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“Are you going to just stand there all night?”
Nesta was different. That was what Feyre had told him.
She was sharp, she bit back, she was all around unpleasant. And in truth, on their first meeting, and the immediate ones that followed, she was.
“Hello, Nesta,” Cassian replied, leaning against the entry to the sitting room, his arms crossed. “Still awake, I see. Feeling lonely in the late hour?”
Assessing her here, in dim lamp light of the evening, watching the way she stood so primly, book in her hands, he tried to make sense of her. Of how someone could be so unbending and frigid.
“Only kept awake by the incessant flapping I could hear outside of my windows. I have not sent word of the queens’ response yet, so I must ask why you are here.”
Why was he here, indeed. Feyre had asked, of course, for someone to keep an eye on her sisters. And though Azriel had several spies on the task, he felt better knowing someone in their circle was taking care of it.
But after last time – after he’d cornered her against that mantle like a kind of beast and paid the price for it… well. He couldn’t stay away. He’d been haunted by what she’d unintentionally revealed ever since.
“Perhaps I owe you an apology.”
Nesta blinked, staring at him. “An apology.”
“For the way I acted, last time. It was not very… gentlemanly.”
She scoffed a little, shaking her head. “I hardly expect mortal men to be gentlemanly, why would I expect it of a hulking fae male?”
It stung a little, to be equated with the brutes who had no respect for females – or women. But he supposed he had invaded her space without permission. Had teased her about things that were private. He was five hundred years old; he could not act like a petty teenager.
“I am sorry all the same, Nesta.” He said, a bit more sincerely. “I should not have cornered you like that.”
She straightened, her nostrils flaring a bit. “Is this because you think differently of me now, after—”
“No,” Cassian interrupted, the memory of that wound flashing across her face not something he would forget anytime soon. “No, of course not. It holds no bearing.”
Nesta pursed her lips, assessing him. After a long moment, she replied, “well. I suppose everyone learns manners at some point.”
It was his turn to scoff, but he did not bite back right away. Instead, he took her in properly for the first time since she let him in. She was dressed in dark blue this time, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, clearly from the armchair she was now standing by. The armchair had a cup of tea beside it, on the side table.
She’d been settled in for the night, winding down before going up to bed, before he interrupted.
“Where are the servants?” He asked, realizing how silent the house was.
“Asleep. They have homes off to the side of the estate. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“And why are you not asleep?”
“I believe I already answered that question.”
He wondered if she truly could hear him – if she could see through all their fae magic ruses.
“You have still not answered why you are actually here.”
“You don’t believe it was to give you an apology?”
Nesta snorted, dropping her book and the blanket onto the chair and crossing her arms, as if readying for battle.
“We both know you would not come all the way here for that.”
Cassian fought the urge to sigh, hating that she was, technically, not wrong.
“Feyre wants us to keep an eye on the house. To make sure everything is safe.”
“I didn’t think she cared so much.”
“Well, for reasons I cannot understand, she does. I plan to stay in the area a few days, monitor anything strange. Hopefully the queens will reply by then.”
The jab did not visibly land on Nesta’s face, though he did see her spine straighten. It was maddening how little effect words had on her, how hard it was to get her to crack.
“And where do you expect to sleep? In a tree? Or a cave, I suppose, like bats do.”
“I can make do in the stable,” Cassian said. “Or the roof. Though I do not intend to sleep much.”
Nesta sighed again, as if exasperated. So, he tried,
“Why don’t you go to bed and let me worry about it.”
That got a reaction from her immediately, her nostrils flaring.
“Why don’t you stop acting like you are in a position to give me orders in my own home.”
It was always this way. She’d snap and bite and kick just when he thought they were getting somewhere.
Crossing his own arms, he countered,
“You won’t be saying that when Hybern knocks down this door. Shall I leave you to them?”
Call it penance for all the cruelties Feyre described. Or an attempt at salvaging his pride. Either way, he could not help but meet her on this verbal battlefield.
“I would not put it past the fae to leave a human to such a fate.”
Her words had been enough to rile him, enough that he fought the urge to turn on his heel and leave. Before he could though, Nesta surprised him.
“There are spare servants’ quarters in the attic. No one uses them and no one will notice your presence there. It’s not very warm but will keep you from puttering around on the roof all night.”
Cassian blinked, watching as she deemed the conversation over, and instead strode up the stairs, leaving her book behind. He wondered if he should call after her, to fetch it. Instead, though, he waited until he heard the door to her room shut before he followed, keeping his wings tucked tight so as not to knock any of the paintings off the walls.
He was just about to enter the servant’s stairwell to the third level, when a different door opened, and Elain Archeron peaked her head at him.
“She’s not all bad, you know,” the middle Archeron sister whispered, as if she’d heard everything. “She just works a little differently than we do.”
Cassian turned, taking a step towards her, if only so that he would not risk getting Nesta’s attention by replying.
“What makes you believe I think she’s all bad?” He asked, though made no real effort to deny it.
“Most do. Feyre in particular, I think, has never really understood how Nesta works. They have always been oil and water. So, I imagine she has made you all feel the same.”
Cassian hummed, intrigued despite himself. “And you do understand?”
Elain shrugged. “I try. I’m not sure anyone has actively asked her. It wasn’t exactly the setting, in the cabin, and before, well…”
She didn’t elaborate, something in her tone suggesting it wasn’t for him to ask. Still, his curiosity was piqued. Now that he thought about it, Nesta was not quite as sharp with Elain as she was with everyone else. Feyre had said it was because she was her favorite, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was something else.
If Elain had cracked whatever code was needed to understand these differences she spoke of. And, despite the way she infuriated him to know end, he wanted to crack that code too.
“What do you recommend, then?”
The woman grinned, as if she had been waiting for someone to ask.
“Nesta does not like it when things change outside of her control or her knowing. She does not like it when people are not direct with their words or their actions. She has things she does in a particular way and gets agitated when that is disrupted. She is good at hiding it, but I think that agitation often plays into her demeanor. I think this is very hard for her, in ways that go beyond the obvious.”
Elain went to close her door, clearly not interested in prolonged debate.
“All that to say, don’t villainize her so easily. She takes a while to warm up to new people, is all, and she often tries to match whatever energy they bring. If you are hostile, she will be too.”
It did not feel so simple. And yet, he was left with nothing as the door shut, and he was once again alone in the hall.
As the night drew on, her words came back to him, again and again. From the moment he met Nesta, he had been drawn like a moth to a flame. He did not quite know why, and yet, he did not want to stay away.
Staring up at the ceiling from where he rested on a pitifully too small bed for his wings, Cassian contemplated it. Contemplated her.
If he truly approached her differently, would she respond in kind? It felt hard to imagine, considering how she acted around everyone else.
Perhaps, in an effort to ease the mind-numbing anxiety of awaiting a war, he would take up his own private mission.
