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Chapter Text

Genesis

The blood dripped from her lip. She’d spent mere days in Fae lands before finding herself in the midst of battle, striking down the very humans she’d sworn to protect.

Swords clashed. She managed to slice through someone’s thigh before backswinging it across their face.

This time, she was protecting the Fae. For all their misguided beliefs and unusual cultures, they as much as any being, deserved to live free of tyranny. Amarantha’s reign was going 50 years strong and it was just the beginning.

The humans caught wind of her and her new allegiance to the Fae. Normally they wouldn’t have cared what she did, except she’d encouraged troops to join her cause...and they were trickling over the border for several months. The Beddor deaths were just the platform to gain support for their cause. And anyone who sided with the Fae – they were the enemy.

Her helmet trapped the heat inside, causing sweat beads to form and sting her eyes. With her sight on the open field, hundreds of men galloped on their steeds towards her and the small units alongside her.

Tamlin’s sentries let them pass. She wondered if they had given up on him.

He was Under the Mountain, trying his best to stay calm and unprovoked, knowing any sign of his rage was a weakness for Amarantha to exploit.

She took her helmet off and wiped the sweat from her brow, her chocolate brown hair, once in a simple braid, now frayed and matted against her head. She exhaled, looking out across the dry meadow. Outnumbered. By the odds, she wasn’t going to win. Certainly not on an open field. If she was going to die, at least it would be for something worth fighting for.

A man in steel-clad armor charged towards her, leading the line behind him. She positioned her sword low and let him come to her, as she was taught, and cut down his horse, sending them toppling to the ground. She walked towards the knight, scrambling to find his sword. She kicked it out of reach and raised her sword high.

“Wait, wait,” he begged. “Please, I have children.”

She gave a moment’s pause. Then an arrow shot into her side. And another to her calf.

The man lunged for her, sending them crashing to the ground. She heard her head crack against the earth, arrows driving deeper into her body. With her one arm, she fought to pry him off her, angry at herself for showing mercy.

“You’re that little cunt of a traitor,” he spat. “Do the High Lords teach you what we do to traitors?” He reached for her leather belt, ripping the strings open, and prying her legs apart with his knees. She launched a guttural scream, balling her fists and sending it into his face. She screamed in agony, feeling him pin her hands to the ground. She wasn’t close enough to headbutt him. He dealt a blow to her face to remind her of that. And another. There would be no mercy for her. He pushed the arrow further into her side to stop her from fighting. Tears of pain streamed down her face as she screamed high. She kicked and kicked, for anything that might make contact.

Except for the tears that welled in her eyes and the haze of men standing over her reaching for their belts, she could see nothing that would give her a fighting chance.

+++

Rhysand

Tamlin had slain Amarantha. But nothing could bring Feyre back. The powers of the Fae did nothing. As many times as he crept into the minds of the High Lords to try again and again to revive her, there was no use.

He needed to know why.

Her body lay cold on the ground of the throne room, her blue-gray eyes staring at nothing. Rhysand watched Tamlin lift Feyre in his arms, running his claw slowly through her golden-brown hair.
He despised Tamlin even more. For all of his efforts, Rhys had been there. Playing music to keep her sane, numbing her senses, helping her win the trials, saving her from death by wyrm. Tamlin did nothing but sit and watch her proclaim her love to the bitter end. Gripping the arm handle was the best he had.

Twat.

She was a woman worthy of fighting for and Rhysand hated him all the more. It killed him to watch this waste of space close her eyes and gently kiss her forehead.
Jealously ran through him. She loved him, and she would have wanted him to be the one cradling her.

Not me. Someone she barely knew.

He had been drawn to her from the beginning, visions beginning years before, and a shell remained where his heart lay still beating for her. He had come to admire her bravery and cunning mind, for a human just at the edge of womanhood. In such a few short months, something about her ran through his veins, something he couldn’t quite pin.

Guilt washed over him. He got her drunk with faerie wine, dressed her indecently, and stole a kiss from her. Groped her against her desire. It was never what he wanted. To make her feel how Amarantha made him feel. Not for a second. She ran through his mind a thousand times, and for the small presence of light she offered in his 500-year-old life, she deserved better than that.
He felt the swirls of his tattoo reverse and dissipate like tendrils of smoke. He glanced down, trying to hide any shred of sorrow for the Cursebreaker and what could have been.

The bond broken, the bargain unrealized.

He could do nothing now but sit idly by. He still had to play the game, stay aloof and cool as if he’d felt nothing for her. Irony struck him.

Fucking Tamlin.

He would do better. “We will give her back to her family”, Rhys said cooly.

The High Lords peered at each other, nodding. She had broken the curse, but Tamlin, in all his grief, had yet to recover from this. He’d lost the woman who loved him to the end. Innocent and fragile. Loyal despite him taking her to the Fae lands to break his curse. The curse he was responsible for. He was mixed of rage and sorrow, pressing her lifeless body against his open stone heart.

Chapter Text

Genesis

She peered out atop the hill, across the darkness of the night. Calanmai. The fires below illuminated the dancers circling around the pits. Fae sat nearby, singing to the tunes of jigs, clanking pitchers of beer, teeth tearing into succulent turkey legs as big as their elbows. The laughing echoed to her, and she smiled gently at their joy. She brought her mug to her mouth, tasting the ice-cold, bitter-sweet beer, letting out a slight hiccup.

She’d been chosen once before. But it meant nothing to her, not in the way it meant to most Faes. For her, it was a sense of duty and obligation. She remembered his touch that night, years ago, the glassy eyes searching over her body, his violent grip on her hips. Tamlin wasn’t himself when he turned on Calanmai. There was no reason to pretend it was something more.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. For a moment, peace. It had been some time since Tamlin felt secure enough about the conditions of the Spring Court to let her wander freely about. No more monsters lurking about, magic had thrived for the last 50 years through the Fae lands with full powers restored to the High Faes. His Court was in perpetual bloom once more.

50 years had passed since he’d saved her life near Under the Mountain. He’d found her strewn up and bound by her wrists, face black and blue, pants at her ankles, dried blood running through the back of her neck and down her thighs. She’d been there three days. If she hadn’t died from the beating, the dehydration would have killed her. He’d cut her from the ropes and she’d been in his court ever since.

Her eyes gazed up at the stars. She wanted nothing more than for Tamlin to find his own peace. After losing Feyre, he clawed up half his estate. It remained that way for a decade, until she informed him his allies perceived him to have an unstable personality. He only got angrier for it. But it made her point.

Tamlin must be thrusting into a young maid in the sacred caves by now.

Soon, the Faes would be linking with their lovers or finding one for the night. She had no plans of her own. She was happy to simply hear the silence of the night. It was the quiet of the world that resounded in the late hours. The whispers of winds and cool breezes through her fiery red hair. It had changed when Tamlin imbued a single kernel upon her when she lingered at the edge of death. Her days at the Spring Courts were filled with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Ravens sending messages. Talking with the local Fae. But for tonight. It was just her. She raised her mug to the stars in silence.

To peace. She drank deep.

A cold breeze swept over, sending a chill to her skin.

"There you are... I've been looking for you.”

She peered over her shoulder. “Have we met?” She asked pointedly. She barely got a glimpse of him with her side eye. She couldn’t bother to stand up for someone who was interrupting a good time.

"No. We haven't met." He replied, his voice calm and serene.

She rolled her eyes. Here we go.

She stood up, turned around and dusted her pants off. “Alright, fine. If you want to have a go, I’m more than happy to bring a little more magic to the world,” she gave a forced smile and bent down to pick up her mug. Once she looked up at him, she went silent as the night.

Black hair, violet eyes. Gorgeous. Probably Illyrian.

She’d read about Faes like him but never met one in person.

He paused at her comment. “I can tell that you're a straight talker. I think you and I are going to get along very well." His gaze lingered on her.

She nodded, taking a small sip. “Yep. The bed is usually where the Fae tend to get along. Or against a tree on Calanmai.” She moved toward him.

"You're quite intriguing, you know," he says, his voice soft and slow. The comment stopped her in her tracks. "An exiled human queen returning to her homelands. I can't say I blame you, considering what you must have gone through. It's impressive, really."
Her face remained unfazed, yet his comment raged inside her.

You have no idea what I’ve been through.

“And who are you?” she asked with mock sweetness.

"I am the Lord of the Night Court."

Her cheeks flushed.

Rhysand.

She read his historical biography in the Great Hall. The books penned the achievements of High Lords as they lived their reigns. She was familiar with him. Impressed even. He was a Blood Rite Champion in his youth, who understood the value of teamwork where so many Illyrians had failed. He continuously passed laws that helped females earn an equal place in his Court, outlawing wing clipping. He honored humans who sacrificed themselves for the Fae cause, despite the ongoing resentment for their bleak and tarnished history. The annual remembrance of the Cursebreaker’s sacrifice was a testament to that.

The rumors were different. He’d been Amarantha’s whore when she’d fought near Under the Mountain, forsaking his own kind to ensure his survival. Whispers around the Spring Court included acts of unnecessary cruelty. Conjuring up two-tailed scorpions the size of human homes to deter his populace from joining the King of Hybern. Drifting black smoke into the homes to choke whole families idling at the fireplace if they broke a law. He was a bedtime tale that haunted would-be criminals and children alike.

But then other rumors started to surface in the last few years. That he had endured Amarantha’s torture for 50 years to ensure the survival of his own people. To protect those he loved. He made quiet attempts to help the Cursebreaker end Amarantha’s reign, which did not go unnoticed after all. Tamlin said he was devious and untrustworthy. Perhaps. Half of the rumors were laughable. But if his achievements were any indication, he was a more empathetic ruler than what he let on. What she did believe was that in all his efforts, his vast resources, and his connections to powerful Fae, he could be the strongest ally in her cause.

And she’d just offered him a quickie on the hilltop.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He dressed in his usual black attire, with a leather duster. A dark prince from a fairy tale, come to life.

He noticed the blush spreading across her cheeks and let out a low, soft laugh.

"You’ve been on everyone’s lips recently," he uttered, his eyes fixed and unwavering, looking her up and down, analyzing her. He stepped towards her, his presence an intoxicating scent of citrus and sea, closing the gap between them. He reached up with his hand, gently moving a strand of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

“Do you do this with everyone or is this limited to females with wings?”

“No, darling. Not with everyone,” he murmured.

She felt her heart fluster. He was wildly handsome, yet as he touched her ear, a jolt of fear ran through her center. She refused to step back or push him away. It would be a sign of intimidation. She needed to prove she could stand her ground, keep up with him, and keep his interest for long enough to see things through. If she were to ever succeed, it would be with him.

She had to be careful. “And what is it you want?”

He pulled his hand back. “Time.”

For her, that was enough.

A drumbeat rang out. Tamlin had honored his annual tradition and would be expecting her at the palace. She gazed at the caves, her eyes watchful. Faeries began to couple, ready to follow in the suit of lovemaking across the open valley, in the eyes of the stars hovering over them.

She looked back to the High Lord and took a sip. "Alright, darling. Time it is."

+++

Rhysand

Rhysand never imagined he’d be at the Spring Court longer than a matter of hours. He couldn’t stand this place. They’d been perched on the hilltop until dawn, trading truths and flirtations in jest.

She was arrogant. So was he. But she preferred to call it confident and courageous. She had biting wit to her, yet her eyes suggested a deep pain and longing.

She spoke of her time at the Spring Court. She spent her time with the local Fae, learning their customs and traditions, if she wasn’t looking after Tamlin’s wellbeing. Over the years she somehow became a crutch for him. He always wanted her somewhere in his home, which never quite felt like her home. Not that she’d felt at home too often. But she hated seeing him so upset when he’d expected her and she disappointed him.

Genesis. He whispered her name off his tongue.

She left by the time the sun passed the horizon. Tamlin was probably ripping his bedsheets to shreds by now.

So is it love, yet?

For love at first sight, probably. Or maybe, just maybe, a hint of desire and fascination that won't let either of us go until we've had a taste.

Is that an invitation?

Maybe it is. Maybe it's a warning. A warning to not give yourself to a dark, dangerous stranger that could break your heart as easily as they fix it.

Would you? Would you break it if I gave it to you?

I couldn't promise I wouldn't break it, and you don't need to give it to me just yet, darling.

And you can't promise you'd fix it, either.

You're right. I can't promise I could fix it. But I could sure as hell try.

The conversation repeated in his head. He replayed the expression on her face. Something gleaned far off in her emerald eyes as she looked over at the sacred caves. As tough as she was, she hid something so broken. They both knew it. He didn’t need to slink through her mind to find the broken parts. Azriel’s whispers confirmed part of it. Her eyes the rest.

She was so quick to just give herself over to a stranger. Like nothing. Since Amarantha, few females had found their way into his bed. They all looked like Feyre. He didn’t mind claiming her at the top of the hill. But he had other plans for her. Better ones. His eyes locked onto hers. He smirked at her bluntness, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She called him sweet, not that anyone in his court ever used that term for him. She’d be called crazy for saying it if anyone heard her. She’d been called worse. So had he. But by the dawn, she’d seen him beneath the black exterior. The games. The cunning. It unnerved him how someone he met only hours ago could see the kind of male he really was. She wasn’t afraid to tell him. The honesty brought him a solace he’d only felt around his brothers. And Mor.

Genesis disarmed him through the night. He’d told her of Amarantha’s power – how she used her power to control minds to manipulate his emotions. She had the power to take away his happiness and replace it with sadness, fear, and guilt – to feel things that weren't real or twist his reality into a living nightmare if she caught him playing one of his games. He’d even hinted that he’d come to believe he was the cause of others’ suffering and agony. But he was resolute. No matter how much she broke him, one thing she could never break was his love, passion, and faith in everything he stood for. Sometimes it felt like he was still recovering from her.

