pity in his voice, “It’s no big deal. I mean, I get it; I wasn’t even born then. I’m just saying it sounds like they were perfect for each other.”

Rhysand eyed her, but she looked away, pretending to be too entranced by the sparkling water outside. “Cassian loves you.”

She snorted. “To your dismay, I’m sure.”

Rhysand sighed, “We may not be best friends, but I can see how much you love him and how much he loves you. I would never want to get in between that.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m just asking if you think he would still be with her if she were alive.”

“No, you’re his mate.”

“So he’d leave her only because he’s my mate.”

Rhysand breathed in deeply. “What exactly are you looking for, Nesta?” and his lack of irritation and sympathetic tone caught her off guard. If she thought anyone could give it to her straight besides Amren, it would be him.

“Just curious,” she said, sipping her tea again.

There was silence between them, with only the faint tick of the clock on the mantel and soft gasps from Nyx as he slept.

“Look, I don’t want you to think that he doesn’t-”

She stood up. “I should get going. I have to make dinner.”

Before he could stop her, she had excused herself and hurried out the door. The whole walk home, she had devised a list of more things she needed to add to herself. Her mind was catching on to what Rhysand had said about scars, and she could not stop thinking about how they had explored each other’s bodies and marveled at it. Her chest also cleaved thinking about how Cassian might only have been with her because his true love had died or because he felt beholden to their bond. She found herself standing outside the entrance to the stairs to the House of Wind, but she could not bring herself to move. Her eyes wandered farther away, and she looked at the poorer part of the city when an idea came to her.

—----------------

“Ah!” she exclaimed.

Nesta had been so lost in her thoughts that she had been going through the motions without putting any focus behind it. She did not see Azriel’s well-timed punch soaring at her face until it was too late.

“Az!” Cassian barked from where he stood with the priestesses.

Azriel raised his hands in defense and moved to help her up. She took his hand, grunting and rubbing at the side of her jaw he hit. Cassian was with her a second later, eyeing the red spot,

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Nesta nodded and tried to shrug them off. “I’m fine; I’ve taken worse.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Nesta scoffed and smiled, refusing to show any hint of the pain she was in. “I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

Cassian eyed her like he wanted to say more but, thankfully, acquiesced and walked away. She got back into her stance. To make them take her seriously, she threw Azriel a dagger while she flipped one of her own in her hands. They sparred for 10 more minutes, and in that time, Nesta got herself 2 more bruises and four cuts.

“We should call it a day,” Azriel said.

‘What? Why?” she asked, trying to keep her voice down.

“You’re head's not in it; you’re not focused. You easily should have blocked that punch.”

“I’m fine, Az. I just got a little distracted is all.”

Azriel stepped closer to her and lowered his voice, “What’s wrong?”

She sighed exasperatedly. “Nothing! I just said I’m fine!”

He shook his head, “No, I mean with all,” and then gestured to her up and down, “this. In a month, I’ve seen you smile and go out and change more than you have since you’ve gotten here.”

She scoffed, “Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t this what everyone wanted?!”

“No! We wanted you to make friends and go out and explore if you wanted on your own terms; we didn’t-I didn’t want you to change yourself!”

“Well, that’s too bad because it’s here to stay!” she said and walked away back into the House.

Azriel only watched her go, and Cassian made a move to follow her before Emerie put her hand out,

“Let us,” she said, and she and Gwyn hurried off after their friend.

“What was that about, Az?” Cassian asked.

Azriel turned to him. “You may be okay with Nesta changing everything about herself, but I’m not, and I don’t think they will be either. Either you don’t care, or you’re blind, but something is wrong. She’s not doing this because she just wants a new haircut or style; she’s doing this for some other reason that feels wrong, and we can’t let her.”

“Are you saying that I don’t know when my mate is upset? You think I’m okay with this because I’m not,” Cassian growled.

Azriel ignored his tone. “Well then, you need to say something and fix this because if she continues like this, I fear that there won’t be anything to get back.”

Chapter Text

“Nesta, wait!” Gwyn called.