Perhaps, before it was over, he would make sense of the enigma that was Nesta Archeron.
The thought took root in his head, drawing a tiny smile to his lips. Just then he heard the familiar sound of her gate on the floor below, the creak of the stairs, as she likely returned downstairs for her forgotten book.
Tomorrow, then, he decided.
Tomorrow, he would see just how different Nesta could be if he approached her as Elain suggested.
---
Nesta noted the change in Cassian the first moment she saw him.
Walking back a bad impression was not necessarily something she considered herself to be good at, and she and him had clashed the moment they set eyes on each other. He liked to tease, but she was not naïve enough to think this male believed them to be on positive terms. And yet…
“Good morning,” he said the next day, watching as she descended the stairs in slow, practiced steps.
Nesta regarded him with a raised brow, surprised at the openness on his face. The lack of… hostility. It was not what she was expecting.
“Still here, I see. I hear Elain dismissed the servants for the day.”
She had no idea why, other than that her sister had been eavesdropping last night.
Cassian nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Still here, sweetheart. She did.”
She felt her face twitch at the pet name as she passed him into the kitchen, too surprised by the simple kindness to engage him, not before her morning tea. She did not have time to sit down to eat breakfast, but instead emerged with a hot cup, a crucial step in a morning routine she was just now feeling comfortable with.
“I have work to do,” she said simply, moving towards her father’s study. “I assume you are able to entertain yourself. Or whatever it is you are supposed to be doing.”
“If I must,” Cassian sighed with a smile, and her eyes narrowed at him – at his pleasantness. Still, she gave no additional answer and disappeared before he could decide how to further press for conversation. She was certainly not up for it.
Instead, Nesta ruminated on it for the next several hours, trying to piece together his behavior. It made the work she actually need to get done drag on, and she did not emerge until well past lunch, still reading correspondence as she sat at the dining table, absently taking small bites of leftover stew.
With their father gone, all the responsibilities rested on her shoulders, and she was determined to do everything correctly. So much so that when Cassian came in from what she assumed was his latest round of surveilling she did not acknowledge him, too focused on her task. Besides, she’d wasted enough time on his confusing antics already.
As his chair scraped the floor, her shoulders hunched up, just a little, her fingers tightening on the parchment. An unfortunate reaction she had not been quick enough to suppress. It was enough that he asked,
“What’s the matter?”
Nesta blinked, face perfectly neutral as she debated how to reply. Ultimately, she settled on honesty. “I was waiting for you to start a conversation.”
Tilting his head, Cassian smiled gratefully as Elain placed a bowl down for him, before she took her place across from him.
“Do you want me to start a conversation?”
She could not help her frown.
“I am reading.” Obviously.
His smile grew, a little.
“So, you are. Keep reading, Nes, I can be quiet every now and again.”
She eyed him more intensely then, more confused now than ever. Still, he did remain quiet when she eased back into a more comfortable position, refocusing on her work. In her periphery, she saw Elain lift her head towards their guest and decided not to dwell on what may have transpired between them, enjoying the quiet while she could.
In the evening, she found herself back where they started the night before – in the entry way of the sitting room. Nesta had just opened the novel she’d selected for the night, a different book than the one she’d had before, when Cassian leaned against the entry way to assess her.
“I circled the town a few times,” he said, when she looked at him expectantly. “I didn’t see anything of concern, though I wouldn’t put it past Hybern to have operatives everywhere.”
Nesta nodded, pleased he was sharing the information with her instead of taking it straight to Feyre. “Do you truly believe they would come for this house instead of the queens directly?”
“I believe if the King knows your relation to Feyre, it is possible.”
He did not add a tease as he might have before. Not even a ‘scared, sweetheart?’ Instead, he watched her accept the information, process it. How utterly bizarre. And annoying.
“Will you stay here, then?”
“I cannot,” Cassian replied. “I need to prepare our forces. But Azriel has contacts nearby who are keeping an eye on things. If they believe you are in danger, I will know.”
“And you will come like a gallant hero to save the helpless women?” She asked wryly, an attempt at their usual swordplay.
“I will certainly try,” he replied, not taking the bait. “One of us will, at least. Though, I like to think I’m best at it.”
Nesta’s lips curved just a little downward. He was, it seemed, not in the mood for their games. Perhaps he had tired of her already and would hold her at arm’s length as everyone else did. That was fine. Safer, even.
So, she continued, almost to herself,
“Perhaps I should send the servants away permanently, for their own safety. If I run the numbers correctly, we should be able to front their wages for the next few weeks…”
“There is no telling when things may begin to unfold,” Cassian offered. “It could be tomorrow; it could be in a month.”
“I will do the calculations first thing, then.”
“Would you and your sister be alright here without them?”
Nesta looked up at him, raising a brow. “I suppose you do think us that helpless.”
“No,” Cassian replied, even if she knew perfectly well that the answer was, at least a little, yes. “It would just be a change for an unknown amount of time. This is a large house to upkeep and would need proper provisioning. But I trust you can keep things in order just fine.”
She blinked at him long enough that she must appear struck dumb by tonight’s choice of tactic. Which, for all intents and purposes, she was. So, she regretfully admitted,
“I do not understand what you are doing.”
“What do you mean?” Cassian asked, straightening.
“You are being… kind. This is not how we have engaged in the past.”
“Would you prefer I not be? We can certainly argue again, if you want.”
Her frown deepened. “I merely do not understand why you have changed so abruptly. It is unnatural.”
She knew, watching him contemplate how to respond, that he could see right through her. That he’d identified a crucial piece of information she kept so carefully hidden. It was dangerous. Unacceptable. And yet, likely too late to backtrack. She wondered if Elain had spoken to him.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “If we’re going to be in each other’s company, I think we should start over.”
“Start over.”
“Yes. From now on I will not purposely try and rile you. Unless, of course, a special circumstance arises.”
“What special circumstance?”
He laughed a little, and she fought the urge to get defensive.
“Something in jest,” he said. “Meant kindly.”
Nesta tilted her head, contemplating. “Are you capable of such a thing? Not riling me up?”
His smile grew, apparently correctly registering her tease for what it was – meant in jest.
“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
She realized over the course of this conversation, to her surprise, that her shoulders had lowered a little, her body relaxing in a way it hadn’t, before. She wondered if it was the knowledge that he was not here to argue.
Nesta opened her book, thumbing through the first pages, if only to avoid holding his gaze while she processed this realization.
“I suppose we will,” she said, unsure of what else to say. “Though I remain unconvinced.”
She saw his grin, wide and bright, but did not comment on it. Nevertheless, it remained on his face all the same as he took his leave of her, stepping into the cool night air to begin another watch.
It did not ease her confusion in the slightest.
---
It was a disaster, afterwards.