She exposed me. He chuckled to himself.

At one point he imagined his lips on hers. Something he hadn’t imagined in half a century. The last time he did, the woman had smeared herself in wyrm shit and gave him the finger. And then died.

He found himself wanting to protect her.

Will I see you again?

Maybe.

That's a very dangerous game to play with the High Lord of the Night Court, you know.

What will you do? Tie my hands to the bedpost?

Only if you ask me to, darling.

++++

Genesis

She kept picturing his face as she walked back to Tamlin’s estate. The sharp angle of his jawline, the way his hair would fall over his eye before he casually ran his fingers through. She didn’t notice Tamlin standing in the doorway.

“Where have you been?”

“Tam,” she tried to pass through, ducking under his arm. He followed her down the hall and up the stairs.

“I’ve been waiting up all night.”

“What do you want me to say? It’s Calanmai”.

His fists clenched. She was tired of this. She had such a lovely night with lovely conversation with a lovely male. And she was back to reality.

“I’ve told you how I feel when you’re not home”.

“Tamlin. You’re going to have to get used to me being gone. I’m going back to the Human Realm in a matter of weeks. You know this.”

“You know it’s not safe, even for you. It’s better you stay here with me.”

“Lucien- ”

He released his fists and gently reached for her hands, turning her towards him. Every time she mentioned she was leaving, this was what he did. He’d pull her into his arms, sweetly kiss her, saying how much he needed her. He was guilting her into staying and he knew exactly what to do. But it was the only time he’d ever touch her these days. She wasn’t his mate, she wasn’t his lover. At least, not anymore. He’d always kept her at arm's length, wanting her only when he needed her and never the other way around. She knew with Tamlin, it would never be more. He simply wasn’t capable.

She looked down, exasperated. “Tamlin, I can’t.” Truthfully, she didn't know when she was going back. She hadn't heard from her Cabinet in months, no matter how many letters she sent.

The sorrow hit his eyes. She could only hug him long enough so he relaxed before she pulled away. She turned to walk upstairs, feeling his rage simmer. She was ready for a bath. She’d smelled of smoke from the firepits – her favorite smell. After the long, glorious evening, she just needed some shut-eye. She moved through the hall, her eyes casually passing over the new claw marks on Lucien’s door.

Always a reminder of his temper.

He was half right. The civil war in Eraexa had just ended, but skirmishes lingered. Half of her kingdom saw the promise in opening relations with the Fae Realm, the other did not see a need for change. The truth of her being turned half-Fae had spread, but no one had yet seen her or the extent of her powers. She barely understood them herself. And humans tended to make assumptions about who people were based on their looks. To her luck, she looked like a normal human, only the lustrous glow of Fae skin enhanced her natural beauty. If she looked like a typical Fae, any wrong move would make her a threat. And eventually, a target.

Then she heard something shred down the stairs.

Chapter Text

Genesis

It had been weeks since ravens returned with news. Seriah was normally quick to respond with the most recent updates on Eraexa. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Tamlin had been away surveying the Court Meadowlands for days, leaving her to walk the grounds with the common folk. Today, she’d spent much of the day harvesting in the fields. Pumpkins, sunflower crowns, cabbage and carrots were wheelbarrowed back to the court for her. It was another day of walking through the market, smelling the warmth of freshly baked bread and smoked turkey legs wafting a mile away. The tearoom was her favorite hideout – a quaint little shop riddled with history books, nestled at the corner of cobblestone roads. It was full of floral-scented pastries, savory sandwiches, and meat pies. It was a haven for her, especially on a cold day. The new florist next to the tearoom was kind enough to give her a small bunch of wildflowers as a gesture of goodwill. She’d cut off the stem of a baby purple lily and placed it in her hair, just above her ear. The rest she’d have to find a small vase somewhere back at Tamlin’s court.

On her way back, she stopped at the Ravenry. She hoped to receive a message from Seriah about the date of her departure from the Fae Realm. Or at least news from her Cabinet, where she could monitor the kingdom’s progress. The Ravenry was a sleek tower, a column of cages and straw that twined up the stairs. She'd been through here a few times, never long enough to know the people who tended to the ravens well. She couldn't stand the smell.

A young fae man sat perched by a large nest, doting over what appeared to be newly hatched ravens, cautiously rationing out feed.

“Good morning. Anything from Eraexa?”

The young man looked up and stood quickly. “Good morning; nothing has come today.” He stilled for a moment, looking perplexed. “Is there much discontent in the Human Realm?”

It wasn't so much discontent as it was that the kingdom was in reconstruction. The civil war in Eraexa left many homeless, and the war destroyed crops that if, unchecked, could make its affected regions violent and unstable.

“It is unusual to send so many letters in such a short period of time.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And how many is that?”

“I meant no disrespect. But 12 in four months, is usually a sign of trouble.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion before politely smiling. “May I see the ledger?” She glanced over at the nearby table. Before he could answer. She walked over quickly and bag flipping through the pages.

Nine in four months. With four in the last six weeks.

Delivered to the High Lord of Spring Court.

+++

A mixture of grief and rage pulsed through her. Her cabinet sent letter after letter trying to get a response from her, only to be thwarted by a trusted ally. He'd had a direct hand in delaying her return, denying her the obligations of her position, her duty to care for her own people, and bring them stability as their Queen.

And he denied her throne.

She hurriedly walked down the concrete steps and of the Ravenry, trying to stifle the tears in her eyes, her knuckles white. After all they had done for each other, the promises they made to look after one another. She felt her heart crack in a way she couldn't explain. Of all the years of silent unrequited love, of love turned into a deep friendship, she’d been by his side, forever loyal to him. Even as he reminded her of his generosity.
She entered Tamlin’s court to find him seated at the table with Lucien and a guest – dark haired and smug. The air felt terse. Tamlin’s eyes shifted to her entrance, the guest turning his head in his seat.

Rhysand.

“What are you doing here?”

He smirked, “Just visiting a friend.”

Tamlin’s eyebrows furrowed at their exchange. It was clear Tamlin wanted her to leave so the two could continue the conversation. She walked back and headed to the fenced area by the grazing sheep. She was torn between confronting Tamlin and getting a chance to speak with Rhysand, especially about Tamlin’s business with the Night Court. She needed to understand this newfound alliance when Tamlin had always spoken so ill of him. She decided to wait where she could get a direct eye on him walking out.

An hour went by. Her brows furrowed.

How could I have missed him?

“Hello, darling.”

She whipped around to find him standing behind her.

“How did you -?”

He explained his trademark winnowing, something she’d never seen or heard of.

“What was so important you came all this way here?” she asked.

“Allies can be helpful.”

She nodded, sensing he wanted to keep his cards close. She glanced back at the sprawling mansion. “If he finds you talking to me, he’ll lose his marbles.”

He rolled his eyes to that and chuckled under his breath, seemingly annoyed by the thought of Tamlin at all. "I'm not really concerned about Tamlin's marbles. We have nothing to fear from him. He's not really smart enough or clever enough to actually catch us and ruin our fun. We can just keep this a little secret between us, and there is nothing he could really do about it, even if he wanted to.”

“Is that what you want this to be, a secret?”

His expression grew more serious and sincere, and he leaned in a bit closer, his gaze meeting hers softly. "No. That isn't what I want for us. To be honest, I'm not afraid of Tamlin finding out about us. In fact, I kind of wish we could show him how much we enjoy each other," he whispered, his tone taking on a slightly mischievous and naughty edge.

Rhysand looked behind Genesis, taking in the sight of Tamlin approaching, looking angry and aggressive. The once-warm, mischievous expression on his face falls and is replaced with a look of irritation.

Tamlin's expression grew more furious and hostile. He moved closer to Rhys, his fists clenched at his sides, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "I'm not stupid, Rhysand. You're a conniving, scheming, ruthless snake, and I know exactly what you're up to. You're here for her, aren't you? You're here to try to steal her away from me."

"Steal her from you?" he scoffed, his tone becoming more harsh and sarcastic. "Do you think you own her or something? She's not some prize to be won or some property to be possessed, you stupid bitch."

Her faced dropped.

Tamlin's expression grew even more furious and insulted by Rhys's words, and his fists clenched even tighter, his knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip. "You shut your mouth, you arrogant prick," Tamlin says, his words dripping with rage and animosity, and he lifted his fist up, with claws out, prepared to swing a punch at Rhys.

The two men stared at each other, locked in a tense, silent, and hostile standoff, both waiting for the other to make the first move. The tension between the two males grew even more intense and palpable.

“Tamlin, it’s not worth it,” she said cautiously.

Tamlin's fist remained clenched, the air around them charged with the intensity of the confrontation. Rhys stood motionless, his body tense and his expression serious, watching Tamlin with a cautious and focused eye.

“Listen to your Queen, Tamlin,” Rhysand says with spite.

With a sudden and explosive movement, Tamlin swung his fist, aiming to land a punch on Rhys. The blow landed on Genesis, sending her flying back from the impact and onto the ground, dazed and reeling from the attack. He’d landed right on her jaw, slashing her face. She looked up at him, grasping her cheek, incredulous.

Tamlin could see in her eyes all her thoughts. His lack of self-control, letting Rhysand bait him into a fight. The thoughts only angered him further, and he stood over her.

She looked down at her hand, smeared with blood. She had it and began to shout. “Why can’t you just learn to control your own temper?!”

He snapped back. "You're the one who caused this. If it was just Rhys, I could have handled him, but you're the one who got in the way. You're the only reason this confrontation began."

She stood up. “You hit me. And you can’t even apologize?” she baffled.

"Apologize? For defending my territory? For defending my court from a scheming ally? For trying to protect the people under my care and the woman under my protection? I have nothing to apologize for. You're the one who should apologize. For betraying my trust and fraternizing with the enemy."

She paused.

“...I know about Calanmai. You should be ashamed of yourself for associating with such a despicable and scheming individual. Do you really trust him? Do you really think he has your best interests at heart?"

Rhysand remained stoic and unreadable, his gaze fixed on Tamlin with a cold, calculating intensity, fire raging through his blood.

The heavy silence in the air remained, both Lords locked in a tense standoff.

“And I know about the letters, Tamlin.”

Tamlin's expression dropped. His voice softened, and he spoke carefully, his voice filled with a mix of pain and desperation. He knew the words to say to her to overlook his mistakes. "We promised to protect each other.”

This vow, this bond of loyalty, left her and Lucien in a similarly unbalanced relationship with Tamlin. He would always hang his so-called benevolence over her head. She’d gone with it so long that she lived longer as a demi-fae indebted to him than her natural life. But he wasn’t protecting her from the humans who’d beaten her within an inch of her life anymore. Now he hid official correspondence meant for her, at the highest level of her own government. It didn’t matter what his reasons were.

She kept her hand pressed to her jaw to stop the bleeding. “You can’t even protect me from yourself.”

He flew into another frenzy. "How can you say that? I've done everything in my power to protect you. Everything! I've spent the past 50 years trying to protect you, and even now, I'm trying to protect you, but you refuse to see the truth. You let yourself be manipulated and influenced by this sycophant, and you're not even self-aware enough to realize it. He's a threat, and he's trying to take you away from me. What else did you expect me to do?"

She'd had enough. He'd struck her before, once. After decades of placating him, loving him, and forgiving him for what he couldn't return...she knew she would always be his second-rate savior. Anything else was better than the scraps of tenderness he threw her way, when he'd see the affection leaving her eyes. She'd accepted her place in his life, fating herself to him. But another destiny was laid bare before her, one Tamlin sought to undermine. This wasn't loving her at all, in any shape or form.

“I don’t want your protection anymore.”

Chapter Text

Rhysand

He felt her shaking in his arms the whole way to the Night Court. The Night Court was too far to winnow, so flying had to do. At least until he got to his borders. He would glance down at her occasionally, her eyes and arms tightening around his neck whenever turbulence struck. She said nothing the entire trip, but the palpitations in her heart and the melancholy that overshadowed her said it all. The silence was broken only by the soft rush of the wind as he flew over an expansive lake that shimmered in the dimming sunlight, sherbet colors of oranges and pinks painting the sky.

The hours spent at the Spring Court to make some sort of conversation was unpleasant but necessary. He had to be there just long enough to make contact with her. And thank the Cauldron, there she was. Tamlin and Rhysand had some sort of amicable alliance after fighting alongside one another during the Battle of Hybern. Now he wanted to throttle Tamlin the moment he slashed her face open, watching her tumble to the ground, witnessing the shock and betrayal in her eyes.

Rage seared through him as he replayed it. It took every fiber in his being to keep from melting his mind away. But he had to stay uninvolved. She wouldn't forgive him for it.

Not my fight. Not my anything.

Then her eyes said it. Take me. He only needed to hear it once. And so he lifted her into his arms, stretching out his wings and blasting them into the blue. Tamlin had stood there, with his eyes fixed on the skies, watching him fly away with her, out of his sight. He could have sworn Tamlin shouted some expletive in despair. For a second, he thought she might regret leaving with him and ask to turn around, and he would have done so begrudgingly, but she remained quiet. For that he was grateful. 

As the sun set, Rhysand noted her nodding off. He decided to fly the rest of the way. On arrival, he tilted his angle, beginning the descent. He glanced down to see her eyes survey the magnificent building atop a cliff overlooking the lake, the details of the building become more defined, with elegant architecture and grandiosity. As they descended, the wind carried the fresh, salty scent of the lake. Rhysand pumped his wings with a gentle but determined landing, his wings rustling and gently folding against his back as they came to a soft stop.

The House of Wind.

He slowly released her from his arms. She’d been in practically one position the entire time. The blood clotted on her face, but she still clutched her jaw. She would need a few more days of healing. He'd see to it that a healer was available. She gazed up at the size of the building, grasping his forearm to keep from losing her balance. He gently intertwined his fingers with hers. With a gentle squeeze, he led her inside. If he stole anything, they were glances out of the corner of his eye, watching her marvel. He wondered how long it had been since she marveled at anything.