Nesta slowed down on her way to her room so her friends could catch up to her. Gwyn grabbed her left arm while Emerie grabbed her right one, looping theirs through so they formed a chain. Her friends’ scent was comforting, and she breathed it in to calm herself down.

“Why don’t we go down to the Library?” Emerie asked, though, it was more a statement than a suggestion.

They led her down the steps and into Gwyn’s cozy room that smelled of books, incense, and sunlight. They sat her down on the bed and looked at her like they knew everything that was going on in her head. She could pretend in front of Cassian, her sisters, and the rest of her family, sure, but not her Valkyries. Maybe it was because she had never needed to pretend to be anyone else in front of them, or it was just the fact that her two friends seemed to know her better than anyone else.

“What’s going on with you?” Gwyn asked, her voice straining with love and care.

“Nothing!” Nesta insisted, giving them a smile, “I don’t know why everyone thinks something is wrong-”

“Because this,” Emerie said, waving her hand up and down Nesta’s form, “Is sudden! And it just doesn’t seem like you.”

Nesta sighed, reigning in her temper and frustration and plastering a larger smile on her face.

“Look, I know everyone thinks this is sudden, but I would say it’s actually long overdue.”

“But you don’t need to change-”

Nesta cut Gwyn off, “Maybe I wanted to? What’s so wrong with that? I’ve changed in quite literally every other way, being made Fae, so why not my looks to match? I don’t get what the big deal is about?!”

Nesta stormed off, leaving her friends at the bottom of the staircase. She felt bad for snapping at them, but she did not get why everyone could not just leave well enough alone. It made no sense to her; everyone wanted her to be different, which is why the whole intervention happened, and now that she had changed, they were all upset. It only strengthened her resolve as she thought about it; she bet that they all did not think this change would last. But she would show them. This new version of her was here to stay.

She flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She needed a way to let everyone know that she was committed to this change. Over and over, she went through her catalog of things Feyre, Elain, and Mor did, trying to discover a new way to emulate them. She thought about Cassian’s ex-lover, too, and ignored the painful twinge in her chest. After only an hour, she had a new plan. Firstly, she needed to change her look even more. The bed creaked from how fast she pushed herself, and she ripped open Cassian’s desk drawers to rummage through them. She knew there had to be a picture of her in there somewhere; even just one. After ten minutes and three paper cuts later, she finally found it. Tanwayn and Cassian. It was more of a sketch than a full-fledged drawing, but it provided enough detail. The artist captured the scars on both warriors’ arms and faces with smudged lines. Nesta rubbed her chest to try to make the ache fade as she looked at the two of them.

Finally, she tore herself away and slammed the armoire open to reveal the full-body mirror. She sucked in her stomach and pressed down with her hands, moving to face sideways so she could check her measurements. No one but her grandmother and mother had ever said she needed to lose weight; if anything, it was always the opposite, since she was starved in the cabin and then starved herself after the war. But since she had taken on training, she realized that her dresses had become tight around her midsection, which made her frown. Yes, a lot of it was muscle, but it made her bulky around her arms and shoulders. She made a mental note to ask Mor how she kept such a slim figure whilst working out, and then made another note to start tracking what she consumed. The drawing shook in her hands as she looked back down. Scars. She needed to find a way to show Cassian she could handle pain; that she welcomed it. That was what had started their relationship anyway, him helping her push through pain and experience it.

Before she could fully process her plans, she picked up a knife from the desk and rolled her sleeves up. She pressed the blade deep into her skin, making sure to get below the first few layers of skin and fat. If the cut was not deep enough, it would not scar. When she was satisfied, she moved on to another part, then another, then her legs, then her abdomen, making each one a different size and shape. She made sure that each cut went almost as deep as muscle, guaranteeing a scar would be left behind. Quickly after, so no one would smell the blood, she pressed bandages to her wounds and wrapped them as best she could. Staring at herself in the mirror, she was happy with her work. But still, she needed one thing that ended everyone’s question about this new version of herself. She looked around her room for anything that sparked an idea when her gaze landed on her end table, or more specifically, the small vial she kept on her end table.