His wings shredded, his brother on death’s door, Elain and Nesta irrevocably changed. Nothing about that night at Hybern went according to plan, and the consequences were still being felt by each and every one of them.
Elain was perhaps the most heartbreaking to witness, though.
The kind woman he’d met who seemed to exude a kind of gentle warmth was gone – replaced instead with a shell that stared unseeing out into the distance for hours and hours and hours.
Madja did not have a solution, and neither did Rhys.
There was only Nesta and her permanent vigil at her sister’s side, her own ailments kept firmly secret from the rest of them.
He was grateful, at least a little, for the few weeks he’d been granted in her company before all this. It gave him just enough insight to know that despite appearances, she, too, was in the midst of a deep suffering.
‘Is there a reason you are so practiced at hiding the emotions on your face?’ He’d asked one night, watching as she finished a letter to one of her father’s associates.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve just never met someone with the skill so refined.’
Nesta had set her pen down, looking up at him slowly. It was late, far past the time they should both be asleep. And yet, it perhaps allowed for more honesty than usual.
‘If I didn’t, I would be an endless storm, wreaking havoc on everyone around me. At least, that’s what my mother always said.’
Their conversations had been almost pleasant in the instances he’d appeared in the Archeron household. He gave her his observations, explained his thoughts, and she would return in kind. Every once in a while, a jab would slip in – he was, of course, not perfect – but she would not eviscerate him for it.
He’d found that providing her with more information than less made her calmer, that helping her maintain control over her household was more beneficial than merely demanding answers from the queens. That she often took his words literally, which often fueled her perpetual irritation, when she interpreted incorrectly.
‘How badly would you eviscerate me if I brought my own food next time?’ He’d asked, when he could no longer stomach the taste of bland stew, to his shame.
‘And with what weapon would I eviscerate you with?’ It had made him laugh – her choice of question – and it was only because of her furrowed brows at his mirth that he’d answered,
‘Your eyes, probably.’
When the queens had finally responded, he felt better equipped to see her than ever, and was surprised to learn just how different his perspective became as he watched her interact with them. With the rest of his family.
It was combative, sharp and logical. It was all defense mechanisms, meticulous efforts to match whatever energy was being exuded by the others. It made more sense to him now, why she did it.
Everything was out of her control, mixed up and out of order.
Now, after the Cauldron, that was true more than ever, which only meant one thing for him.
Trudging out of bed against Madja’s orders, bandaged to high heaven, his wings immobile. Every step hurt as he made his way to where he could hear her muttering, if he focused. She had been for the last several minutes, prompting this mission.
He found her over Elain’s bedside, straightening out her sister’s hair.
“You have to eat something,” she was saying, under her breath. “If you don’t, they will take you away somewhere and force you. Do you understand? I can’t protect you here the way I am supposed to.”
It made his chest tighten uncomfortably at the insinuation.
“I would never allow that,” he rasped, gripping the door so tightly the wood threatened to crack. “I promise, Nesta.”
Nesta’s eyes shot up, and he was immediately met with the differences. The depth of them was ten-fold from when she was mortal. Her entire aura had shifted to something more. More powerful. More volatile.
He knew, at once, it must be the definition of her worst nightmare.
“What are you doing?” She asked, straightening.
“I wanted to check on you,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “I’m sorry I haven’t”
“No, what are you doing out of bed,” she replied, walking over to him and reaching out for his arm. “I distinctly heard your healer’s orders that you were not supposed to until at least the day after tomorrow.”
She tugged, gently, and then he was moving, blinking in confusion as she set him in a chair, careful of his wings. She seemed to vibrate with energy – as if she didn’t quite know what to do with it – and hovered between him and her sister as if at any moment one of them would disappear.
“I was worried about you,” he answered. “No one would tell me anything.”
Nesta’s answer was brutally honest.
“Because I do not tell them anything. I do not trust them.”
Cassian nodded, despite the way the words chafed. “That’s fair enough, I guess.”
She stood between him and Elain, her arms crossed. She looked so tired, yet so wound up. A taut wire ready to snap.
“You are in pain.”
“Yes, but so are you.”
Grimacing, she turned back to the bed, adjusting the blankets around Elain’s shoulders.
“They think something is wrong with me. Your High Lord and the rest.”
Cassian had heard as much in the whispered debates between Mor and Rhys at his bedside. That Nesta had come out different, that there was an evilness to her now. He did not for a moment believe it.
“I heard. Do you think something is wrong with you?”
“Of course there is,” Nesta snapped, turning to face the windows, as if she could not bear to face either him or Elain a moment longer. “Everything is wrong. This body is wrong, this place is wrong, my mind is…”
Cassian pushed himself up with a grunt, approaching her. Reaching out, he brushed her shoulder with his hand, only to be met with a sharp gasp and a violent flinch, her entire body moving a full five inches away from him. Her eyes were a turbulent sea as she stared at him in warning.
“Sorry,” he said, holding his hand up in a harmless gesture. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” she began. “Don’t touch me. I don’t like…”
“Touch. I get it.”
He tried not to take offense at the notion, tried to remind himself that it could very well be another ‘difference’ as her sisters called it (though he increasingly disliked the word). Though, it seemed rational enough, after everything.
Nesta shook her head, then corrected, her hand rubbing anxiously between her collarbones. “Unexpected touch.”
“You’ve had a lot of that recently,” he said. “It would be understandable if you were averse to all of it, for a while.”
Slowly, her body relaxed from the defensive stance he had caused. Without taking her eyes from him, she murmured, “I am averse to most things at the moment.”
He nodded, trying to consider what might be available for her. Something she could anchor herself with, now that Elain was no longer herself.
“Have you been to the library up the hall?” He asked. “There are hundreds of books there, all for your perusal.”
Nesta frowned. “No,” she said. “No one has told me anything.”
Idiots, he thought of his family, only a little bitterly. He had to remind himself that Azriel was still unconscious, that Feyre was missing and all this other shit was going on. But still, someone could have said.
“It’s just two doors up,” he offered. “You’re welcome to it.”
“I can’t leave Elain.” Still, he saw the moment her interest piqued.
“I will sit with her,” he said. “If you’d like to go look, I’ll stay.”
It didn’t matter that it was some unknown hour in the middle of the night. It was the first thing Nesta had been receptive to since he’d laid eyes on her. Her eyes darted uncertainly towards the door.
“Is anyone…?”
“Awake? No. You won’t be bothered.”
Her lips pursed, clearly torn. He was delighted she was even considering it, in her state.
“Go on,” he urged, working his way back to the seat she’d procured for him. “I’ll be here.”
“You should be asleep.”
“So should you, but we both don’t seem to like obeying certain kinds of orders very much.”
She huffed a little, arms coming down to wrap around herself gently.