Rhysand opened the door to the main hall, letting her walk ahead of him. His eyes lingered at the sway of her hips, her leather pants drawing his attention to her curves and contours. He cleared his throat lightly and reigned in his thoughts.

She turned around and smirked, “Try not to get too distracted from giving me the house tour,” she joked.

At least you're in good spirits.

A hint of embarrassment coursed through him, but he cooly recovered. "Apologies," he replied in his tone. "But the view is rather distracting, can you blame me?"

“Absolutely I can,” she jabbed back.

Cheeky lass.

Even for such a turbulent day. Good. He stepped in front, leading her through the grand, elegant foyer, with a high ceiling and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. They walked through to a large, open common area, with cozy couches and chairs scattered throughout. Windows lined the walls, providing a stunning view of the landscapes outside. Just across from the common area was a large, well-stocked bar, and a stairway led upwards.

Rhysand's expression grew a little more serious, his voice taking on a deeper and more solemn tone. "The one rule in this house - there are absolutely no secrets. Nothing, no matter how small or insignificant, is kept from anyone inside of these walls. We tell each other everything, and we trust each other completely. It's vital for the safety and well-being of everyone here."

With a nod, Rhysand led her to the stairway, his steps measured and deliberate, glancing back at her a few times.

"Shall we take a look inside some of the rooms? There's quite a few here, each one designed for different purposes. Maybe one of them can be yours," he offered, breaking the momentary silence between them as he gestured to the many doors around, each one waiting to be explored and revealed.

He paused momentarily, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as his eyes moved over her as if searching for something. "I'm glad you're here."

Me too. Away from the Spring Court.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You don't ever have to go back there if you don't want to," he says quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're safe here. You can stay here, for as long as you need or want to."

With a small nod, Rhysand turned and led her down the hall towards one of the doors. He pushed it open, revealing a spacious and elegant bedroom with tall windows, a comfortable-looking bed, and a cozy fireplace. "This one is a favorite of mine," he explained, stepping aside. "You're welcome to use it as often as you'd like. The fires in all the rooms can be lit or extinguished with a snap of your fingers," he explained, wiggling his fingers playfully as if to demonstrate.

Her eyes glimmered. She looked up at him. “It’s lovely, thank you,” and gave him a warm smile.

He nodded. “I’ll let you get some rest.” He closed the doors.

+++

Genesis

She'd closed the door shut. She was in a strange, yet beautifully decorated home. The room was head to toe in ultramarine marble, with cream furnishings, and gold accents. Wooden Tables and chairs were carved and polished in solid pieces. Books adorned the walls. She heard a fire spark, turning to see the fireplace alight itself, adding an extra ambiance of comfort. It had been a long day.

As soon as she towel-dried her hair, a tray apparitioned onto a table by the fireplace. She could smell the teapot of freshly brewed jasmine, meat pies, and roasted potatoes. Her favorites from the Spring Court.

She'd curled into the loveseat in front of the fireplace, clutching a pillow to her chest. As much as she had an appetite, she couldn't bring herself to eat. She reached for a cup of tea and sipped stoically, her eyes fixated on the embers. Memories of Tamlin ran through her mind. She remembered the day he cut her down. She’d woken up Under the Mountain, a newly born demi-fae as others hauled away the Cursebreaker in an oak stretcher. She had no idea who rescued her, until he had walked by and saw her sit up. He walked in stoically, nodded, and commanded his troops to escort her to his Court for treatment, until it was safe for her to return home.

She felt a low, blunt pain course through her jawline. She lightly pressed a finger on the mark Tamlin left. The gash had closed, and she ran her finger along her jawline. Small white strips had appeared, running from her ear to her chin. Still tender.

She remembered his struggles with nightmares after the war. How she had been there to comfort him. When he woke up screaming this strange name, broke in a sweat, skin hot and pale. She would wipe the sweat off his brow in the middle of the night. Stroked his back as he vomited into the toilet. Held him until he drifted back to sleep. Countless nights.

He wasn't all bad. He showed her a different way of living and a different way of thinking. How his eyes marveled when he would teach her to shapeshift, when she learned to cook in the kitchens, all the delicacies of his Court, and when she hunted with him. That was how they'd fallen for each other. The times they trained in the fighting pits, walked the grounds with the commonfolk, sampling breads and sweets and wines. They needed each other. It wasn't entirely passionate, but they were devoted to one another. And they clung to each other as if they had no one else to love.

She remembered the far-off gaze he held when they swam in his favorite hot spring. When she would pass by the grand hall, seeing him somber at colorful paintings drawn by the artist who passed long ago. She remembered his first fit of rage. When he became so upset with her for rearranging a room stuffed with dried paints and brushes and half-worked canvases.

She found out who it was. Eventually. And when he refused to speak her name, it tore the fabric in the life they'd weaved together.

She sipped her tea, her green eyes glowing into the embers.

Leaving had been a long time coming.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

He invited her to dinner the following evening. As he took his seat, he noticed her noticing him. He watched her eyes wander over his strong, well-muscled arms as he settled in. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He casually sat upright in his chair, straightening his spine and flexing his arms subtly.

She tried to hide her bashfulness. “That's a beautiful tattoo,” she said softly.

He turned his arm, giving her a better view of the intricate pattern of swirls and lines, the swirling black ink vibrant against his skin. "Thank you," he replied, voice low and sincere, a hint of pride in his tone. "It's significant to me and my heritage. It's llyrian," he explained, his fingers tracing the ink lines on his arm. "Each line represents a person I've lost, their spirit and memory forever etched on my skin. With every new tattoo, I carry the memory of those lost and honor them through the ink and the pain that comes with it."

Many lines, she thought. He felt her pang of empathy towards him - to have lived so long and seen so many loved ones pass. She had no reminder of her own, but a longer look in her eyes said that she came from a place of great suffering. 

“Wine,” he said aloud to no one. A black decanter appeared, swirling a dark liquid before pouring itself into goblets on the table. He watched her eyes glow at the magic happening before her, taking her cup in hand.

His smile softened, his brows furrowed gently, his head cocking slightly, his gaze fixed on her. “I'd like to thank you for coming here, I know this wasn't the ideal situation in which you would arrive.”

She let out a small breath. “After today, I think nearly any situation is better than staying there. Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality.”

“Of course”. The silence in the air thickened. She looked around, seemingly unsure of herself. Unusual. She spoke on Calanmai as though he were a close friend, or a stranger she'd never see again. Now he was a potential ally. She thought about him for days after Calanmai - his power emanating through him. Around him. It was magnetic. He watched her expression change as she looked him square in his violet eyes, her own tracing along his olive skin, even more radiant underneath the warm light.

She took a sip of her wine, then pressed it to her lips as she gulped it down, its sweetness quenching a thirst from the stress that carried on her shoulders for too long. She took her last gulp and placed the goblet down, exhaling deeply. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve before remembering she was in company. “Really good shit,” she smiled and looked down.

“It’s Illyrian vintage,” he said. The decanter topped her off. 

His eyes glimmered. He took a small breath, his expression becoming more serious and focused. "I'd like to know a bit more about you, if you're comfortable sharing," he begins, his voice gentle.

It was a moment before he let the wave of ease come over her.

“How did you come into Tamlin’s Court?”

The words then spilled out of her. “I had been a high commander of human troops, fighting in support of the Fae-Human Alliance Treaty. I had been injured, and my troops were nearly decimated. I was one of the few who rebelled against those who were opposed to the treaty, wanting to keep us separate. The success of the fight against Amarantha proved the Alliance could be prosperous and peaceful for both nations…when I returned home expecting a victorious welcome, I was met with disdain.

She took another sip. "I continued to voice my support for the Alliance. But the public outcry was so negative that my very life was threatened. Those who supported my initiatives kept me protected as long as they could. When they discovered I became half Fae …that was the point where exile was the only option. I spent a great deal of my time understanding the sentiments. Over the years I grew more convinced that the Alliance was the best way forward. And so I continued to broadcast my messages and insights to the Human Nation. Apparently, I garnered their respect, especially the newer generations who rode for peace and inclusion. But there was opposition to those who wanted to keep things the same. It resulted in a civil war in my nation."

A sadness swept over her, but she kept her composure. I had to watch those I loved suffer and die from afar, which I could do nothing about.

"At the end of the war…the youth won. They demanded a change in the governmental structure. They wanted to decide who would rule. They were fine with a monarchy. But they wanted to choose who could be the monarch.”

“…And you are their chosen Queen.”

She shrugged. “Well, I haven’t been crowned. I would need to go home to be crowned.”

He paused. He contemplated keeping her at Night Court just a little while longer. But he knew he'd be no better than Tamlin. “Then let's take you home.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why help me?”

“Because I have an interest in this Treaty as well.”

He stood up and walked over to her and sat on the table next to her plate. “There is always room for mutual benefit," his tone was serious and thoughtful. "Mortals possess a vast array of resources, knowledge, and skills that could be of value in a strategic alliance. However, the fear and mistrust between our species are deeply rooted, and it will require more than just benefits to bridge that gap.”

“And what do you require?”

He extended his hand toward her, placing her hand in his. “Your trust. We want your people to see us not as a threat, but as a partner, as a friend. We want our nations to build a strong, lasting alliance based on trust and mutual respect. I realize this is a lot to ask of a people who have little reason to trust us, given our history of war and conflict. But it is a vital foundation for any lasting partnership."

He watched her, his gaze never wavering. "Your trust,” his voice soft but firm.

She nodded. In her mind, trust was the most valuable commodity they could ask of each other. Tamlin’s warnings of the Night Court, especially their High Lord, rang in her mind. But what history wrote and what people in his Court whispered were all different. Even he was different.

"Then it's settled," he says, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. His face softened, letting out a relieved sigh. The tension in his shoulders eased a little.

“Before I do take you home, I would ask you to consider visiting the High Council. There are six other High Lords. If you want this Alliance to truly work, we will need their trust as well.”

She was familiar with them. The Lords of the Winter and Autumn Courts held deep skepticism and distrust of mortals. One was often shrouded in snow and frost, and many of its citizens believed that mortals brought chaos and disorder. The Autumn Court’s past experiences with mortals were unfavorable, and they held deep resentment and prejudices against them. It would take significant convincing and diplomacy to sway their stances, and even then, there were no guarantees.

She placed his hand over his. “We would need to get our arguments together. Arrange for a neutral territory where we can hold the meeting, ensuring the safety and comfort of all participants. I would want my ring there, of course.”

“Ring?”

“A select group of my most trusted advisors,” she said.

“Very well,” he lifted her hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss on the back, his lips lingering for a moment. He studied her features - her light olive skin turning pink under the glow of soft lights at the dinner table. He felt her pulse quicken as she shifted in her seat before gently taking her hand back.

She raised her eyes. “May I use a raven?”

+++

Veritas Serum.

He’d asked her for trust and she gave it. Not that she had a choice.

A surge of guilt ran through him. He trusted Azriel’s intelligence on her, but he needed to meet her in person. His experience with human queens was disappointing, at best. They’d all wanted immortality and youthful beauty. And they got one of those by working with the King of Hybern. But she was an entirely different queen.

Especially at Calanmai. She’d left her mind open, though he didn’t wander through. She stole glances from him and casually swept her hair over to the side. She laughed with ease, laying down on her back to gaze up at the stars, swearing they whispered in her ear sometimes. She laughed at herself tripping over a tree branch. Even when he watched her hips sway away from him, back to the Court, beer mug in hand. She was not one of them.

At the dinner table, her eyes were cautious, her body upright, holding grace and poise. Her smile was a force of politeness. Solemn and serious. And her story was even more compelling. But it was her reasoning for this Alliance and her willingness to listen that made him reflect on her.

He could sense her desire. There were always females who’d wanted to be with him, not just a High Lord but of the Night Court. A handful had the courage to express their desire, and even fewer he took to bed. But none were his mate. His thoughts wandered to the Cursebreaker, wondering if she could have been it. He remembered a feeling of emptiness when she died, leaving a strange hole where his heart had been.

The idea of a future where this alliance worked, where he and his people gained an ally against another pending war, was ideal. Where she might find a home in this land, and where they might have something more, was a beautiful dream.

His heart skipped a beat, letting a flicker of hope spark in his chest.

That, was indeed a beautiful dream.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

Take me somewhere.

His dreams haunted him as he stared out the window. Rhysand looked outside, watching Genesis walk the trail in the garden. She looked straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes off in distant thought.

His mind was half scrambled from last night. She felt so real, tracing her fingers along the dinner table, and before he knew it, they were exploring his body. Over the lines of his tattoo, across his pecs, and then behind to his back, where his wings began to unfold. He pumped into her on the table as she outlined his wings with her fingertips.

His cock twitched. Take me somewhere.

Azriel chimed in, “She spends nearly every waking hour like this.”

Rhysand refocused. Mere days had passed. He found himself gazing at the hope in her eyes when she talked about the potential treaty. He checked in on her every now and then, mostly catching her gaze out of her private terrace. At times, her mind was a blur of words. He could hear her changing sentences, changing words, before he felt her headache come on. He had decades of experience and centuries of learning from his father before he assumed command of his Court. He could truly help her. They could help each other.

Cassian shoveled eggs and thick-cut bacon into his mouth. “She was a chosen ruler with no experience, and yet she was charged with ensuring the welfare of her nation? Cauldron, she’s got some reputation.”

Cauldron, she’s committed.

Genesis finally regained contact with her Cabinet. Poverty was growing rampant, which triggered an underground black market. So she spent her time holed up in the library, studying the challenges and looking for possible solutions. Especially where Prythian and its High Lords could be of help. When she wasn’t, she walked the gardens alone, contemplating the future of her monarchy.