—-----------------

Cassian’s knee bounced a mile a minute as he sat at the dining room table with Azriel. He had not seen his mate since training that morning and had been trying to concoct a way he could get his point across without everything blowing up again. He knew his brother could sense his tension, for he remained silent, his shadows swirling around his body in silent agitation. Finally, he heard the soft patter of footsteps, which was a stark contrast to his heart thundering in his ear. The smell of roses, honey, and lilac wafted down and was so overpowering, he coughed a few times. Nesta came to stop behind her usual chair, and before he could say a word, she spoke.

“There’s also something I want to discuss with you,” Nesta said to him.

Cassian nodded. He had been ready for this conversation. He hoped she brought everything up, it would make it easier. He prayed it was about her change of style since that would be the easiest topic and could lead to her change of hair and perfume. It would be too much to come out of the gate and tell her he desperately wanted her to go back to her natural hair color and scent, since that would be criticizing things about her and not just the way she chose to style herself. His resolve strengthened as he looked at the bright red sweater and leather pants his mate had changed into. He took a large sip of his wine to steady his nerves.

“We should have a baby.”

Cassian spat out his drink all over the table. Azriel, to his credit, merely choked on his own, his shadows scurrying over his body as he was racked with chokes and coughs. In any other situation, Cassian would have made fun of his brother, the ever stoic shadowsinger, trying not to spew wine over his supper. This, however, was no time for jokes.

“What?” was all he could say, not bothering to worry about the disgusting mess he had just made.

Nesta took it all in stride. “Well, Azriel brought it up recently, and I thought, why not now? It could take a while, so might as well start trying. I will throw out my tonics and we can start right away.”

Out of all the possible things he thought would come out of his mate’s mouth, that was not even on the list. He was struggling because while he was extremely confused, part of him was overjoyed. This was what he had always wanted, to start a family with the female he was in love with. He wished he could shove that knot of unease in his stomach down, but it only grew. Sweat appeared on his forehead and neck, and he felt lightheaded. It did not help that he was also trying to keep all the points he had prepared to talk with her about clear in his head, but he could feel it all slipping away.

“Nesta…are…are you sure? I mean, shouldn’t we discuss this more?” he asked, his voice a higher pitch than usual.

Her brows furrowed together, and she frowned. “Do you not want to have a baby with me?”

“No!” he practically screamed. “I mean, yes, yes, I want us to have kids, but I’m not sure now is the right time,” he hedged.

Nesta’s frown deepened. “And when will be the right time, Cassian? A year? A decade? A century?”

“It’s not that-” he tried, but he could see he was losing her. “I just think there may be some problems we should work out first?”

Her face wiped of all emotion, and surprisingly, he was elated. She donned her cold, cunning expression that always made him tingle (when it wasn’t directed at him, even when it was sometimes directed at him). All her fake smiles and laughs seemed to smack him in the face, and he felt like kicking himself now that he realized how fake they really were.

“Problems? What problems? Like how Azriel thinks I’m unwell? Or how Rhysand still hates me?”

“No-”

“If you have problems, sort them out yourselves. I’m fine. Mor and Feyre will attest to that.”

“Since when do you want Mor and Feyre speaking for you?” Azriel asked.

“Since you all decided they could do it in the first place and that you would listen.”

—------------------

It had been a little over a week since Nesta dropped that news on him that she wanted to have a baby. Since then, she seemed to be avoiding him as best she could. He hated it. He hated how he went to bed alone and woke up alone, how he ate his meals alone (sometimes Azriel joined, but it was not the same), and did everything alone. Whenever he tried to get her to sit down with him or go shopping or go out together, she was busy. It was either hanging out with Emerie and Gwyn or, more likely, with Feyre, Elain, and/or Mor. He also noticed that whenever she ate, she seemed to jot something down in a little notebook she now kept with her, and she was simultaneously more brutal in training, yet toned down. She sparred with vigor, slashing and stabbing like she had been born with a sword in her hand. Still, it seemed like every session she came away with some new injury. Some of it he could chalk up to being accidental or just good skills from her opponent. Other times, however, he caught her freezing up or pausing for just one second too much until the sword came slashing down. On the other hand, she refused to lift heavy weights and was intent on doing as much cardio as possible. A few times, Mor had come up and shown Nesta a workout routine. Cassian also noticed that every time the pair was together, Azriel seemed particularly tuned in.