“…Fine,” she relented, after a moment. “Only a few minutes. If she needs anything—”
“I will call you,” he promised.
Her nose scrunched a little. “Stop interrupting me.”
He fought a smile at how endearing he found the movement – a small light in all this darkness. “Duly noted, sweetheart.”
She cast one long look at her sister, as if convincing herself one final time she really could step away for a moment. Then, as if gathering her resolve, she left the room, and he listened to the soft step of her feet as she followed his instructions.
In the end, he was content to sit there not for a few minutes, but a half hour, as she perused. And when she came back with no less than seven novels to keep her occupied, he felt strangely fulfilled.
At ease just a little for the first time since the King had shredded his wings.
---
Feyre’s return brought with it a new kind of upheaval.
Namely, their sister’s determination to fix them, to get inside their head and needle around. Feyre was demanding, quickly exasperated, and Nesta was not at all surprised when she voiced said frustrations the moment, she stepped out into the hall after first laying eyes on them, seeming to forget the new fae senses her sisters were now ‘blessed’ with.
“I just don’t know how to help them,” Feyre said. “Elain is so…”
“Give her time,” she heard Cassian reply. He knew, despite Nesta’s intentions, just how much energy she had been expending keeping her sister functioning. He’d been here, after all, for most of it. “She’s sitting up now, at least. Out of bed.”
He’d been there the first day she’d achieved it, and the relief on Nesta’s face was not something he missed as Elain settled into an armchair by the window.
She heard Feyre’s sigh, the sound of her footsteps as she paced up and down the hall. Twelve steps up and nine steps back. “And Nesta… Who even knows where to begin.”
Feyre had taken one look at her – taken in the observations of everyone else – the strangeness and dark power – and given her a wide berth. It was not a surprise. The thought of it alone had that strange energy roiling in her chest, making Nesta’s entire body lock up.
“She’s alright,” Cassian supplied. “She’s trying, anyway.”
“And you would know?” Feyre asked with a little scoff of a laugh. “I hear you come up here every day just to come back with your tail between your legs.”
For a moment, Nesta wondered if he would tell her sister the truth. That she permitted his visits, relied on them, even, to have a moment’s respite, and that he likely seemed downtrodden upon his return more because of the general suffering they’d all been through, than her riling him.
She had been, after all, trying very hard to match whatever he offered. Which, since that night in the mortal lands, had not been petty argument.
“We have an understanding,” he settled on. “What are you going to do about Lucien, though?”
“He wants to see Elain,” Feyre sighed. “I don’t know if I can get him past Nesta.”
Cassian nodded. “I wouldn’t try it without telling her, at least, if not Elain herself.”
“I don’t know if Elain hears much these days,” Feyre murmured, sounding increasingly dejected.
Elain heard everything, Nesta knew, and she fought the urge to burst out and declare as much.
“I know it’s hard,” Cassian said. “But you just got back. Take some time to rest, they’re safe here.”
It was enough to appease her it seemed – at least for the moment. Nesta assumed she wanted to get back to her mate anyway, if he was not already on his way here to collect her. She waited until she heard Feyre’s footsteps fade before she rose from her spot to step out into the hall herself.
She found Cassian watching her sister’s disappearing form out the window, his arms crossed. His head tilted as he heard footsteps behind him – familiar now, she supposed, in all of his visits.
“She is unhappy,” Nesta said, following his gaze to where he could see Feyre and Rhys disappearing into the clouds. “Things are not as… recovered as she hoped.”
Turning his head, Cassian met her gaze easily, making no effort to encroach on her space, as she had instructed.
“She’s still trying to get her bearings,” Cassian offered. “I don’t think she knew what to expect.”
“She is going to bring that male to Elain whether she wants to see him or not.”
“I told Feyre not to surprise her with it.”
Nesta crossed her arms, shaking her head. “She will do as she pleases. She knows best, always, in her mind.”
Cassian didn’t believe her then – not until the moment Lucien Vanserra was standing in Elain’s bedroom trying, and failing, to make some sort of connection. Feyre had pleaded with her sister when they arrived, pushing until she yielded a single inch.
Nesta sat rigidly, a predator ready to pounce on a threat, until they departed. Before he could make a comment, she turned to him, eyes sharp.
“You did not believe me, did you?”
He made no effort to deny her, something that sparked her irritation. Unable to address him without falling victim to her own ire, she had turned back to Elain, offering her a cup of tea – which, to her relief, she accepted.
“I’m sorry they didn’t warn you beforehand,” Nesta murmured to her. “I should have stopped it.”
Elain didn’t respond for a moment, thinking, before she replied, “I do not wish to see him again.”
Nesta nodded, deciding she would let whatever resided within her lose should that male try to get past her.
It was only several minutes later when Elain was settled, when Cassian was able to coax Nesta to the library, that she let her stress show plainly, pinching her brow sharply with her fingers, to focus on the acute pain.
“I know it feels like you don’t have any control,” he began, trying to maintain this strange sort of trust they were building. This understanding.
“I don’t,” Nesta said. “Our desires have stopped mattering from the moment you all arrived, asking our assistance. And if you think Feyre wouldn’t have forced our hands, then I fear you underestimated her. She has perfected the art.”
Cassian pressed his lips together, and she wondered if he was fighting the instinct to retort. She almost desired it, the familiar pattern of an argument. That would make sense, at least.
“What do you want?” He asked. “If you could have anything to bring you peace.”
She finally lowered her hand from her brow to assess him, no small part of her wondering what his goal was, here. She could not have anything.
“Quiet,” she answered, after a moment. “A quiet place with no expectations. Just stillness, where I could focus on the silence.”
He gave her a tiny smile.
“Sounds lovely.”
“It is, which is why it’s only a dream.”
She turned away, moving towards her preferred shelves – the fiction. It was soothing; the methodical way she went through each section – a specific routine she repeated upon each visit. It was already easing her nerves just a little, the overstimulation of what had just happened.
She was still in control of herself, and that was what mattered.
He was, apparently, content observing her, going so far as to take a seat. It was only when she was satisfied with her selections that he said,
“I would give that to you if I could, you know.”
Nesta could not help the bluntness in her tone when she replied, “Unfortunately, it seems we are doomed to this life instead.”
Cassian looked resolute as he declared, “Not if I can help it.”
Later, when ravens came for her, only to meet the sharp end of his blade, she would remember his determination in that moment – the way he’d asserted such a thing. It was strange, this kind of dedication to her peace.
And yet, she could not deny her increasing dependence on it, for her own sanity.
---
The meeting in Dawn is not exactly what Cassian would call smooth. He never expected it to be, necessarily, but Azriel losing his composure was not on his list of potential outcomes.
Now, his brother was fuming next to Feyre, who was doing her best to emulate what a High Lady should be as she faced down the other High Lords. It was the first time he saw a resemblance to Nesta, aside from general looks.