“She needs to get out of the House,” Rhysand said. She had all the time to do nothing but think about getting back to her Court and waiting for her Cabinet’s letters. Perhaps the garden was the only place she could go to keep her sane. It was one thing to be stuck in Tamlin’s Court only to go to another and be stuck there as well. This time, in a place she didn’t know, with a High Lord who asked for nothing but trust. Any smart person would think there was a game being played here.

“I would love to take her out on the town.” Mor’s voice was filled with a lightness.

“You plan to dress her up in a see-through gown?” Cassian joked.

“Knuckle-dragging busybody,” Mor muttered.

He imagined her in such a gown before shaking the thought out of his mind. Rhysand grabbed an apple and bit in. His Inner Circle would deliver the Ring to the Night Court soon.

+++

Rhysand sat at one end of the room while she sat at another. He watched her stare into the fire as she sat nearby, shuffling through loose papers. The drawing room was simple yet cozy. Filled with cream and brown fur rugs, plush pillows, tufted leather couches and chairs. A wall of leather-bound books and a large, free-standing globe nearby.

Echoes rang through his mind. Don't stop, she murmured, her voice a bit broken, his breath shallow. I love when you touch me there. His dream had her fingers brushing against his wings, teasing that spot he knew caused him to unload like a hose. She moaned in his mouth, keeping her eyes locked on him, his eyes closed…watching him get closer to ecstasy.

His body tensed, a small sensation coursing through his core.

“Rhys, may I ask, what are the challenges in your Court? In Prythian?”

He shifted in his seat. "The challenges in my court are vast and ever-changing. He quietly stirred his tea and gently placed it down on the end table. “We deal with internal political conflicts, threats from other courts, and the ever-present threat of darkness and chaos, particularly when magic evolves. As for the challenges in Prythian as a whole, those are varied and complex. Political alliances, territorial disputes, and the ongoing tensions between the different courts are constant challenges."

She slouched back in her leather chair. “At the moment, my people cannot afford to eat much. The technologies used during the war created a widespread blight on the crops.”

"Are your people able to pay for food imports?"

“Not with the tariffs and sanctions imposed on the imports between Fae and Human Realms. Lifting these, even for a short period of time, would help. It could even employ people to deliver food. God knows we need the money.”

She is very-well read.

She looked over at him. "And perhaps, after some time, that temporary relief could turn into more permanent terms, like a trade agreement between our two nations." She smiled at him in assurance.

He returned her smile, feeling a sense of hope rise within him. "There's just one more thing we need to consider," his tone slightly more serious. "If we're going to pursue a trade agreement of any kind between our nations, we'll need to start by building relationships and networks between our citizens. That way, they can start to see one another as allies and friends, rather than strangers.”

She nodded, accepting the idea.

"There are many things that I could offer in return”, he continued. “Food exports of our own, perhaps, to help with your nation's blight. Or we might offer our aid in building infrastructure, like ports or roads, to facilitate trade. Perhaps some technical assistance or even weapons, if you feel that would be beneficial."

“What would you want in exchange?”

Being torn apart by pleasure. Her moans and that steady gaze in her eyes stoked the heat in this groin. He tilted his head back, his breath hitched in his throat. You're killing me, he groaned, his voice thick with passion.

He cleared his throat. “You are very well accustomed to the ways of the Fae. Knowing there’s always an exchange.” He nodded, a solemn expression on his face. "My offer stands — your trust."

“I thought you would have asked for water and pest control.”

He turned his head over his shoulder to see Cassian walking by. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You're right, my court does have occasional pests.”

“I can hear you, motherfucker.”

"And perhaps I should've asked for it." Rhysand shrugged, a bit of a smirk on his face. "But trust, on the other hand..."

Her eyes flashed with curiosity about the massive male strutting through the hall. She kept her attention on Rhysand. “You are a bold Fae - in asking for nothing but trust in exchange for my nation's needs, that is quite the olive branch.”

His tone turned serious. “I will stand by any alliance that brings genuine peace and respect between our people. I will not condone acts of harm or violence towards mortals, however, I will also not hesitate to defend my people against any threats they may pose. The future of our kingdoms is in a delicate balance, and every alliance we create could tip the scale either way."

He went on. "Trust is the foundation of everything - of friendship, of love, of nations. It's the most valuable commodity we can offer one another.”

Love, he heard. Interesting remark.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

It wasn’t difficult to convince her to take a break, especially when he’d offered to winnow her Ring to the Night Court. It was a necessary step to introduce his Inner Circle. He hoped they would get along and find common ground.

He felt her excitement when he mentioned Valen. And again, when he placed his hand around her waist. And again, when she mirrored his gesture, careful to avoid touching his wings. He pulled her close, and with a sudden jolt of magic, they were engulfed in a whirlwind of darkness and shadow, suddenly finding themselves standing in the middle of a small, quaint village square. Her eyes glistened as she witnessed the white stone deck the plaza, taking in the curved archways and columns that eclipsed small shops and watering holes.

She stood still, her arm still wrapped around his waist. He let her hold him as long as she wanted.

“Valen is known for its hospitality," he said with a hint of pride. “It is a small village at the edge of the Night Court, tucked away in the chill of the mountains. Private enough from prying eyes, big enough to feel different than the towering island I call a house.”

She looked up at Rhysand, a soft blush creeping up on her cheeks. She slowly released herself from his side before taking a few steps ahead and turning around to get the full view of the square. "I'm sure my Ring will appreciate the warm welcome," she said softly.

The sound of laughter and chatter echoed through the air, and the people are going about their business, seemingly unbothered by the arrival of an outsider. The village square was bustling with life, with vendors selling their wares, children running around, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. The mountain views from every angle were breathtaking, their snow-capped peaks reaching towards the sky.

He smiled at her childlike wonder. He followed her gaze upwards, taking in the breathtaking view of the mountains and the sky above. "Sometimes on clear nights, you can see the aurora from here. It's truly magical."

“I should like to see them one day. My kingdom is too far south.”

He smiled at the awestruck expression on her face. He watched her carefully, taking in her beauty and how she lit up at the thought of seeing the aurora. Maybe one day it would be her favorite place in the Night Court. Maybe someday, on a special night, something extraordinary could happen right there in a place that they both would cherish.

A whisper of shadows and darkness filled the air, and figures took shape around her. Both strangers and familiar faces.

Rhysand watched Genesis’s eyes sigh in relief as three Faes placed her Ring gently down. They gawked at the mountains peering down on the square.

She walked over to the older woman with silver hair, blue eyes, and a piercing wit, her presence exuding authority. “Seriah,” she exhaled and reached out her arms, embracing her. She stepped off to the side, allowing a younger man with a youthful, lighthearted charm and expressive eyes to meet her face-to-face. Their hands grasped one another’s elbows before coming in closer for a quick hug and friendly pats on the back. He was dressed in subdued leather armor, wearing a thick leather bracelet with a sigil - a sword bisecting an equilateral cross. She acknowledged a tall, broad-shouldered man with a well-groomed beard and penetrating green eyes in the same manner. Together, they exuded a subtle sense of danger and mystery, the air around them crackling with potential. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

The tension in the air was palpable, and the unspoken words and silent judgments seemed to loom over everyone like a heavy weight. The Ring eyed each other with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, tense representatives of two separate realms stood face-to-face for the first time.

Rhysand took a small step forward, breaking the silence in a warm and welcoming tone, "Welcome to Valen. I hope your journey was not too troublesome."

The Ring slowly nodded in appreciation, although their faces remained mostly impassive and unreadable, save for Seriah, whose face betrayed a hint of friendliness.

Rhysand continued, “Your escorts are my closest friends and allies, the ones who stand by my side through thick and thin. Cassian is a formidable warrior and the general of my armies.” Cassian was the most physically imposing of the group, with his short, choppy dark hair, and a playful grin on his face. “Azriel, my spymaster and a shadowsinger” with his striking shadow-kissed skin and dark, inky hair, his face stoic and unreadable as usual. “And Mor, my cousin, and a true warrior,” with her cascading waves of blonde hair, wearing a navy blue dress, and a warm smile on her face.

Genesis introduced her Ring. “Seriah is my master speaker and chief political advisor. Jaeys is my theologian at arms. And Josue, my spymaster as well. Though in my kingdom he is known as the Queen’s Eye.”

Cassian’s eyes widened, approving of the title.

“It’s breathtaking isn’t it?” Genesis gleamed at her Ring. “I’ve got half a mind to leave you all behind and build a home here,” she chuckled.

Rhysand’s heart warmed at the idea. That she would be anywhere in his Court. Even Azriel's face softened the tiniest bit.

Jaeys, at Cassian's side, grinned at the suggestion. "I've been itching to check out the town! Any good pubs here?"

Cassian's grin widened at the mention of pubs, but Azriel answered, his voice surprisingly warm. "There are a few hidden gems around. There's one not too far from the meeting place that serves excellent ale."

Mor piped in, her tone hinting at mischief. "And the food at this place is absolutely delicious. It's worth the visit just for that, really." Cassian's grin grew wider at the mention of food, eager to sample the local delicacies.

Cassian playfully nudged Azriel in the ribs. "Well then, I guess that settles it. Let's go find ourselves some good food and ale.” Cassian slapped him enthusiastically on the back.

Mor was already walking, leading the way down the cobbled streets, Cassian by her side, chatting animatedly as they walked. Cassian glanced back at the Ring, checking if they were as eager to go as he was. Azriel strolled behind them, his eyes always vigilant, while Josue nudged Seriah and struck up a quiet conversation at the back of the group.

Friendly banter continued as the group arrived at their destination - a cozy, dimly lit cafe with a warm glow emanating from its windows. The Majik Pan. Cassian, with his usual enthusiasm, stepped forward and entered the cafe, looking around with an eager expression on his face. Booths and tables were set up around a central fireplace that crackled merrily in the hearth. The scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, adding a comforting and comforting aroma to the surroundings. Several patrons were seated around, enjoying their meals and chatting quietly amongst themselves, adding to the welcoming atmosphere.

The eight eyed two long tables and pushed them together.

Mor spoke up, “If you're looking for something absolutely delicious, the roast chicken with garlic and herbs is to die for. And don't forget their apple crumble for dessert. It's like a little slice of heaven."

Cassian shouted over his shoulder to the owner, “Hey Maude - what’s high protein here?”

A plump, middle-aged female shouted back, "The coconut and curry stew. Pork and chicken with a variety of vegetables. It's packed full of nutrients for big, strong general like you.”

“Double meat, no vegetables, “He whispered over to Jaeys. “It’s just filler.” He turned back over to Maude and trailed off towards her.  “Did I ever tell you you’re like a mom to me? C’mon, mom, give me a hug…”

Half of them rolled their eyes while others smiled at his interaction. Cassian, in all his foul-mouthed antics, had his moments of endearment. Rhysand looked over at Genesis, who remained quiet, a shimmer of humor flashed through her eyes.

Thank the cauldron for Cassian.

"You charmer. Now sit down and wait for your meal, or you'll never grow those big muscles of yours,” Maude joked.

+++

Genesis

Rhysand and Genesis both kept a watchful eye on the conversation and interactions between the two circles. While they waited for their orders, Cassian kept up his light-hearted banter and playful demeanor while Azriel offered quiet words of observation and insight.

The parallels were positive. Cassian and Jaeys were young at heart. Genesis could envision Cassian and Jaeys finding a deeper spirituality discussing the philosophies of war. Her mind saw them leaning over pints of beer in a quiet tavern, their eyes soaking up what it meant to manage violence for a living. Azriel and Josue had a similar temperament, both observant, but somehow, she could see their minds racing away in the same thoughts. For Mor and Seriah, that was to be determined. For now, they took comfort in knowing they were both women in high positions of power with the ability to influence their leadership. Rare in either realm.

By the time dinner arrived, a sense of commonality and understanding began to emerge amongst the two circles. This may well work. She’d been worried about human hostilities toward the Fae, but Rhysand’s Inner Circle managed to disarm doubts and win them over. Cassian was a sure hand in breaking the ice between the two. At the end of the night, they had been dropping smaller glasses into bigger glasses, chugging away and trading truths. Seriah and Josue took polite sips. Mor begged to know Tamlin’s dirtiest habit.

She smiled at Rhysand, this time less forced. His Inner Circle was vivacious, open towards the human nation, and kind. She understood her Ring was apprehensive, but she appreciated their diplomacy, nonetheless. Beer helped them loosen up. Rhysand returned her smile, his expression easing into something more genuine.

She understood something in his smile. Rhysand was a whole person. Not a High Lord, not a demon that tormented mercilessly. He wasn’t vicious. He wasn’t a saint by a long shot, either. His reputation simply made others overlook the better qualities of a male. The truth was never simple, but he chose his circle wisely.

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if it was the comfort of old friends, meeting new friends, the beauty of a new village, or the sincerity in his eyes. What she knew was that it felt right in her skin. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

Cassian's eyes widened in mock horror. "Catchup? On eggs? That's a war crime in some countries, Gen."

The house roared in laughter. She chuckled quietly as she poured herself a mug of steamy coffee. Pastries and jams filled the table, with hot plates of sausage, baked beans, eggs, and grilled vegetables appeared as each person sat at the table. Rhysand reached out for a sweet and flaky croissant, took a bite, and offered his half to her with a warm, playful smile.

Genesis smiled at his gesture, shaking her head and grabbing a croissant of her own, aware of the peering eyes that filled the room. She looked at him dead in the eye, with a like mischief on Calanmai, taking a bite of her own croissant, as if to challenge him.

Cheeky lass.