After the first few days, Cassian had made it his mission to try and spend some time with his mate. He tried to help her cook and tried to make conversation, but she shushed him, citing her need to concentrate on the right heat or when to whisk versus mix. Whenever she cited plans with Mor or Feyr, he asked if he could tag along. He saw Nesta physically stop herself from losing it, and every time, he hoped that the anger would win. It never did and always ended up with a scarily wide smile on her face that looked like it caused real pain. He attended painting classes and watched Nesta paint some beautiful scenes with absolutely zero emotion. He went out to eat and watched Nesta move her food around on her plate for an hour and a half before leaving. He even suffered through endless shopping sprees where he gently tried to nudge Mor and his mate into clothes that were more suited to the Nesta he knew, though he was always out-voted.

If that was not tedious, then half the conversations were. It seemed as if they talked about the same variation of things over and over again, somehow finding new spins on it or new ways to get excited or mad. He tried to interject every so often, asking Nesta if she was reading or mentioning something Nesta used to do. His stomach sank when she informed him that she had not read in a while since she was too busy learning new recipes, painting, and working out. He never realized how much he enjoyed sitting with Nesta as she read while he went over reports. Even though they were in almost complete silence, they were with each other. He would never be so bold as to assume he always knew what his mate was thinking, but he liked to think that he had been able to read her more than just about anyone. He knew when she was in pain and was hiding it, when she needed to be alone, or when she needed someone to goad her out of the pain that often threatened to drown her. But recently, it felt like she was someone else entirely. He hated it.

Where was the girl who dared to call the High Lord of Autumn by his first name? Where was the girl who stood up for them at the High Lords meeting or to the Mortal Queens? Where was the girl who always had a fiery retort that made his blood sing? He wanted to shake her until she came out so he could tell himself that she was not all gone. He had been gathering the courage to do just that for over a week now. He was done playing nice and trying not to upset the peace she had made with the rest of his family.

He had scarfed down his dinner so he could run up to their room before Nesta went to sleep (she had been asleep before he came in and up before he was for the last few weeks) and opened the door. To his surprise, Nesta was not already wrapped up in the sheets but sitting cross-legged on the bed. From where he was standing, he could just make out the black lacy bra peeking out against the neckline of the deep red silk robe she wore. He gulped. They had not been intimate in a while, and though there had been moments, it physically pained him; his worrying had not made the thought clear in his mind until now. Lit candles flickered in the dark room, setting a warm ambiance. She smiled slyly and slowly stood up, accentuating her curves but also highlighting how thin her cheeks were and how prominent her collarbones were. Her hands slowly felt down her body, and all worries disappeared. His pants suddenly became much too tight and restricting, but he mustered all the strength he had honed over the years and pushed that thought away.

“Nes, what are you doing?” he asked carefully.

With deft fingers, she slowly began to untie the bow that held that robe up and he felt himself suck in a breath. “Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Long overdue, wouldn’t you agree?”

The only answer was yes. Fuck yes it was overdue. He missed the smell of her skin and how they melted against each other, trying to become one. He missed the squeals and moans she made as he rocked against her, and how he never stopped trying to pull her closer as their bodies moved. The robe slipped off her with a quiet whoosh that could also have been the sound of his breath leaving his lungs.

“We need to talk,” he croaked out, trying to maintain what little composure he had left.

She strutted over to him in long, languid movements. “We can talk later,” she hushed, reaching up to trace his cheekbone and jawline with her delicate, painted red fingernail.