For his part, he was content to observe, to leave the political bargaining to those who had a taste for it. Nesta, in particular, assessed each party with rapt attention, likely calculating the best way to get them to yield.
He only wished she’d actually gotten to wield her mind to its full extent to convince them, rather than endure the mindless debate that ultimately got them nowhere. Instead, he watched as her irritation grew and grew until the moment they adjourned for the day.
By the time he was in her proximity, her trembling was minute but ever-present, fingers curled into her palms. He only had a few moments to hold her eyes before they were being told to return to their chambers for dinner, a plethora of other commentary washing over them, but falling on Nesta’s deaf ears as she instead fixed her irritated gaze on his.
Cassian stayed in his spot beside her. “Are you alright, Nes?”
“They’re fools,” she muttered. “All of them. The patterns are there, obvious. No one has picked them out yet.”
“What patterns, sweetheart?” He asked, grimacing as she scoffed at him and turned away, crossing her arms.
“The manipulation – the goading by Hybern, it’s obvious they’re trying to draw us out. But also, all of them are trying to take control of the debate without actually wanting to make the first move. It would be so much more efficient if one of them had the gall to actually do it. Instead, we go around in circles, useless. Can you not see it?”
In truth, he couldn’t. He hadn’t been paying that much attention.
“It’s maddening,” she muttered.
“Can I help you?” He asked quietly, noting the glances cast their way as they remained rooted in their original spot.
“What?”
“You can explain it all to me, if you like. Somewhere quiet.”
“Cassian!” A voice called – Mor – who was waving him towards the hall that led towards the chambers where the Night Court was residing. He did not look up, but instead kept his eyes fixed on hers.
“And where is there to go?” She asked, voice surprisingly raspy, despite her schooled expression. She looked suddenly tired, as if her energy had left her all at once.
“The sun is setting. It’s beautiful. We could watch it, if you like.”
He could feel Mor’s eyes on him, impatient, and fought his own irritation at her insistence. Likewise, he saw Nesta glance in her direction, likely keenly aware of the expectation. In fact, she spent several seconds keeping tabs on the remaining fae in the room, cataloguing each one.
“Nes,” he urged softly. “Don’t worry about anyone else. Just tell me what you need.”
He held out a hand, an open invitation. She hesitated for a moment, but to his delight accepted it, fingers flexing.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, eyes darting to where Mor waited.
“Take your time,” he said. “It’s okay.”
She let out a frustrated sigh, her eyes closing.
“Alright,” she said, after a long moment. “Your sunset, let’s see it.”
He smiled a little and took a step towards a separate doorway, one that led outside to the expansive balconies, rather than where his family was gathering. He cast one glance back towards where Mor had been as they went, only to find her gone, her impatience seemingly to have won out.
Later, he would be kept up all night by the sound of Mor getting her revenge with Helion – his walls vibrating with it. It would be enough to get under his skin, confuse him, throw him off for the day ahead, unable to make sense of her intentions. It would rattle him through the morning, not in the least when she looked so miserable.
But when the Wall fell without mercy, the Cauldron’s power bringing Nesta to her knees in front of all Prythian’s leadership, her body convulsing with the intensity of it, any hesitation he had about being near her would vanish, and it would take all of his restraint not to push Mor out of the way, to tend to her himself.
He would not be fast enough to stop her flinch from both Mor’s attempts at grabbing her or the sensation of the Dawn Lord’s hands abruptly on her own, and she would hate the attention, the scrutiny the episode caused.
But he would be there afterward, to help her to her feet and let her squeeze his hand so tightly it throbbed as she regained her bearings. He would be there until she stopped trembling, until warmth returned to her skin and she no longer looked as though she would collapse at any moment.
Despite the pressure he still felt from Morrigan, the concern that was overbearing from Rhys and Feyre, he would sit with her just as they had the night prior, side by side, until her eyes no longer looked like pits of molten silver and instead stared back at him in their brilliant blue shade.
---
When Nesta imagined this in her head, there were less tents. Less quiet moments where troops bustled about, sharing meals and taking private moments with loved ones. She never considered the hours spent preparing bandages and tonics, stew for dinner, or the washing of linens to keep those both injured and whole comfortable during the long nights.
This place, somewhere in between expectation and reality, was a softer version of hell, but hell all the same.
She felt dust in every crevice of skin, which tingled insistently with the desire to be scrubbed clean. Her head ached from the awkward way her braid pulled at her scalp, having had no mirror to properly pin it up.
She was aware of every blink, every inhale and exhale, her exhaustion heavy and thick and overwhelming.
And yet, it was nowhere near what she expected the soldiers to be feeling. Nowhere near as worthy as those who were dying for their lands. Her own pathetic tolerance for discomfort was a shame that she felt was branded on her forehead, for all to see.
The rich, useless girl who was only here because of unfortunate circumstances. The one with a power nobody understood, not even herself.
Useless.
In the aftermath of that first day, she sat stiffly in one of the main tents, ears ringing as her senses were overwhelmed with all that happened around her. She wanted desperately for quiet. A dark place where no one would disturb her until she could properly feel her fingers and toes.
What she got instead was the dip in the thin mattress beside her, the familiar woodsy scent she had come to associate with the only person who had bothered to address her like a person these past months, instead of the Cauldron’s strange creation.
Cassian’s eyes were soft as she turned her head to greet him, scanning over her face and down her torso, as if to see if she was uninjured. He did that a lot, she’d noted, always observing.
She had half a mind to ask what he had learned ever since he started this effort, back in the human lands. Nesta still could not make sense of it – still thought it far too dangerous to indulge. And yet, here she was. Selfish.
“Still in one piece, sweetheart?” He asked, voice slightly cracked from spending the day shouting orders.
“Are you?”
Cassian offered her one of his confident little smirks – a mask of his own that he most commonly presented to other members of the Inner Circle. “Of course. Just a little banged up, nothing serious.”
Frowning, Nesta took the chance to look him over, eyes catching on the way his hand was resting gingerly in his lap, fingers curled.
“Let me see.”
She reached out, expectantly, waiting for him to accept her offer. After all, he had never touched her without her permission or awareness since that first attempt after she had been remade. She would extend the same courtesy.
Cassian blinked, as if forgetting all about his injury, before he obliged, his skin somehow blissfully warm against her own.
“What did you do?” She asked, assessing his slightly swollen wrist.
“Oh, just got twisted. Caught my blade at an awkward angle.”
“I see.”
Her mind supplied her with dozens of possibilities for what that meant. Perhaps it got caught in the enemy’s flesh and could not be wrenched free. Perhaps someone caught him by surprise with their own steel. Perhaps he acted swiftly to try and save a comrade’s life.
“I have bandages here,” she said, turning to her other side to retrieve them.
“You don’t have to worry about it, Nes, I can—”
“I would like to.”