He sensed her feeling the circles noticing their exchange, their eyes flicking back and forth between Rhys and her. Rhys caught their stares and smirked, giving Seriah a wink as if to acknowledge their presence before turning back to his croissant with a grin. He yearned to pull her closer, to feel the warmth of her body, as she did in his dreams. He felt uneasy that morning, torn between focusing on the High Council meeting and the lingering emotions after he'd woken from his slumber.

Something about his dreams were abnormally vivid. She came to him again. This time, under the moonlight in Valen, the sound of distant laughter and music weaving through the air. She laced her hand in his, guiding him away from the chatter and laughter that faded into the ambient sounds of the night. Her hair was tucked behind her ear, a flower he picked nestled on top. The moonlight filtered through the trees, its silver ether hovering above the soft grass. He pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. His touch lingered across the scar along her jawline. His hands found their way to her hips, and he pulled her closer. His tongue brushed against hers in a desperate possession. She whispered in his ear. Underneath there is a current of rage…yet you deeply long for peace. You yearn for comfort you're not sure you'll ever find in this lifetime. So you do the most you can to give it to those that you cannot give to yourself. He looked into her emerald eyes, shocked at her words. She licked his lips. He pulled her closer, wrapping his wings to surround them both, returning a passionate and needy kiss. The air charged as she knelt to the ground for him, wrapping her lips around him, sucking and pulling away slowly, her tongue tracing idle circles around him before plunging him to the back of her throat. He'd ran his fingers through her hair, pulling lightly, his breathing shallow. It wasn't long before he pulled her down to the soft grass and guided their hips together. He flipped on top of her, finishing on her mouth. He swore could taste his release on her lips.

Genesis, looked up from her eggs, smiling eyes in earnest. It was time to meet the High Faes.

Down boy.

+++

Genesis

Dawn Court.

Their High Lord was known for his diplomatic skill and his belief in forging alliances between the realms. The court of healers. No other court was more fitting.

The circles stood in an expansive garden courtyard, surrounded by towering trees and flowering gardens. The air was fresh and cool, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. The opulence of the grand mansion was a testament to its wealth and influence.

Before departing, Josue broke the unfortunate news. “The Readers think the blight is not entirely natural,” Josue said urgently. “It’s too coordinated and fast-spreading, but we don’t have concrete information about whether it's magic in nature or not.” Her mind shifted to the possibility it could be used as a political tool, given Eraexa still had militants in the Kingdom.

“It gets worse. Some groups have started to traffick people through the Fae border. Both humans and faes are being exploited. It’s barely noticeable, except to those that are paying close attention.”

She needed a moment alone. On top of the ever-growing challenges of running a Kingdom, she still needed to get through this Council. And she needed to win them over. She walked around the corner to still her mind. She laid back against a column, her eyes closed. If the issues at the border were going to be a growing issue, she’d have to be on some positive terms with Tamlin. There was no word if he’d be present.

She couldn't help but think of the opinions her allies and her people would have once she formally declared an alliance with Rhysand. Or even more so, what that alliance would look like. He was giving to her freely, without asking for anything of tangible value. She could have sworn he pitched half a tent at breakfast. She couldn't help but look.

Breathe. She lowered her head. Inhaled. And exhaled. At some point, she knew she’d have to face Tamlin. She didn’t think he would hurt her deliberately, but she dreaded it anyway. He may plead with her to return. Her biggest fear was to acquiesce. It was the only love she’d ever known. She looked straight ahead and opened her eyes towards the stunning hillside.

His eyes held her. She witnessed a myriad of emotions cross his face, from surprise and recognition to confusion and perhaps a hint of longing. She held his gaze for a moment, her own expression a mix of wariness and curiosity. She felt raw. He was once her protector, her lover, and now they were facing one another, with a complicated history and even more complicated future.

Tamlin.

Chapter Text

Genesis

The air was suddenly charged with tension and unspoken awkwardness.

She turned to leave.

"I hear you’re allied with the Night Court," his expression darkened.

She paused and looked over at him in mild annoyance.

“You can't trust the Night Court. Rhysand is manipulative, he'll use you for his own gain and then discard you when he's done. All the High Lords are like this."

She could only retort in defense. “Sounds familiar.” She remained composed, but inside, the possibility struck a nerve in her. He could be right. She hadn’t known Rhysand very long, but she was desperate to get home. And help her people. What she did know was that if it was true, then Rhysand and Tamlin were two sides of the same coin.

His he turned somber. "I've seen the way he looks at you.”

She cocked her head to the side. Incredible. “Oh? And how does he look at me, Tamlin?”

He wouldn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer to her, closing the distance between them. He gently placed his hands on her arms, brushing her hair out of her face, the same way whenever her eyes were unhappy. “Stop trusting them and come back to me, where you're safe." He pressed his forehead to hers, meeting her gaze. Something so familiar about his touch sent a warm shiver through her spine. He would always make it so easy to go back.

“And what would you do?” she asked. “Hide my letters? Keep from claiming my crown? Tell me all we need is each other? Tell me you love me?”

“I do love you,” he whispered softly.

Half of her boiled with rage, but the other half…melancholy swept over. They were so far past the point of declaring affection. It was simply too late. 50 years too late. She took a step back, only to find that he’d tightened his grip on her arm. “Tamlin...it's time to let me go.”

His expression softened, releasing his hold on her. The raw emotion in his eyes was undeniable. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves and control himself. "You don't even see it, do you? Or maybe you do, and you just don't care. Either way, you are making a grave mistake. And I can't sit back and watch you destroy yourself and everything you have built."

“The choice to destroy my life is mine alone. You don’t get to decide that.”

She turned and walked away. She could have broken down in tears. In truth, she didn’t have any more left.

+++

Footsteps echoed on the polished stone floors. Lord Thesan’s face glowed with a kind and welcoming expression, his eyes betraying the wisdom of undeterred peace. He gestured for them to take their seats at a long, polished oak table, the perfect setting for upcoming negotiations. Lord Thesan took his seat at the head of the table, his presence radiating a sense of authority and calm.

"I believe the importance of today's meeting is paramount in light of recent developments and shifts in all the realms. it is for that reason that I am grateful every one of you has accepted this invitation and taken the time to be here today."

Lord Thesan cleared his throat. “Now that we are all properly settled, we can begin with the purpose of this meeting. It is my hope that we can all come to a mutual agreement regarding important matters that concern us all."

The air intensified. Tamlin’s eyes darted to the High Lord next to her. Rhysand. A mixture of anger and contempt flashed through his eyes. Rhysand, ever the calm and composed High Lord, met his gaze with a cool, calculating expression, his emotions carefully concealed behind a mask of nonchalance.

Rhysand’s eyes turned to Genesis, smiling in reassurance. Something in her softened, as if she knew she could feel safe with him. She didn’t feel the same sense of safety and assurance with Tamlin. He’d placed his hand on top of hers, giving a gentle squeeze before she placed it back in her lap.

That'll rile him up.

“We all know the Human Realm has been dealing with an escalating number of conflicts among the mortals. and it's getting harder and harder for them to deal with them on their own. It is for that reason that we have been exploring the possibility of an alliance, to help them deal with these conflicts and maintain peace.”

Tamlin’s face dropped in annoyance. “Why should the Fae care about the mortal realm? And if we did, what would they offer in exchange for this…treaty?”

Genesis spoke confidently. “If the Human Realm can be helped to solve their own conflicts, it will also prevent these conflicts from spilling into the Fae Realm. It is in everyone’s interest to ensure their peace to prevent our own realms from being touched by conflict. Increased trade and access to resources from the Human Realm will bring prosperity to both. My Eye has reported the blight may be coming from the Fae realm. It’s causing second-and third order effects to the Fae Realm as speak. As we have extremely limited knowledge on the subject, a bilateral information-sharing agreement would be beneficial to the parties involved.”

"As the Lord of the Night Court, I am willing to extend my support in helping find a solution The Human Realm faces challenges that require our collective efforts, and I am committed to seeing this alliance formed to ensure the safety and stability of all our realms."

Tamlin observed the proceedings with increasing jealousy and suspicion, though other High Lords were taken aback by this unexpected gesture, exchanging glances with a mix of intrigue and wariness. “The Night Court has a reputation for being underhanded. It would be foolish for you to trust him, Genesis.”

Rhysand's face hardened at Tamlin's accusation, his eyes glowing with restrained fury. The tension in the room rose as the two High Lords locked eyes, neither willing to back down. “When I make a commitment, I always keep it."

“Lord Tamlin, the Night Court has shown no ill will or deceit towards me and the members of my Ring. Our informal alliance is founded on mutual trust and transparency. For this alliance to succeed and our people to survive this crisis, I will choose to trust.” She paused. “And as for titles, you may call me Queen.”

She could feel the auras in the room. Tamlin felt a sting of hurt and regret at being rebuffed by her. Her words of trust and alliance with Rhysand, felt like a knife to his heart, reminding him of their strained past and the wounds still fresh and unhealed. The others watched this exchange, their expressions a mix of fascination and wariness over the developing drama. She sensed Rhysand’s twinge of satisfaction at his rival's discomfort. A small, almost imperceptible smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth, though he quickly composed his expression, not wanting to provoke Tamlin further.

His hands clenched onto his armchair, his gaze fixated on Genesis. “Have you been sleeping with him this entire time, Queen Genesis?"

The question hung in the air, and the other High Lords exchanged glances, some looking shocked or uncomfortable by the audacity of the question, while others showed a subtle anticipation for the response.

Rhysand, however, raised an eyebrow at the question, seemingly amused by the brazen and disrespectful nature of the inquiry. Yet she remained unperturbed by the question.
Her Ring stared him down like a child throwing a tantrum.

Lord Thesan interjected. “I think it’s time we took a break.”

+++

Her mind went blind with rage. You petulant. Fucking. Child.

The eight had stepped outside, taking in the scent of lilies and morning dew. Even in the middle of the day, a fresh morning air lingered.

She came here for a good reason, and her plans were again thwarted by Tamlin’s jealousy. After so many years, when she walked away, that’s when he showed some sign of desire. She had been so entrenched in research at Rhysand’s Court she barely thought about Tamlin’s potential behavior.

Sleeping with him. It was laughable. He’d never even kissed her. Sure, flirtations, but she knew it was a ruse to charm her. She didn’t mind. She dreamed of him every now and then. Of animal things. But going to bed with him wasn’t the way to get what she wanted.

Mor stifled a laugh at Tamlin's outburst, a mischievous glint in her golden-brown eyes. "Tamlin sure knows how to make a scene," she remarked with a soft chuckle.

Seriah added, her tone a mix of contemplation and concern. "If Tamlin's losing his composure that quickly, then he might start making impulsive or irrational decisions. We need to be even more cautious when dealing with him in the future."

Josue added. “I know this type…he will become increasingly paranoid, especially if his people seek other ways to make ends meet. He’s a border Court, and with the potential worsening migration issues, he may not have the resources to support.”

Rhysand interjected. “His court is not doing as well as it seems. Tamlin's court has been teetering on the edge of chaos for some time now.”

Cassian nodded in agreement, bending down to retie his bootlaces. “If it becomes a failed court, it could not only cause internal problems but affect the stability of surrounding courts as well. Tamlin's instability and desperation make him vulnerable to exploitation by courts with their own hidden agendas. It's important to stay vigilant and watch for any signs of potential alliances or manipulation from external forces to use Tamlin's court as a pawn in their own power struggles."

Everyone looked at Cassian in surprise.

"What? I'm more than just a beautiful brute, you know," he retorted.

+++

The remainder of the Council meeting went smoothly. The conversation was filled with jargon and references to events and alliances that were not completely clear to her. Rhys, on the other hand, was completely in his element, moving the conversation along with ease and confidence. She couldn't help but notice how effortlessly in control he was, how his presence and stature intimidated everyone in the room. She let out a deep exhale, listening to him speak so eloquently. He was attractive in a completely different way. Rhys was a calm eye in a storm of conflicting interests and ideologies.

The High Lords of Autumn and Winter were somewhat guarded. Wood and coal provided much-needed stability and efficiency in maintaining heat in the harsh and brazen environment of the Winter Court but were simply not sufficient, despite other courts offering what minimal assistance they could. The High Lord of Autumn Court offered support in transporting the supplies and resources necessary for the recovery and sustenance of Eraexa. He looked impressed when Genesis highlighted setting up distribution points in the Human Realm to ensure that resources reached the people who need them most, with a local guard to secure them.

The Night Court agreed to provide airdrops with food and magical plants to rebalance the soil, with Dawn Court providing healers to address the health issues plaguing the eastern shoreline.

Tamlin offered nothing.

Chapter Text

Genesis

The day replayed through her mind. 'So how long have you been sleeping with him?'

Asshole.

She tossed and turned. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger, but once she was alone, she felt herself shifting, dark grey claws forming out of her fingernails, digging into the sides of the redwood bedframe.

He tried to humiliate me.

'I do love you.'

Tears welled in her eyes. It wasn’t love. If it was, it was a warped version at her expense. She lived a lifetime of serving in the Eraexan Army. And a longer lifetime as a member of Tamlin’s court, in his circle of trust. In either life, she’d been a pawn in a bigger game with little return, or a servant who bowed. She told herself it was a privilege to serve, yet the reward was more hard work, along with a fraction more of respect. And then when she was tired playing by the rules, she was hunted down. Condemned. Humiliated.

Come look for me.

She sat up and stroked the back of her neck. She tossed the sheets over and climbed out of bed. She headed downstairs and passed the drawing room on the way to the kitchen, glancing in to see Rhysand sitting at the table, legs crossed, reading in his lap. She stared at the back of his neck, a similar tension when she would brood about the state of the world.

"Can’t sleep?" she asked softly.

He turned his head. “This is where I like to be, in quiet contemplation, at this hour.” He closed his book. “How do you think today went?”

She walked towards him, reaching over to grab an empty glass. “As well as one could hope for, given the unhappy company,” she remarked sourly. He nodded, lifting the decanter and pouring a dram for her. She moved towards the leather couch and took a seat.