He breathed in her scent, and underneath all the dizzying floral scents, he could just make out the scent of chamomile and old books. His Nesta. He groaned as her other hand traced down his stomach and to his waistband, pulling him closer.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, looking up at him through thickly coated lashes, her eyes ringed by gold and pink that made them look more blue than silver. Still, when her hand pressed on his aching member, his composure broke. He surged for her mouth, and she let him. She let his hands grip her waist, pulling her towards him like she was his life raft in a stormy sea, and she let her hands rake through his hair and down his solid arms. He groaned in her mouth lightly when she let out a sigh, swiftly gripping her bottom and hauling her up. Nesta did not miss a beat and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting him lead them to the bed. His hands molded her flesh like a potter, savoring the softness and how she felt. She expertly removed his tunic and belt, throwing them off to the side as fast as she could.

He felt like he was on fire as their bare skin touched; it ignited something within him that only she could bring out. With one hand, he removed her bra and buried his face in her chest. She moaned as his mouth trailed down her collarbone to breasts, throwing her head back as nipped and sucked at the plump skin. He was like a man undone, and she was his undoing. Cassian wanted to take it slow, savor every second. But it had been so long he could not stop himself from hurrying to taste every inch of her body. Her sucked in her tightened peaks, pulling her closer to him like he could make them become one. Her hips ground up against his, causing his head to spin. Distantly, he noted how bony her hips were and how thin her legs felt around his waist. Still, he ignored all that because fuck he needed his pants off now. First, he needed to taste her at her core. So despite how his cock screamed at him to let it out, he ignored it, wanting to pleasure his mate until she was a screaming, writhing mess.

He did not stop his attention on her breasts, but moved his hands away to trail down her gorgeous, smooth body. That was when he paused his movements. His fingers traced hard, sometimes jagged lines up and down her abdomen. Let his fingers wander over every millimeter of them, and suddenly, he had forgotten all about the heat in his pants, and the haze he was in lifted in seconds. He knew about a few of Nesta’s scars, had been there when she got most of them. He had spent countless nights (and mornings and afternoons) exploring every part of her body, he was sure he could draw her by hand perfectly. But all of these that he now felt, he was as sure that the sun would rise tomorrow as he knew he had not felt them before. If there were only a few new ones, he could have brushed them off as training injuries he had seen her get. But some wounds were too big, too jagged, or too oddly placed.

“What are these?” he asked, genuine confusion lacing his tone.

Nesta pushed herself up and shrugged. “Training accident.” She lifted his chin with her hand and leaned in to kiss him. He let her, and kissed her back, his hand still not leaving the marks on her stomach. As their kiss deepened, he let his hand wander and was startled to find more on her legs and arms. He pulled away, too caught up in his discovery to let his lust take him away.

“How? These look like someone stabbed you, and this one looks like someone had to carve their way through.”

Nesta did not say anything, only began to pull the covers up over herself. She did not say anything, which only set Cassian’s nerves alight. “Did someone do this to you?” he asked, gripping her arm lightly. “If someone hurt you, you need to tell me,” he urged.

Nesta scoffed, “No one hurt me. It’s fine, it’s nothing.” She leaned down, trying to find her robe, but Cassian was not letting this go.

“You didn’t get this on accident, Nes,” he said, voice rising to match his panic. “Tell me what happened.”

“I thought you’d be happy!” she snapped.

Cassian’s body reared back unintentionally, all his whirling thoughts coming to a halt.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice cracking at the end.

“This is what you wanted? Right?! I thought you’d be pleased! I’m exactly like all the females you really love,” she ranted, waving her arms about.

Cassian did not know it was possible to feel more pain than when his wings got shredded, but he was experiencing that tenfold. Nesta still had her smile plastered on her face, but it was breaking. Her eyebrows were pinched together like she was stopping herself from crying, and her smile looked more like the face one would make before they sobbed.

“Nesta-”

“No, don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Don’t try to pretend you’re that upset with all this!” she said, her voice unwavering. That was the worst part. That he could tell she believed every word she said. “You love Mor, who wouldn’t?! With her bouncy golden hair and radiant smile, as you say. You love Feyre and how gentle and kind she is. You love Tanwayn and the strength she exuded, and I’m just…”

“Hold on?” he said, putting his hand up like he could physically pause time, “Tanwayn?”