Her voice came out firmer than she intended, but Cassian never seemed to mind these days. Instead, he offered her a tiny smile and nodded, his hand going limp in hers, to allow her work.
“I will be your best-behaved patient, then.”
“Well, I am afraid you do not have the most skilled healer.”
Still, the females had taught her the basics of this art, and she’d had hours to practice. It was almost rote, the way she wrapped the linen around his wrist, precise in her work. They were quiet for a few moments, both content to watch the way the strips came to lay against one another.
It was almost soothing, if one could forget the reason for being there.
“How are you doing?” Cassian finally asked, voice quiet. “I know these places can be overwhelming.”
“As well as anyone can be, when experiencing their first war,” Nesta replied without looking up. “Rather useless in my ability to do anything but this.”
“Someone has to do it or none of us will be getting on that battlefield tomorrow.”
She huffed a little. “Someone meaning a healer.”
“War does not always provide the luxury. Your presence is invaluable.”
He leaned forward, dipping his chin so that she caught his eye when she next glanced up.
“Have you had time for any rest?” He asked. “Any quiet?”
It felt like an absurd thing to ask, as if he had forgotten where exactly they were. And yet, he knew it meant more to her than the average. He had learned that without her really having to tell him.
“A little,” she admitted. “I am trying not to require it.”
“We all require things, sweetheart.”
“Well, quiet seems like a luxury in a place like this.”
“Or a necessity, when we can get it. All about perspective, you know.”
She hated how much she was beginning to rely on his ability to do this – to reframe the way she saw things in an attempt to soothe her constantly running mind. It did not do to rely on others, she had learned.
Someone always got burned.
“Try, at least,” Cassian said. “If you need a place, I’ll find you one.”
“Do you not have armies to lead?”
“I will always make time for you.”
It was a bold declaration; one she did not really know what to do with. The intensity of his gaze suddenly felt all the more meaningful, and for a moment she could just stare at him, at a loss for words.
Swallowing, she opened her mouth to reply, to ask him to explain what exactly he meant by that, when the flap of the tent was thrown open and Morrigan was barging inside.
“Cassian! Gods, where have you been?”
The movement was swift – a quick yank of his hand away from her own, his entire body straightening as he turned towards the blonde, his full attention on her.
Nesta felt, abruptly, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped onto her head.
For a moment, she could only stare in confusion, all the data she had collected on their budding relationship, or whatever it could be called, suddenly at odds with her observations.
Several emotions went through her at once: embarrassment, indignation, shame, regret.
As the seconds went by, and Cassian did not return his focus to her, the more she realized that this –whatever it was or had been – was only meant for when the rest of their family was not there to witness.
It was not something he was willing to do in front of the others, not when he cared so much more about them (and for good reason, logically).
Pushing to her feet, Nesta exerted all her energy into appearing nonchalant, unshaken by the change, and made her way past Morrigan, past the prying eyes of Feyre, out into the cool evening air.
Only then did she acknowledge the incessant, agonizing burning in her chest.
---
War was just as Cassian remembered it and somehow worse at the same time.
His brothers falling all around him, the smell of blood and grime and other grotesque horrors that made his stomach churn even now, five hundred years into this life.
He was lucky, though. He still had his head. All four limbs. He may have (almost) been disemboweled, but that was fine. He would just lay on this cot for a while and by morning, he’d be back doing what he did best.
What he was born to do.
If only it was so simple.
He listened to the chatter around the war tent – the back and forth over their next move, how to find the Cauldron, how to get ahead in a battle that felt endless yet had barely even begun. In truth, he was in a bit of a haze – the pain tonic Azriel shoved down his throat working wonders, that he did not quite grasp what was truly at hand until Amren was depositing a velvet pouch onto the table, for Nesta.
“Give it a try, girl.”
At once, he was more alert. Nesta stood, spine rigid, assessing the map in front of her, processing what she had been asked to do. Scrying was no simple task, he knew, and yet here she was, about to attempt something that most could never achieve.
He felt her anxiety acutely, could see it in the way she held herself, the tone of her voice. Cassian hadn’t spent the last few months learning everything he could about her for nothing, after all. And so, against most healers’ better judgement, he was pushing himself up.
Determined not to wobble, he made his way over to her, making a distinct display of lifting his hand, so she could see it, before he settled it lightly on the small of her back. He felt the muscles tense, a little, and fought down the guilt that was still eating at him after the incident with Mor.
There was an apology that needed to be made later, once this was finished. She had not spoken to him since he’d snatched his wrist away and he knew, without having to ask, how deeply it stung.
It was foolish of him. Pathetic, even.
He would make it up to her now.
“You’re safe here,” he promised, letting his thumb brush gently along her spine. He was aware of the heavy gazes from every member of his family, of hers, but it was no matter.
Nesta was hyper fixated on the pile of bones and stones in front of her, her breathing too regulated to be anything but an effort to stay calm. When she finally picked them up, the room went unnaturally still, and he watched her face as that otherness took hold.
The temperature plummeted. In his periphery, he saw Rhys position himself protectively next to Feyre, who looked somewhere between horrified and determined. Amren, on the other hand, looked nothing short of enraptured.
He could taste the magic in the air – could feel the dimensions shift with the weight of whatever it was Nesta was able to wield now, in this form. He pressed closer, his wing spreading behind her on its own accord.
Not even he was prepared for when she was ripped free from her power’s clutches, though, horror cracking her expression as she gasped, stumbling back into his arm. It hurt, badly, to keep her upright, but he gritted his teeth and held firm anyway, murmuring as many assurances into her ear as he could.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you, Nes. You’re safe here.”
But Nesta was trembling, her skin cold and clammy as she explained how the Cauldron had seen her – seen them.
It was as if she could not rip herself away fast enough after that – disappearing before anyone could stop her, overwhelmed and in need of a brief moment of peace. He could not help himself in going after her.
“Cassian, for fucks sake, you need to rest!”
Azriel’s warning fell on deaf ears as he trudged out of the tent, one hand on his stomach, following Nesta until she reached the space behind the tent she was sharing with Elain, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Nes,” he said. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“Leave me alone!” She hissed without turning to face him. “I don’t want your help.”
“I know that was frightening,” he tried, stepping closer. “But—”
“You don’t know anything!” She snapped. “None of you know anything at all. We are all going to die and nobody will have been able to do anything about it!”
Cassian frowned, watching the way her fingers dug into her biceps, her shoulders hunched over, her breaths heavy. It was a kind of spiral he hadn’t yet witnessed, likely more of an emotional display than she ever wanted to reveal.
“I don’t know why you’re here,” she added, voice cold even if it wavered. “You should be with Morrigan. You made it clear that was where you would prefer to be.”
“That was –” He sighed, tilting his head back. “I need to apologize to you for that.”