He sipped his drink, sucking the sting of alcohol off his lip. She felt his eyes trail her. The glow of the fireplace illuminated the silhouette of her body through her cream-colored nightgown.

“It went better than I expected, given the circumstances...” He’d been worried they’d be hostile toward a Human, given the strained history between our species, somehow, she managed to disarm some of them.

“I must admit, I'm somewhat surprised by how well you've taken to everyone… and how well they've taken to you." He smirked slightly, a teasing glint in his eye, "Though, I suppose I shouldn't be. You always did have a way of winning people over, even in the darkest of times.”

She smirked. “You know my biography.”

“I know your biography.”

She looked up at the painting in the room, of a beautiful Illyrian woman cradling what appeared to be her infant son and daughter. “Beautiful picture.”

“What do you see?”

She stood up and walked towards the painting, gazing in contemplation. “A remarkably kind woman, yet there is a sadness in her eyes. There’s an adventurous spirit to her; yet a palpable softness. Her husband not so much. She had grace no one could break. And my god, did she love to fly around the lake. She was an aerial acrobat.”

He looked at the painting before returning his gaze to her. “How do you know she had a husband?”

“I don't.” She felt some sort of power surging through her, something that heightened. It would happen after she became a Demi-fae, and it was expressed in the strangest of ways. Tamlin evaded her questions about her newfound abilities and over time, she simply accepted that there may be no answer. Now, she doubted if Tamlin knew at all.

"Did Tamlin ever speak with you about these abilities?”

She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t taken too much of an interest.”

He nodded and walked over to her. “I think you have a gift. I don't know its degree, but it needs controlling before it can be strengthened.”

She became wearied about his interest in it or what he could possibly have to gain from it. “I don’t have any gift or power. I’m simply hypersensitive to tiny cues ongoing in the world. Here it’s amplified, but that’s all it is.”

He stared down at her, as if he caught her in a lie, his violet eyes piercing into hers. Her heart raced as she felt his power exude from his body. A shudder of electricity ran through her, and her body heated at the fantasy of his touch. He lowered his lips to hers.

“There are no secrets in this house.” He sipped his drink, watching her watch him suck the sting from his lips.

She exhaled, looking again at the painting. "Who is this woman?"

“My mother,” he walked away cooly.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

Feyre’s blue-gray eyes stared into his. This time he had her pinned against the wall, bracing himself with one arm and holding her with the other, moving slowly, deep into her.

You’re mine, she whispered.

He licked her neck and pulled away, wanting to see her face as they climaxed. But Feyre’s face became Genesis’s face, her green eyes staring back him in rapture. Their tongues licked each other, mouths panting in ragged breaths.

You’re mine, she whispered.

He thrusted hard into her, his eyes locked on hers, increasing the tempo as her slickness drove him deeper.

He opened his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom, the plush linens and silks suddenly feeling uncomfortable and rough against his skin. He could feel the intensity of his heart beating. He couldn't remember the last time he had even been in his bed, the last time he had slept in it. He usually used it for other purposes, for... fun. But now it was cold and empty. Alone and lonely.

Genesis’s face lingered in his mind. The desire in her eyes, the biting of her lip in ecstasy. He looked down to see his cock fully erect.

He sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He felt a sense of embarrassment, a High Lord having wet dreams like he did in his youth.

What are you doing to me?

He ran his hands down his neck, past his chest, accidentally grazing his nipples. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows. These dreams kept happening and as much as he staved off the urge to fantasize about her, this was going to happen.

There is only way to get back to sleep.

He traced his fingers past his hips and onto his throbbing member, drowning in the memories of his dreams. He could almost feel her there with him, imaging her hands mirroring his movements up and down, her body against his. He pictured the bounce of her breasts in his face, letting out another shuddering breath. His body grew hotter, his touch growing bolder, gripping himself tighter, his stroking more desperate. His mind filled with images of her body, her legs wrapped around him as he grabbed her behind, bringing him deeper into her.

You’re mine.

He let out a guttural moan, thrusting into his hand, his body arching up from the bed. His body trembled, the pleasure and the need almost too much to bear. His gasps becoming a long low moan of pleasure, pumping harder into his hand.

Rhys, she moaned in his ear. Rhys, I need you.

With one final thrust, she sent him over the edge, spilling over and over into his sheets.

He fell into the abyss of pleasure, his cock shuddering and shaking as he collapsed back onto his pillows, trying to catch his breath.

Chapter Text

Genesis

Velaris was a sight to behold - a city that had been built into the mountain surrounding the glittering lake and spanning over seven hills. The architecture blended old and new, with elegant buildings of white stone lining the wide, cobblestone streets. The air was filled with the scent of baking bread and the sound of distant music, the city's magic and culture woven into every aspect of everyday life. It was hard to imagine the city had ever been to battle.

Mor took it upon herself to bring Genesis to Velaris. She brightened at the idea of selecting Genesis’ gowns for all the coronation events. The Ring had been transported back to Eraexa to continue holding office until Genesis returned.

She’d been talking about claiming her crown but completely missed she needed to prepare for the coronation itself. Seriah had completed the majority planning, knowing that most taxes needed to go to reconstructing Eraexa. As soon as they returned to the House of Wind, she took a serious look at herself in the mirror. She looked the same age she did the day she nearly died. Chocolate hair was no longer only fiery red, brittle, and bronzed from the fields. It was as if Tamlin’s blonde hair was so strong that it pulled all the red undertones out into the light. Her eyes went from a hazel to an emerald green. Her ears weren’t pointed, but she barely recognized herself in the mirror.

It was only because of her half-Fae features that she looked more strained than old and withered. She’d spent her natural life committed to the military, training in the harsh sun and snowy winter nights. After her natural life, she spent it plowing and hunting in the fields and forests, her hands thick from the laboring. There was little reason to express any of her own femininity. Most days she’d been outfitted in practical pants, a tunic, and boots to make her more mobile. There were rare occasions in Tamlin’s court where it was appropriate to dress formally.

“You see, wearing revealing clothes is an art form. It's all about knowing exactly how much skin to show and how to strategically arrange fabric to create the perfect balance of allure and mystery." Mor pulled out a deep forest green gown, holding it up for Genesis to inspect.

The gown was made from luxurious silk and designed with a figure-hugging silhouette. It was a respectable a V-neck cut, with the material draping in a way both elegant and sophisticated. “It matches your eyes.” Genesis carefully held it and walked into the dressing room, where a dozen other dresses hung. Burgundies, red, deep blues, whites and purples. Each one more beautiful than the next. Delicate lacing, velvets, satins, gossamer. As Genesis changed, she heard a sales associate whisper. "So," she begins casually, "I've been hearing some whispers about the Lord of the Night Court."

“Oh I love gossip,” Mor exclaimed. She placed her elbows on the counter and leaned in.

"Well," the sales associate replied, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "there are rumors circulating about his involvement with a human...Apparently, he's gotten quite taken with her."

Mor smirked. “Is that so?”

The sales associate shrugged lightly, hanging billowy scarves against a rack. "Lord Rhysand is quite the mysterious figure, isn't he? He has quite a reputation, being the most powerful High Lord in history, and not to mention quite easy on the eyes. He's a hard man to catch, that one. His heart is like a fortress, and few are allowed inside its walls."

As the sales associate's words lingered in the air, a sense of wonder and anticipation seemed to wash over Genesis. She understood there was something about Rhysand that drew people in, that inspired both admiration and intrigue. When he winnowed her back to the House of Wind after the Council meeting. He reiterated his pledge to take her home, and now it was a matter of days before she would arrive. She looked into his eyes, knowing it would be far too long before she saw him again. She grazed her fingers across his neck. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d come to appreciate the many facets of him. He was more than what the rumors and the books led on. He was thoughtful, compassionate, and brilliant.

She studied herself in the mirror, eyes trailing over her half-naked body. Scars from battles, etched across her chest, down to her belly. He wouldn’t want me.

Genesis sucked in any embarassment and stepped out of the dressing room. “Well?”

They females nodded pleasantly. “Very nice for coronation afternoon tea.”

The sales associate perked up. “I have just the thing that will pull this dress together. She reached the end of the row, she finding a particularly elegant box, its lid carved with delicate designs. With trembling fingers, she opens it and is met with a stunning necklace of diamonds and amethysts, its stones sparkling with an otherworldly glow.

"This is incredible," Genesis and Mor whispered, the necklace glimmering brilliantly in her hands. The sales associate gave a wry smile, her own gaze drawn towards the precious object. "Ah yes, this one is a true treasure. It was created by the finest artisan in the Night Court and is said to contain the essence of moonstone within it. It's believed to bring good fortune, wisdom, and protection to its wearer."

Genesis's eyes widened in wonder, her breath catching in her chest. The thought of wearing something with such history and power sent a shiver down her spine. She held the necklace closer, feeling the delicate weight of the gems in her hands, their brilliance mesmerizing. Genesis placed the necklace back in its box with a hint of admiration. "You have a good eye for beautiful things."

“It is a perfect accessory for a queen." The sales associate's brow knit in mild confusion for a moment before a small smile of realization spreads across her face. She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice barely above a whisper. "Well, it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together. A foreign woman, shopping for grand coronation gowns. It's not hard to imagine you might be preparing for a ceremonial occasion."

“So,” Mor leaned against the register. “I say we give our legs a break at Maude’s. I think a pint or two will do the trick.” The associate quickly tallied up the prices of the various items that Genesis had chosen.

Genesis did not feel inclined. She wanted a long, luxurious bath. There had been much going on the past few days. She wanted more than anything a soak in solitude. She reached for her bag.

"No need to worry about the payment. I'll bill the Night Court for all of this."

Mor looked at Genesis, raising her eyebrow sweetly.

“I’ll take that pint.”

+++

Mor and Genesis walked down the cobblestone street, giggling, shopping bags in hand, though the majority had been delivered to the House of Wind. A drink was a welcome one to take the edge off. The bath could come eventually. Mor had taken her to her favorite salon, which brought out Genesis’s youthful glow after lifetimes of war. Her hair had softened, more luminous now, and styled to bring out her natural waves. Mor felt it absolutely necessary to bring her into a lingerie shop, where Genesis nervously purchased a lacey one-piece.

“I can’t believe you managed to spend a night with the lonely, grumpy, forbidding High Lord. I can't imagine what you managed to do to earn that rare honor," Mor joked.

“I talked a lot a lot of shit to him. He was howling with laughter the whole time.” Genesis bashfully told Mor about how she’d been emptying her boot that night, sullen with tiny pebbles, muttering about how he was the one who wanted to “get.with.me”. She had such difficulty pulling her boot back up that her hand slipped and smacked herself in the face. Rhysand roared in laughter, loud enough for Calanmai lovers to begin shouting expletives at him. He only laughed harder.

Mor’s brows shot up in surprise at that, genuinely taken aback by the revelation. “You know, it’s rare to see him like that these days.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say he’s spent a long time coming to terms with what he’s lost.” She linked her arms to Genesis’s. “I’m glad you are around.”

They arrived at the footsteps of the House of Wind. Cassian flew down, picking them up, grumbling about the hour. Genesis smiled mischievously at Mor before lightly pinching Cassian’s bicep. Cassian smirked at her before returning his gaze to the terrace, where he placed them both down.

“So Tamlin kept you locked up in that damn Spring Court as if you were some kind of a bird in a cage? Why didn't you ever leave?"

“It’s complicated. But I did leave, it just took me a little longer than I expected,” she walked through the archway into the House. “Honey, I’m home!” she shouted at the stairs, chuckling to herself.

There was a small pause in the air before a deep voice spoke from somewhere inside. "Welcome home, darling," a low chuckle echoed through the halls. She looked up and around, to find Rhysand leaning against the archway, a small, playful smirk on his lips, his arms crossed in a relaxed stance. "I take it you had a productive day, then?" He quipped lightheartedly, one brow raised.

She looked down and smiled, somewhat embarrassed.

Rhysand observed her carefully, his eyes taking in every slight change in her expression. He felt her heart skip a beat at his sudden appearance, her cheeks flushed, letting out a slow, deep breath to calm herself.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, motioning his chin over to the center of the room, shopping bags piled on top of the other. "It looks like you and Mor made quite the day of it."

She peered around for Mor, but she and Cassian had disappeared quietly. “She is really such a sweet person for doing this,” she looked up. “And whatever the cost is, I’ll reimburse you.”

Rhysand continued to watch her intently, shoving his hands into his pockets. “This is more of a hobby for Mor. And your money is not welcome here, just you.” A small grin formed on his lips. "You don't have anything…private in that bag, do you?" he asked, his voice dripping with playful suggestion, glancing down at the suggestive pink and lavender cellophane bag.

He let out a soft chuckle, watching her roll her eyes as she walked away with her bags. Don't keep me in suspense for too long, darling.

She’d stopped in her tracks. The whispered teasing into her mind resonated through every part of her being, a subtle vibration that sent goosebumps up her arms. Her breath caught in her lungs as she carefully turned around to stare at him, wide-eyed, feeling the weight of his intrusion into her mind.

He waited silently, watching for her response, giving her a moment to collect herself.

She felt claws graze the back of her mind before lightly pressing into it. Her heart quickened in terror. She cowered to the ground, dropping her bags and covering her ears, high-pitched noises ringing through her head.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

Rhysand had felt a surge of energy blast through the room, sending him crashing to the floor, before he could sit up and catch her. It was both impressive and slightly frightening to witness, and it was clear to him now that he had greatly underestimated her mental fortitude.

He lunged forward to her, dropping to his knees beside her. He reached out to grab her shoulders, his gaze fixed on her form, concern etched on his face. Rhysand could hear the sound growing louder in her mind, the high-pitched noise echoing through her head.