Cassian had barely thought about her in ages. The thoughts came in small waves, like when he was reminiscing on his long (arguably longer than it should have been) life. It was true, he missed he terribly when she never returned, but the pain had faded over time until now, he only felt a dull sense of happiness at the time they had spent together. He was grateful to her and would always care for her in a way. But never had he wished for her after finding Nesta. Every female he had ever met could not hold a spark to the flame Nesta was in his life. The flame he sought out like a moth.

“I don’t-” he stuttered, “I don’t understand.”

Nesta laughed bitterly, “Please, don’t try and convince me you don’t love them. Don’t try to convince me you hate that I’m not more like them–that you're not disappointed that your mate isn’t like them. Don’t pretend that you haven’t wished I were more like them since the moment we met.”

A heart-wrenching sound came out of him as she spoke. She was still smiling that crazed smile, and suddenly, all the pieces fit. Nesta had always been good at masking her emotions, masking who she really was. As a child, she hid behind a mask of propriety to please her mother and grandmother. Smiling through the pain as her feet were beaten until they were bloody. Preening through all the disgusting attention she got from men who wanted her for nothing more than the babies she could give them. Then she masked all her hurt through anger. Never letting anyone see how much she was really struggling. It all led to this, where she donned the look she believes Cassian lusted after. She cloaked her wants and beliefs with the pretty words she thought everyone would want to hear. She covered her body in scars to masquerade as what she thought he truly wanted. Cassian wanted to scream. How blind had he been that he had not seen what she was doing? Watching her stand in front of him, like a warrior ready to fight until the end about whether he really loved her, her being on the side that he did not? Nothing, no amount of training, loss, wars, or pain could have prepared him for this.

“I love you, Nesta.”

“Do not lie to me.”

Tears began to fall down his tanned cheeks. “I have never loved anyone like I have loved you!” The look on her face told him she did not believe a word out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m so, so sorry I made you think otherwise. That I wanted-”

Cassian could not even finish the sentence. That his own mate thought he wanted his sisters?? Self-appointed or not, the thought made him ill.

“I am not stupid, Cassian. Oh, how could I ever think you could love your beautiful, blonde, sexy friend who you slept with once?! And I’m the crazy one here?! Or how could you love the female where the only reason you’re not with her is because she died?!”

“Who said that?” he gasped. She crossed her arms and looked away. Cassian pondered. With how well she and Mor were doing, it was unlikely to be her. Feyre and Elain barely know about her, so they were out. Amren simply did not care enough to remember any of his past relationships. Azriel would never say something like that to Nesta, so it only left…

“Rhys. He said that?!” he asked, unbelieving.

“In a way. The message was clear enough. Besides, it wasn’t hard to believe.”

“Nesta, I need you to understand. Yes, at the time, I probably did love her. And yes, I was riddled with grief when she died. But even if she came back tomorrow, it would not change how I feel about you?”

“And how is that, exactly?” she asked, turning back to him.

“The fact that you need to ask…” he trailed off, running his hands through his hair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces, and all he could do was try and give the fractured pieces to her. “You are my flame when I’m lost in the dark. You are my sword when I want to give up. You’re my comfort and my passion and everything in between. You are the smartest woman and female I’ve ever met. I see the mask you wear to protect yourself, but I also see how kind and loving you are. You love so hard it makes you hurt. I never wanted you to change.”

“Didn’t you?” she asked so casually it made him fall to his knees. “That’s what all this was for. Training, sticking me up here.”

“Better, Nes. I wanted you to get better.”

“But I will never be better. You all said it yourselves. I should be thrown in Hewn City. Everyone hates me.”

“I didn’t mean that, Nesta! Please, believe me!” he cried.

She rolled her shoulders back. Regaining the facade of a Queen without her throne. Her face was wiped blank of all the hurt she was in as her usual mask slipped into place.

“You cannot love something that you believe is unlovable, Cassian.”