“I don’t understand you,” she replied. “I think I do, then you contradict my understanding. You-… You make all this effort, but the moment your family is here, it changes. It is as if I do not know you. If you are that ashamed of spending time in my presence, then I’d rather you didn’t try at all.”
“I know,” he said, softly. “I know, I’m sorry. Mor and I… it’s complicated. I let old expectations cloud my judgement. It came at your expense.”
Taking a step closer, he silently urged her to turn to face him, mindful of the fact that she would not welcome his embrace.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” he continued. “I could never be, sweetheart. What you just did was amazing.”
“What I just did will get us killed,” Nesta said. “I am unskilled. Incapable of doing anything useful. Everyone thinks so, they are just too busy to say as much. I should not be here at all.”
There was a different kind of tone in that last sentence, one that had him feeling a type of anxiety that was so intense he stepped around her, so that they could be face to face.
“The only reason you should not be here is because you never should have been put through such suffering,” he said. “Not because you are useless.”
“You say that now,” she countered, finally lifting her chin to meet his eye. “But when your family disagrees, what will you do then?”
“Tell them they’re wrong,” Cassian asserted. “Because they would be.”
Nesta frowned deeply, still holding tightly to her own arms, as if to keep herself from falling apart.
“Something is going to happen,” she said. “And we will not be able to stop it. No one may believe me, but I am certain.”
“Then we will work to fix what comes after,” he replied. “Together. You aren’t alone, sweetheart.”
She eyed him for a long second, perhaps assessing his sincerity. He couldn’t blame her for that. He thought he might continue to press him on it – hoped for it, even, if only so he could re-emphasize his apologies. Instead, she deflected.
“You need to rest. If you aren’t healed in time for what comes, we are all lost.”
She made to turn, to escape, but he reached out a hand, in request. Nesta paused, contemplating, before she slid his palm into his. He squeezed gently, a silent promise.
“Only if you do the same,” he said. “Without you, I am lost.”
Her face twitched and she said nothing. But, to his delight and relief, she squeezed back, her chin dipping in the softest of nods.
Then she is gone, leaving him behind the war tents, in more pain than he was ready to admit.
The next thing he knows, Elain Archeron is gone, and everything unravels, faster and faster, until he meets the abrupt end – flat on his back in the grass, watching the King of Hybern lose his head.
---
Nesta woke alone on the floor of that tent, where she'd all but collapsed beside her sisters. It was cold and dark, indicating she'd slept a long while.
Long enough for everyone else to rise and return to their own beds.
Her body ached, scorched from the inside out after the power she didn't understand erupted from her body. But more than that, her face throbbed from where the King had struck her, and as she lifted a hand to the tender skin, she winced as it reverberated up her cheek.
Pushing to her feet, she shuffled to the tent opening, noting the twinge in her ankle -- perhaps another casualty of her suicide mission. Or maybe she'd twisted it after they'd burned her father's body. She didn't remember.
Trudging into the cool night air, she scanned the camp for any of her family members, coming up empty. With a sigh, she made for what had been her own, intending to sleep once more on something more comfortable. Her exhaustion was so extreme, not even physical discomfort could stop her from collapsing into bed. But as she passed the rows of tarp before her, she heard the soft voice of Madja,
"Get some rest, General. We'll start on those wings again in the morning."
Nesta froze in her step, unable to tear her eyes away from where the healer exited one of the dwellings. She hadn't seen him since they'd taken him to the healers, and her feet were moving before she could think better of it.
Peeking in, she saw the low lamp light and could just make out his silhouette sitting up on a cot, his wings splinted. Guilt immediately began to crawl up her throat, thick and vicious. This was all her fault – all of it. Her plan, her poor execution.
Unskilled and useless. Now father was dead and he was…
"You'll freeze out there, sweetheart. Come here."
Nesta shuddered at the words, unsurprised yet unprepared for him to call out to her. Quietly, she obeyed his word, and found him bare chested, with bandages around his torso, his wings, his legs.
But Cassian's eyes were alert as he took her in, seemingly wide awake, and as she stepped closer, she saw them fill with something akin to concern.
"You're hurt."
"What?" Nesta breathed, then lifted her hand to her cheek, as she remembered. "Oh, it's nothing."
Cassian frowned. "It's not nothing if it's you. Let me see."
She didn't know why she listened to him, but soon she was moving again, settling on a stool that had been left at his bedside, likely by the healer. Cassian lifted a hand then, and, with surprising gentleness, brushed his fingers over what she assumed was a nasty bruise.
"Someone should have treated this," he said, and then he was turning - wincing - and picking up some kind of salve. "He could have broken the bone."
"Oh," she said, a bit absently. "Well, there were more important things."
"Not to me."
The salve was cool against her skin, and she couldn't hide the shiver as he applied a generous amount to her cheek. In moments, it began to soothe the ache. But Cassian kept his hand on her jaw, his thumb stroking gently, as if to ease her himself.
"We have it now, you know," he murmured. "Time."
Nesta closed her eyes, her exhaustion heavy, too emotionally burnt out to hide it.
The image of her father's face as the life was snuffed out of him flashed through her mind, and she fought the urge to be ill, preventing her from offering him a reply.
Was this to be her new horror?
"We heal first," he said, and then he was shifting backwards on the cot, as if to make room.
"What are you doing?" She asked, already missing the sensation of his touch.
"You need to rest, and I heal better with company."
Nesta blinked, her subconscious offering a few points about impropriety, but the rest of her body was too tired to voice them. Instead, for once, she moved without argument.
"Careful," he said softly as she settled beside him, his hand brushing gently through her hair as her eyes closed. "Don't think I didn't notice that ankle, sweetheart."
She huffed, once, but the humor faded as quickly as it came, replaced by tightness in her throat and burning behind her eyes. Cassian’s fingers brushed underneath her lashes as tears fell, holding her steady.
“It’s alright,” he whispered as she fought valiantly to keep herself together, now that it was all over. “I’ve got you, Nes, just let it out.”
Sobs wracked her body before she could help it, so much so that she made no protest when he pulled her closer, to weep into his shoulder. Cassian squeezed her gently, the pressure of his hold the anchor she held onto as she released her grief.
But when her tears ran dry, it took no time at all for her to fade back into sleep, kept warm wrapped in his arms.
---
Nesta was not doing well in the aftermath.
Cassian did not expect her to, necessarily, but it broke his heart all the same.
Just like before, she had locked herself away. Only this time, she did not even permit his visits, closed off and adrift in her own grief. He knew she needed time, needed to process all the layers of what had happened to her and around her.
And yet, he was consumed with the need to lay eyes on her. To tell her just how much she meant to him, how he was determined to give her everything she deserved, and then some. To love her and understand her and make her feel safe.
From the moment he’d held her that night after the final battle, he’d been utterly devoted.