“Hey, hey, take deep breaths. In and out, slowly.” He spoke calmly and slowly, his voice taking on a gentle coaxing tone. “Try to focus on my voice, okay? Can you hear me?" The claws that grazed in her mind softened to a gentle stroke, but the sound only grew louder.

Her face paled with beads of sweat and she went limp. He managed to catch her before her face hit the ground.

He let out a long sigh and checked her pulse. Still there.

It was only a matter of time before she woke up. He couldn’t deny that his own curiosity got the better of him, but he certainly didn't intend to scare her. He was fascinated and perplexed by the power that she showed - to push back against his power so hard it challenged his notions of his daemati powers. He glanced down at her, her expression at peace, no longer strained with worry or anger or frustration. For someone with such strength, she was also so fragile.

His wings drooped, fluttering slowly along with his heartbeat. “You're okay. You're safe. Just focus on my voice," steady and assured. The House went silent, leaving them to nothing but the moment of his embrace. He stroked Genesis’s face, brushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, hoping she would hear him. Memories surfaced of Feyre being rocked away, clutched in someone else’s arms. Tears welled in his eyes.

Feyre. It was always Feyre.

He sensed she was his mate years before she came to the realm to defeat Amarantha. In the years after her death, he yearned for her. He'd screeched through the skies in pure form, as if it would bring her back to him. It was madness to hold onto a love that could never be realized, yet no other - female or woman - had captured him the same.

‘If you don't marry her, you stupid prick, I will.’ Cassian’s voice echoed.

He never had a chance. At Calanmai, she whispered her name and it was the answer to his existence. And what was immortality without her in it, once she'd died? It was agony to move on, to stay head above water. After all these years, he could never live down her death.

He owed Feyre so much. He'd spent the first years after Amarantha’s reign tossing and turning from nightmares. But it was dreams and imaginations of Feyre being near that soothed him. She gave even after she died. Reminded him to keep going.

The pain was too much once he came to a full realization they were mates. He’d been in Velaris, visiting the artist’s quarter. He came upon a painting of a table with stars hanging over frosted mountains – the emblem of his court. He winnowed to the House of Wind before he crumbled to the ground, howling in grief.

Working through the loss was another nightmare. He transformed into a winged demon, blackest of the night sky, triumphant and terrifying, screeching over the skies in broad daylight for weeks at a time. The villagers would shroud their loved ones in fear and clutch their babes, praying for mercy. Except they were not high-pitched screams of vengeance and hatred, but of insurmountable pain. The Inner Circle never said a word.

It wasn’t until he discovered Amren laid waste to a city he didn’t approve that he needed to move past his grief. A part of him hated himself for it. For allowing himself to cling to a dead woman at the ruin of his court, who never loved him – could never love him...and was never even given a choice.

I failed. Failed to save her. My mate.

In 50 years, he still didn't have the answers for why the High Lords couldn't revive her. The abilities of his daemati powers…it was textbook. For years, he wanted to find some way to make it up to Feyre, for failing so miserably. It took every ounce of strength in him to fight back the tears from rolling down his face.

He felt Genesis place her fingers on his back, as if she was reassuring him.

“What did you to me?” she groaned softly, her voice trembling.

A wave of relief washed over. He wiped the sweat from her brow, movements slow and calming, his touch now more comforting than coaxing. He swallowed and took a breath, hiding the shudder in his voice. "We really need to get your powers under control.”

+++

He'd laid her down on the leather sofa by the fireplace. He pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. It was unusual for a High Lord to pay such attention to anyone this way, but after holding her limp body in the hallway, a surge of emotion left him desiring to stay by her side.

The incident had shown clear evidence of her natural mental defense. As the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together in his mind, he realized that this wasn't just a case of his powers affecting her in an unusual way – it was something else entirely.

She knocked me down.

"You're stronger than you realize,” he says, looking at her with a mix of admiration and curiosity. He sat beside her, watching a pot of tea pour itself to a nearby cup. “I'm impressed, most humans aren't able to even perceive when a daemati tries to sneak into their mind, let alone push them out."

“Have you rifled through my mind before?”

“I have not.”

She stared him down.

“Maybe once.” He takes a deep breath and speaks up, his voice soft but sure. "You were new to my Court – I had to be sure my potential ally was who they said they were. I won't try to violate your mind again, that is if you ever trust me enough to let me back in. But I also want to offer my help to you, to teach you how to protect yourself from anyone else might try to sneak past your defenses.”

Her eyes flicked to his face. He could see the traces of mistrust, reluctance and curiosity there. She demonstrated her range of powers at an alarming rate, and she'd only been at the night Court for two weeks. He cursed himself for letting his fascination get the best of him. The weight of his actions was heavy in his chest. The fact that his own curiosity had caused her such discomfort weighed on him, and he vowed to himself he would ask her permission in the future.

“You have a real talent for shielding your mind, and I think you would benefit from training it. Those sounds are piercing. I can't imagine anyone being to concentrate with that ringing in their minds. I don't know when or if you intend to return to the Fae Realm but with proper training, you could prevent incidents like this in the future.”

She sat up slowly. “I will make a deal with you.”

He sat silently.

“You will come with me to Eraexa. For the coronation.”

He laughed, subtly shaking his head.

“And to tour a small portion of the countryside."

He smirked, cocking his head to the side. “That's dangerous, even for me."

"I’m dangerous, even for you. You need an ally that is in control of their powers, especially if she were to be of use to you in the future. It is also important we show our realms, our courts, that we are united. Eraexians will not fear you if I show I do not fear you.”

“You don't fear me?”

She motioned towards the teacup. “No. I suppose not. I don't believe half the rumors whispered about you. If anyone spent one day with you, they'd see what I see.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

She sipped. “Someone who cares for the welfare of their own people, well beyond their own interests. It's more than I can say for the other human queens. And half the Fae lords from what I can tell.”

Her thoughts whispered into his mind and she looked deep into his eyes. I see you.

He blinked. She had no daemati powers but heard her all the same. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to press his lips against someone for more than just an escape from loneliness. She saw him as more than the monster they believed him to be. It had been his greatest wish since Amarantha’s reign.

A simple “thank you” was all he could utter.

Chapter Text

Genesis

The bathhouse was perfection. Rhysand explained the pools had special healing properties, courtesy of Day Court. “The bathhouse has the power to identify many ailments. Mental, emotional, physical. Its waters are capable of healing past traumas, even ones we don’t  know we have. How the bathhouse chooses to provide this healing can take on many different forms. The benefits are plain to Faes, but for humans there can be a greater effect. I imagine as a Demi-fae you would fall somewhere in between the two.”He politely excused himself for the evening as Nerrida and Cerridwen collected her from the den, escorting her to the bathhouse.

Black stone columns filled the room, dimly lit by tall candelabras made of iron. The ceiling was made of a glass dome, letting the brilliance of the stars shine through. The moonlight danced along the surface of the two large square pools at the center, bringing a silver glow to the room. Nerrida and Cerridwen had been kind enough to stock it with fresh towels and robes, the scent of lemongrass and jasmine in the air. She was warned a simple calling to the house could change the smell. But it was already perfect.

I could stay here forever.

Steam emanated from the pools, inviting her in. She disrobed and carefully lowered herself into the water, it shimmering with flecks of neon as her movements created ripples. It soothed parts of her she didn't know she needed. She took a long sigh, dunking her head in.

How glorious. 

She came back up and sat against the pool, in view of the entrance. She felt the stress melt away from her shoulders, her skin feeling plump and nourished.

She thought about Tamlin. Memories of her past flooded back, of intimate moments that sent an ache of longing that tugged at her heart. Her thoughts drifted to soaping his wavy blond locks, running her fingers through them, and feeling the softness of his hair. The sound of his voice whispering endearing words into her ears. She felt the pang swelling in her chest, ready to come out in sobs and tears. Instead, the ache within her dissipated as she realized that those moments were now nothing more than nostalgia, a distant memory of a past life. She understood that within her heart those moments were forever lost, and despite the mix of sorrow and longing, she no longer wished to relive those moments of pampering and love. She was always waiting for him to come around, one way or another.

And now tonight was too beautiful a night and too much of a pleasure to let him ruin it.  Her thoughts drifted to Rhysand, admiring the black tattoo that curled around her thigh, idly tracing it with her fingers. She convinced Rhysand to leave out specifics on when to meet and for how long, given the need for flexibility in their duties. He had been more than an ally. He'd been attentive and gentle, more so than she expected. When she woke up in his arms, she sensed him in an agony she couldn't explain. 

She spent the last day or two reflecting on her time at the Night Court. She recalled waking up in the mornings with a faint sense of pleasure lingering through her body. By the afternoon, she felt a power coursing through her veins, pent up inside her until she exhausted her mind. When she wasn’t fixated on planning her return to Eraexa, she perused through books Rhysand had so casually left in the den, to get rid of the feeling boiling inside her. She flipped through, catching on histories of prophets and traits of oracles that filled the pages. She deduced he was testing her abilities. He did it again that night she returned with Mor.

She assumed Rhysand’s voice was more of the same voices she’d heard before, the ones that led her to some truth. But it had been him that night when they returned from the High Council. Connecting the voice with Rhysand had sent her into a panic. He could have discovered her private memories and the secrets of her kingdom. But the books didn’t explain how she was able to shove him out of her mind so hard he hit the ground. She could only surmise it was her own fear that somehow sent him reeling. She was attracted to him all the same.

She still didn’t understand what he might have to gain from training her. A stable ally was one thing, training her for it was another. She hoped he would come forward on his own eventually. If not, she’d find a way to drag out the truth.

She pushed off the wall, floating to the middle of the pool, closing her eyes, her arms out.

She opened her eyes to find Rhysand staring quietly down at her. Shocked, she looked towards the door, swearing she heard no one enter. He remained silent, moving towards her and slowly taking her in his arms. With a playful grin, he turned her, now facing her back.

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch delicate as if not to startle her. Slowly, he applied gentle pressure with his thumbs, kneading the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders, aiming to loosen the knots that had formed under her skin. He moved his fingers in circular motions, focusing on the tight knots, carefully unraveling them with a combination of pressure and skilled manipulation. As his hands glided lower, he moved his focus to the lower part of her back, where the tension also accumulated. He switched to a gentler but equally deliberate touch, using his fingertips to gently explore. 

He moved his hands on her, his movements became less about easing the knots in her muscles and more about exploring the contours of her body. He traced the curves of her spine, his fingertips gliding over the landscape of her back with an increasing sensuality. The dim light cast by the torches added to the sensual atmosphere, casting long dancing shadows that caressed her skin in harmony with his touch. He became bolder in his exploration, his fingertips grazing against the sensitive skin of her sides, feeling the subtle nuances of her body's responses to his touch. The lines blurred between providing comfort and satisfying a deeper, carnal desire. With every stroke of his fingers, her boundaries seemed to dissolve, replaced by a growing hunger for something deeper and more primal. The heat of the water complemented the heat of her desire, and the intimate moment intensified.

His hands shifted to the front of her body. Her breathing quickened, each breath a quiet acknowledgment of his advances. His touch became more deliberate, lowering his hands further and brushing against her most sensitive areas. His fingers traced small circles, applying increased pressure and speed. It sent shivers down her spine, and a low, appreciative moan escaped her lips. The water cradled her; her breath, heavy and ragged, filled the quiet bathhouse, an intimate declaration of the depths of her desire.

His free hand cupped her breast, his touch becoming more brazen now, moving with an urgency that mirrored the passion that coursed through her. Her body responded to his touch with an arch of her back, a silent plea for more. Her movements became desperate and frenzied. Every touch, every caress, every movement was laden with need and want, as if she was trying to make up for years of longing and yearning in a single encounter. She felt him slip his fingers into her. She squeezed her core as he gripped her breast, sending a powerful surge of release, consumed by the intensity. 

She turned around to face him. But nothing was there.

She couldn’t recall how long she’d been there, but every moment had helped take the edge off.

Chapter Text

Genesis

The images from her dreams haunted her mind, their meaning and significance unclear. After another hour of tossing and turning, she headed downstairs, the images and emotions from her dreams still fresh in her mind. She screamed awake, to be met by the emptiness of the night.

She moved through the dimly lit hallways, the House seeming even more grand and mysterious in the quiet of the night.

The faint glow of the single fireplace in the den cast a warm and comforting light throughout the room, casting shadows on the walls. Amber hues of the liquor at the table caught the light and shimmered slightly, seeming to match the warmth of the fireplace.

She sat down at the couch, bringing a filled glass to her lips. Rhysand found her resting her head against the glass.

"Lost in thought?" he spoke softly, his voice barely a murmur.

She took another sip. “As always,” she muttered quietly.

He let out a small, quiet chuckle in response to her muttered statement. "Ah, so nothing unusual then?" he responded, still keeping his voice soft, a touch of amusement playing in his tone.

“What’s not unusual about this place?” she quipped. “What was that in the bathhouse?”

He raised his eyebrow. “I take it your experience was..?” he trailed off.

“Comprehensive,” she finished. Her heart seemed to still at his gaze. There was uncertainty, perhaps discomfort.

He changed the topic, calmly, taking a seat in a nearby chair and facing her directly. “What have you been dreaming about?”

She turned towards him, her eyes in contempt. “You have no business going into my mind.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Cauldron, I don’t need to rifle through your mind, I heard you screaming and thrashing about up there. Why else do you think I’m here at this ungodly hour?”

She lowered her eyes and sat back. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” The dreams had shaken her up. “Ever since I’ve been here, something within me has been growing stronger every day.”

“My dream led me through a cavernous space underground. I saw a young human girl standing alone, surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of glowing balls of light. Around her, faes dropped the glimmering kernels, watching her body fill with light. Her expression was so serene, asleep or somehow unaware of the light that surrounded her. And then her eyes opened.