He was transported to a cold night that now seemed ages ago. He had been so mad, so upset, that he had not even thought about what he said. It had all just come out, because the truth of the matter, the truth that cracked him wide open, was that he had wanted to hurt her in that moment. Just as she had hurt him. But he had never thought she would have remembered that all this time. He stood up and slowly, like she was a scared animal, he approached her. His heart beat faster with every step he took, praying that she would not turn away from him. He wanted to reach for her, Mother damned him he wanted to hold her. But he knew that would be too much. So he clenched his fists at his side and spoke,

“You are not unlovable. And I am…more sorry than you ever will know that I made you think that,” his voice wobbled. “But I have never had an easier time falling in love with someone than with you, because I had never experienced it with you. And I fell the moment I met you.”

“You hated me when you met me-”

“I was angry. I think I was more angry that I didn’t hate you than at you.”

Nesta did not say anything else, which he took as a sign to continue. “But I won’t lie, you are not an easy person to love.” Before she could say anything or get upset, he hurriedly moved on, “Because you make it hard. You make it so damn difficult. You push people away with mean words and ignore them. But I never stopped. I even tried to convince myself that I wanted to stop, but it was a lie. I told you that I can handle anything you throw at me, and I will. I will walk beside you or even behind you every day, even if you want nothing to do with me, because I love you. So no, you’re not easy to love, because there’s nothing easy about you. I want to earn your love.”

“You already have it, Cassian,” she whispered, “Even if I don’t have yours-”

“You have had my entire being since the moment you dismissed me in the human lands. I will show you. I will make you believe it.” He continued when she opened her mouth because he knew what she was going to say, “It’s not out of obligation, Nes. I want to. I want to because I can’t have you doing this to yourself. And I need to because I don’t think I will ever recover if I don’t. This,” he motioned between them, “this is real. But what you’re doing isn’t.”

Nesta looked down, and by the laboured movement of her shoulders, he could tell she was trying not to cry. “I don’t know if I can stop.”

Finally, he did reach for her hand and squeezed, “I’ll help. I’m beside you every step of the way.”

—------------------

Taking off a mask one has been wearing for so long is not natural. It’s like asking a snake to shed its skin before it’s ready; they physically can’t. And ripping it off will only hurt the person you’re trying to help. But sometimes, when snakes are shedding, it’s second skin won’t come off and can actually kill them. So, they need a little assistance.

That is what Cassian was to Nesta: her assistance, her cane to lean on when everything became too hard, the person in her corner no matter what. It was a slow process for both of them. All the small things she had been doing, Cassian needed to learn them so he could help her stop. Nesta had to learn to be okay with the help and, most importantly, actually want to stop. First, Cassian made sure she was eating enough. He stepped up, cooking for both of them, sometimes even for Azriel. He knew Nesta felt guilty, and he knew she would not stop thinking he was only helping her out of obligation rather than want overnight. But he was determined to do everything he could to reassure her. He made it a game, and Azriel was more than happy to join. It was not a well-known fact ever since Elain began making all the food, but he and Azriel were not bad chefs. Azriel could prep vegetables like an expert (all the training with a knife, he would say), whereas Cassian could always eyeball spices and know exactly how much to put in. So, every night, he and Azriel had cooking competitions, and Nesta was their judge. Cassian would not lie and say he did not have ulterior motives since all the dishes he cooked were Illyrian, and it warmed his heart seeing his mate learn more about his culture, but also enjoy it.

Then came the workouts. He spoke with Mor and Feyre in private. He did not discuss the particulars with them, keeping Nesta’s business her own, but made it clear things needed to change. Surprisingly, they were both very okay with everything. Feyre, of course, just wanted ot help her sister, but all of this seemed to be eye-opening for Mor, that Nesta would go to such extremes just to please him and his family. It made her realize that Nesta is not just the cold hearted bitch she first saw. Mor simply nodded and told him to let her know if she could do anything to help. Cassian eased up on the training, but when she did, he made sure she was not overexterting herself or only doing cardio to lose weight. He was happy to see her spending more time with Gwyn and Emerie as well, since he knew those two could help his mate the most.