And yet, it was only a matter of time, he knew, before the Inner Circle’s meddling, the close quarters they liked to keep, would be too much for her. Thus, it was no surprise when, just a few short weeks after war’s end, he was called to the townhouse, informed of her decision to move.
“It’s not logical,” Feyre said to him. “Where does she think she’ll go?”
“Somewhere she can self-destruct in peace, I reckon,” Amren replied, without looking up from her latest puzzle from Varian.
“You seem to speak Nesta’s language better than the rest of us,” Feyre muttered, seemingly more put out about that than she wanted to admit. “Might as well see if you can change her mind?”
Cassian had no intention of doing that even as he nodded his head and approached the doorway at the end of the upstairs hall where he knew Nesta resided. He gave her the courtesy of a knock before he cracked the door open, calling out,
“Nes, it’s me.”
“You will not change my mind,” Nesta replied, and he pushed the door all the way open to see her pacing back and forth on the balcony outside, arms crossed. “I am going to do this.”
“I’m not here to change your mind,” Cassian said, shutting the door behind him and taking the few steps across the room and to the doorway. “I’m here to check on you.”
“I’m the same as I was before.” Nesta offered, without looking at him. “And I have decided to leave. You don’t need to waste your time trying to convince me otherwise.”
“You are never a waste of my time. Remember when I said I wanted to give you more of it?”
Nesta scoffed, slowing a little. He could see the conflict written on her face – the agitation. She’d been couped up too long, too consumed in her own thoughts. “I didn’t actually plan to hold you to that.”
“And why not?” He asked, joining her outside, appreciating the warm breeze that greeted him as he pushed back gauze curtains to meet her. “You certainly should.”
“I’m not…” she scowled, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it. I can’t be what you want.”
“All I want is to be by your side,” he replied. “I want to be with you, no matter what form you take. If you’d let me in sooner, you’d know that already.”
“That is nonsense, Cassian,” Nesta declared, turning on her heel and striding towards the doorway to go back inside.
“Just wait a second, sweetheart,” Cassian said, fighting the urge to reach out and grab her. “Please.”
She paused in the doorway, looking wraith like in her grey dress against the backdrop of sheer blue curtains billowing in the wind. Taking steps towards her, he approached until they were nearly chest to chest, close enough that he could speak softly.
“I mean it,” he pressed. “I want to be with you. In whatever way you’ll have me. I don’t care about anything else. If you want to move, then we’ll move you.”
Nesta looked up at him, the thin curtains billowing behind her head, looking almost like a veil. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, but in them he could see just the hint of interest. Interest, and those silver tendrils that had his family so unnerved.
“Would you go against them so easily?” She asked, doing nothing to stop his closeness.
Cassian lifted a hand, brushing the curtain back before his fingers came down to tangle in a loose strand of her hair – not pulling, but just to feel its softness.
“Do you think I am bound to following every opinion the members of my family have?”
Nesta shrugged, the intensity of her gaze certainly enough to unnerve some people. (Or perhaps many). But not him. He could only lean closer.
“You usually are, in my observations.”
“You have not been able to observe for very long,” Cassian countered, smiling faintly as he saw the cogs turning in her head, accepting his logic. “Besides, I have more observations on you than they do.”
“There will be disagreement.”
“Maybe. I’ll deal with it.”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles, his movements slow and deliberate, how he knew she preferred.
“And if I am disagreeable?”
His smile grew a little, despite himself. Dipping his chin, he let their noses brush. It made her lashes flutter just for a second before she regained her focus.
“Then I will seek out whatever is agitating you and get it to cease.”
“What if you’re agitating me?”
Her questions were quick, a bit sharp, but he could see them for what they were – ways to mitigate her own anxieties. Or, perhaps, to provide him with a multitude of reasons to abandon this path he had chosen long ago.
“Tell Azriel and he can put me in time out.”
Her face twitched, as if fighting to hide the amusement, he knew he was pulling out of her, slowly but surely. With his other hand, he reached out, asking for her own. She obliged, watching as he lifted her palm to press a kiss to it.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, sweetheart.” He said, more seriously. “We have time, and I made you a promise. We can spend it however you wish. I only want to be there with you.”
Nesta’s shoulders loosened, just a little, her defenses lowering to reveal just the smallest vulnerability.
“And if I would like to leave this very loud house?”
Her voice was softer here, expressing a real desire – the heart of the very issue he’d been sent to resolve.
“Then I show you the best homes Velaris has to offer. I help build your furniture and pester you to join me for dinner in the evenings. And whatever anyone else has to say about it is irrelevant, because you feel better that way.”
Her had dropped from his to rest on his shoulder, and he took the chance to cup her cheek properly, thumb brushing underneath where dark circles had started to form. It would not be so easy, he knew. She would continue to not sleep, to be plagued by the horrors of everything that had happened, the guilt she had not yet voiced to him, but he could practically taste as if it were his own.
But he would be there, to hold her through it. He would try his utmost, anyway.
“Suppose I say yes,” she murmured. “What would we do now?”
Cassian took the next step forward, practically holding her to him.
“I’ll probably ask to kiss you the way I should have on that battlefield.”
Nesta blinked, thought about it for a moment, then lifted up on her toes, to press her lips to his. He met her easily, melting under the euphoria of it, the first rays of brightness he’d really felt in the aftermath of all the suffering.
“Yes,” she whispered, as they parted.
“Yeah?” He breathed, afraid to let her go, his other hand settling on her waist as a way to keep from tugging her to him and squeezing tight.
“I am not… good, Cassian. I am wrong, at least in one or two ways. But if you are certain, then—”
“I am.” He said in a rush, then offered her a sheepish look as she glared at him for the interruption.
“If you are certain, then I am too selfish to say no.”
Cassian kissed her again, delighting in the way she sighed.
“You are not selfish for wanting love, Nesta,” he said. “Especially not when I am so eager to give it to you.”
For the first time, she averted her eyes, the vulnerability of the moment catching up to her. He pressed a kiss to her temple as she decided how to navigate it.
“What will you tell them now?” she asked, fingers flexing against the cotton of his shirt.
“Nothing,” he replied, savoring the scent of her, the sensation of her hair against his skin. “Because we’re going to go somewhere quieter instead.”
Her head lifted, and there he saw the relief plainly on her face – an open admission. Unable to help it, he let his arm wrap around her waist so that he could run a comforting hand up her back.
“Shall we go?” He asked, tucking the loose strand he’d been fascinated with behind her ear.
She nodded, and without much fanfare allowed him to guide her back outside onto the balcony before gathering her up into his arms. She went easily, tucking her head under his chin in a way that had his throat tight.
It was no small thing, winning the trust, the affection, of Nesta Archeron.
As he spread his wings and prepared to launch into the sky, he decided he would not risk it for anything.