Feyre and Elain came up to the House one night to go through her wardrobe. It took Nesta a few attempts to throw anything out since she was scared of offending anyone, but with her sisters’ help three three-fourths of their closet was now empty. Mor tagged along when they went shopping, and this time he was assured they would consider Nesta’s opinion. He almost cried when she came out wearing a blue dress the next day. The blisters on her feet healed from the six-inch heels, and she no longer smeared gold sparkles on her eyelids or lined them with coal every morning. Nesta caught him looking at her more times than he could count, always asking him, “What?” or “How can I read with you staring at me like that?”

He always retorted with, “If you’re book was any good, you wouldn’t notice me staring.” Or “Get used to it.”

Even though the real reason was that he had missed her face so much. He had missed those piercing steel eyes and soft pink lips. He had missed the way she bit her lip when she read and the way she always smelled like tea and books with a hint of fire. That was one thing he did not consult anyone on: her perfume. Those bottles had been thrown out so fast that it made him laugh when he remembered how he ran to toss them.

He spoke to Rhys about Tanwayn, and Rhys showed him the conversation in his mind. He did not blame his brother for what Nesta said; it was clear she had already thought those things and was just looking for confirmation whether that was his brother's intent or not. Like Mor, Rhys seemed slightly perturbed but also eased, knowing how much Nesta did to make their family like her. Rhys promised he would be on his best behavior and then told him not to fuck this relationship up since no other female would ever do this shit for him. He may have also mentioned Feyre had rained fire upon him, and Nyx got upset hearing his favorite Aunt was not doing well and had not been by recently.

Every night, as they lay together, sometimes when she was fast asleep, Cassian checked over her body, making sure no new cuts or scars had appeared. A few times they had, and he had held her extra tight those nights. Casually, when they were alone, he would ask her about it. Sometimes she answered, sometimes she did not. But slowly, one day without new injuries became a week, which became a month, and then two months, and then three. And hopefully would continue on forever. Sex did not happen right away. Cassian did not need to have her think he only loved her for her body. Besides, he needed to make sure she was okay before anything, and he could tell she did not want to be that vulnerable with him. Over time, it happened more, and he made sure to worship her like she was a Goddess and he the last priest alive. But they would both admit their relationship had changed a lot, and sex was no longer the one thing bringing them together.

Her blonde hair was the last thing to be shed. It took a little over a year and three different haircuts until Nesta’s hair was the same, golden brown color he would remember when he had forgotten his own name. In a year, things had changed. They had gone on three trips outside of the Night Court when one night she off-handedly mentioned wanting to see the world. First was Day, then Dawn, and last Summer, so she could smell the ocean. That took a lot of teamwork, but with the help of Rhysand offering money and jewels galore, Feyre offering to host them in Velaris, Amren convincing Varian, and Elain baking them treats, Cassian’s ban was lifted for a week and one week only. Sure, he was under not-so-subtle surveillance the entire time they were there, but it was worth it when he saw Nesta awestruck as she stood on the docks, or smiling like she did not have a care in the world as she swam in the crystal blue waters.

Pretending like they were two people without any anger or harsh words would just be another mask they could wear, but they were past that. They still had their little spats and arguments as any couple does, but even their insults were laced with love. Cassian had realized that Nesta liked to go to bed after any argument to ignore the situation or wallow in her own feelings. He had not realized how much she did it, but his heart broke thinking about all the times she lay in bed alone devising a plan to change herself for him. So, he made a rule: they would not go to sleep angry at each other. This did mean sometimes they did not go to bed at all or only when the sun came up, but it worked. Besides, Azriel did not mind since he was a bit nocturnal himself.

And then on a night that had been like any other. A billion stars twinkled in the sky, the Sidra ran beside their city, they lay in bed with their bodies pressed up against each other, and Cassian murmured, “I love you.” As he had so many times before, after his mate no longer looked pained by the words and she would say, “I love you too,” in that soft way she did like she was scared someone would hear and take it all away from her. But this night was not like any other. Because even though the same Fae walked the cobblestone streets outside, and the moon shone a pale silver light through their windows, Nesta whispered only two words this time, two words that made Cassian the happiest male who had ever existed. She said,

“I know.”