He listened intently, his brows furrowed in concentration, taking in every detail.  “There were flashes of a swiveling eye. A woman in red pinning an Illyrian. A rose bending, drooping in the moonlight. And Jurian.”

“Jurian?”

“He commanded my unit when I first came into the ranks… I saw myself on a battlefield from…ages ago, the same place where I was when I nearly died. I hadn’t had these dreams in decades. I felt the sense of life slipping away, like a leaf in the breeze. Tamlin had not come for me. Only the wolves. They sniffed at me before tearing me apart, ravenous beasts searching for food. That’s when I woke up…They are not ordinary dreams. I can feel it.”

He straightened his back and spoke with a serious tone, "I think it's time we pay the Oracle a visit in Hewn City."

“You think my dreams are prophetic?”

“I think this visit might give you some clarity on why they keep occurring, among other powers you’re exhibiting. It could be useful for the future.” He cooly walked over and pulled a chair next to her. “There are twelve known traits of a Seer. There is some disagreement among our academics about these traits, but generally, the more one has, the more powerful they are. The most powerful is the Oracle."

You think I'm a Seer.

He continued. "Unfortunately, Oracles were once Seers who became so consumed by their powers that they lost touch with the reality around them. They speak in riddles so peculiar that deciphering them becomes a risk. Most of the time, faeries cannot correctly decipher their meaning, and so their existence is most valuable to the hope of a desperate faerie. They cannot feel the body’s need to sleep or eat, among other bodily needs. Caring for themselves is so beyond their ability that they can only survive within sacred places where priestesses and magic are strong enough to sustain them. If they leave these sacred boundaries, they die.”

She had no idea what this Oracle would tell her. Part of her was skeptical. In the human realm, the closest they had to Oracles were money-swindling gypsies who preyed on vulnerable souls. The other part of her felt answers might get rid of these dreams. Her eyes drooped as the tiredness overcame her. She lowered her head, hating that in a moment, he would wish her good night, leaving her to the whims of her dreams again.

He reached out and offered a comforting touch on her arm. You don't have to be alone," he murmured, his voice gentle yet reassuring. "Not tonight, or any other night if you don't want to."

Chapter Text

Rhysand

The early morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over her room. He woke to find her sleeping in his arms. Her head rested on his chest; her hair spread out around her like a golden halo. He took her in, her relaxed features and the soft puffs of air escaping her lips. She didn’t make one sound or tremble through the night. She adjusted herself once in her sleep, nestling herself closer to him. He could only tighten his arm around her waist to pull her even closer.

She stirred in his arms. He watched as her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. He ran his fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

I could get used to waking up like this every day.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice warm and affectionate. “Sleep well?”

She smiled in embarrassment and rubbed her eyes. “Looks like we got pretty cozy last night,” she joked half-heartedly. “I was more tired than I thought.”

She made no effort to move herself away from his embrace. Instead, she looked into his eyes, gentle and filled with tenderness. He sensed a warm comfort running through her, a feeling of safety and security, despite the toll that her dreams had taken on her. Thank you for staying with me.

She needed him in a way she didn’t realize. Always so tough.

His hand lightly traced the curve of her cheek. He’d dreamed of her for weeks, fantasized about what moments of pleasure he would have with her. The other night, he’d been arching back into his pillows again. She was sitting down in his lap, straddling him, undoing the buttons of his tunic. She wore nothing but that purple negligee that spilled out of the bag and onto the floor, the night she collapsed into his arms. He recalled the fantasy of her showing it off for him, her hips rolling back and forth, the sounds of that desk chair gently squeaking as she whispered his name. It was a matter of moments before he released himself in his hand, long strokes gliding to the end of him, emptying himself until a slightly sticky touch remained.

He needed her, too.

He leaned down and kissed her lips. And then she kissed him back.

It grew more passionate with each passing moment, his tongue gently exploring her mouth as his hands roamed over her body, pulling her in. He broke the kiss and moved his lips to her neck, trailing a path down to her collarbone, pausing to nibble gently at her sensitive skin. Her breath became frequent and shallow, arching her head back, sending shiver after shiver through her body. His hand slid under her tunic, exploring the soft skin of her back and hips, moving onto her stomach towards her breasts.

She sucked in a breath and pushed his hand away. “We should get to the Oracle.”

He paused as she sat up, sensing the tension in her body. He propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes studying her face, searching for clues about her sudden change in mood. He could see the turmoil in her eyes, the uncertainty and fear that she was trying to hide. He was well aware of what her fellow humans did to her the day she was on death’s doorstep, but he thought her time with Tamlin had healed her of that.

Talk to me, darling.

Her mental barriers were up. Nothing was going through. He could see the conflict within her, the internal battle she was waging between her desire to tell him and being touched by another male. He wanted to be patient and understanding but worry and frustration built inside him. He could see the determination in her eyes, the set of her jaw, and he knew that she was not going to budge.

+++

He offered his arm as a lifeline and a symbol of their partnership, a silent invitation for her to latch onto for support. She could feel the unwavering reassurance that he wouldn’t leave her side. He closed his eyes briefly and focused his power, feeling the familiar tingle of magic coursing through his body. With her firmly by his side, the world spun around them, a dizzying dance of color and light. The familiar surroundings around them blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, finding themselves standing at the center of Hewn City.

Quick turns down dark alleys led them to a large enclosure, onyx spheres atop golden columns shrouded a dimly lit chamber, shadows thick as clouds snaking against the walls, all whispering. The incense of myrrh wafted through the air, charging the sacred chamber with a sense of ancient power, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

The Oracle's domain.

The Oracle herself was statuesque, swathed in black robes and veils, long frail fingers outstretched to a colorless crystal ball in the center of the room. Its voice croaked out, resonating with a weight of centuries and wisdom beyond mortal comprehension.

“Speak." the Oracle echoed through the chamber. Her words danced around the shadows that curled around her brittle body.

“I wish to know the meaning of my dreams.”

The Oracle extended turned up her hand, gesturing for her to approach. Genesis stepped forward, approaching the Oracle's outstretched hand. The Oracle closed her eyes and placed her withering hands on her temples, her expression inscrutable. The energy in the room heightened, and she felt a connection between them beginning to form, a communion between minds. The Oracle remained silent, barely breathing. Suddenly, the Oracle thrust its head up, eyes emitting a bright, orange glow that permeated through the chamber ceiling. Its voice deepened, a sound of great wisdom and terror reverberating off the chamber walls.

In a cauldron deep, she swirled with flame,
A lord bowed low, stripped of his name.
Once proud and regal, now humbled, he knelt,
His fate was a secret that time had dealt.

Whispers of palace walls crumbling down,
Echoes of ruin in each shattered crown.
The court’s secret whispered in shadowed breath,
The kingdom would fall in a dance with death.

Two faeries with marks of their house, black as the night,
Exchanged silver rings in the dimming of the light.
Their fingers entwined in a bond that would last,
Marking a future, sealed by the past.

A curse breaker, once mortal, now brimming with might,
Shot an ash arrow through the wolf's cursed sight.
The beast howled in pain, as the arrow flew true,
Its form crumbling, vanishing from view.

Above, faeries danced, casting light from the sky,
Dropping kernels of brilliance, a glow in their eye.
Each spark that they touched in the air turned to flame,
Lighting their fingers, and never the same.

But a beast in the forest, with fur soaked in red,
Laid low a witch, her magic now dead.
The crimson of her robes stained the earth’s deep embrace,
As darkness encroached, taking her place.

Yet beyond this world, where all seems askew,
An alternate realm waits, hidden from view.
Where time does not twist, and fates intertwine,
In the space of a heartbeat, we might realign.

The Oracle’s eyes dimmed and she dropped her hands to her side. Her head reshifted, a blank gaze staring outside the entryway. “The traitor is closing in. Can you feel her?”

Genesis looked at Rhysand in horror. Rhysand listened with rapt attention, stiffened.

Feyre is alive.

Chapter Text

Rhysand

It was the evening before their departure to the Human Realm.

He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling the words the Oracle left in his mind. He was wrong thinking the Oracle would shed light on the future. Instead, they were of the past.

Another trait of a Seer.

He was unable to concentrate after deducing that Feyre had lived through Amarantha’s reign. Piles of scrolls and books remained scattered across his desk. Research in the Library confirmed it was possible to travel between worlds and realities. Getting to Feyre would include a great deal of unknowns. The risks were unfathomable. 

Was she still alive? Was she safe?

Azriel, sat off to the side, his hand grasped on Truth-Teller. "If what the Oracle said is true, it could mean the High Fae’s actions with the Cursebreaker had unintended consequences. The existence of an alternate reality, where things are subtly different, is likely a result of the power infused into her." 

Rhysand sank into the chair behind his desk. recalling how he influenced the High Lords to drop kernels of their power to revive Feyre. A headache formed as he rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it while caring for the one he was in. Was Genesis the traitor? She had deliberately been out of sight since the revelation. He only found her at twilight. She was alone in the garden in borrowed Illyrian leathers, a sword in hand. He watched her from inside his office, gazing out the windows that went ceiling to floor.

Cassian stared intently at the obsidian voicebox in his hands, made from the priestesses at the Oracle’s chamber. “If Rhys used his Daemati powers to bring Feyre back successfully in the first reality, and the Caudron created a duplicate reality, then which reality is the true natural order?”

There was a long moment of silence as the gravity of his words hung in the air. The Inner Circle exchanged glances, realization dawning on their faces.

Amren leaned forward on the desk where Rhysand sat, her eyes gleaming with intensity. "The cauldron makes and remakes. Since there's an alternate reality, it means your actions, boy, disrupted the natural order of things. Crossing over can have serious consequences for both realities.”

Rhys remained pensive, his gaze fixed on Genesis’s wisps of red hair flowing in the wind as she turned about, circling her sword above her head and straight down, near to the ground. She danced in a fluid movement, like the flow of water. The style was familiar to him - the Skaja warriors who moved with a deadly swiftness. They were known for their movements before leaving - who knew what they might encounter on the journey. Genesis let out a loose breath, exhilaration and adrenaline running through, then a calmness over her. She glanced around, her eyes landing on him now leaning casually against the window. She rested her blade, panting, before she walked back into the house, smoothing her hair over.

Perhaps Tamlin and his sentries would be waiting at the border, perhaps a few wild boars. In any case, he decided shielding the convoy as a fallback measure was more than sufficient. He needed to make sure Genesis remained an ally in the greater picture of Prythian. And he’d promised himself to hold it together during the visit to the Human Realm.

+++

Genesis

Who was this traitor?  She was no such thing to the Fae, yet anyone thinking it would be her left her fearful. She spent her last days in the Night Court holed up in her room, ordering food from the House and staring into the fireplace. Her visit to the Oracle left her with more confusion. Why these dreams were happening, why it had anything to do with the past, or why the Cursebreaker was a factor in her ability to rule Eraexa. What she did know was an unspoken feeling of longing and desire after an intense, passionate kiss, even days after. She made herself a prisoner of her own making, and decided that in the evening, she would get some fresh air at dusk. It wasn't until she spotted Rhysand in watching her from his office, that she needed to show no ill will or change of heart for their alliance. To simply disappear was undiplomatic.

She changed into simple black pants and a grey top, but the grey boots and thick brown leather bracelets at her wrists remained. As she made her way back into the house and up the stairs, she took in a deep breath. At the soft knock on his door, he commanded her to come in.

“I wasn’t sure where to return the leathers I borrowed.”  He straightened from where he was, leaning his hip against the desk. 

“You can leave them here.” He watched her for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks and the sweat that glistened on her skin. "You seemed quite skilled with that blade," he remarked, changing the subject to avoid the awkwardness.

“I hope so. I had a lot of time to learn,” she quipped.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "How are you feeling?” As she stepped into his office, the dim light from the chandelier highlighted her features, making them look softer, more delicate. The bathhouse had done her some good - stress had left her face, skin glowing like a dewdrop after a sunrise. her shoulders had relaxed, and she moved with more ease.

She smiled politely, “Ready.”

Soon, I’ll be on my way, at long last, home.

He turned away as if to hide his vulnerability, walking towards the window, his gaze drifting towards the night sky as if trying to see beyond the boundaries of their own reality. His attention drifted towards the stars outside, as if searching for answers in the constellations high above. 

A trail of thoughts grazed across her mind. She could sense a deeper, more profound grief, that came from losing someone who was irreplaceable. It felt like a dagger twisting in her chest.

She winced. “Did you know the Cursebreaker?”

He paused, a wistful note in his eyes. "Yes, in a different life, I did know her," he answers, his voice soft and tinged with the weight of memory. "She was someone very special to me. I cared for her deeply, more deeply than I ever thought possible. Her loss was like having a part of me ripped away, a wound that never truly healed."

She placed her hand on her heart, her fingers gently pawing. 

'Maybe it is. Maybe it's a warning. A warning to not give yourself to a dark, dangerous stranger that could break your heart as easily as they fix it.''

As the silence grew and the air gave weight, she found herself battling an internal war, torn between the desire to run, to distance herself from this situation that made her feel so small and insignificant, but also the longing to hold on, to deny her own ache.

'Would you? Would you break it if I gave it to you?'

He was an ally in her cause and she got close. She was angry at herself for it – to want someone, for thinking he could want her despite his flirtations and what seemed to be a genuine concern. The Oracle’s revelation left her feeling hollow, like a toy, or even worse, a placeholder, in his life. She wished in that moment that she hadn't allowed their relationship to progress to this point. She decided it was best to leave him be. The air between them was too heavy with unspoken words and emotions, too saturated with tension.

"Wait a moment." There was an undercurrent of emotion in his words, a subtle plea that stopped her in her tracks. There was a pause, a moment of hesitation before he spoke; his voice a softer, more fragile tone than usual. "Please don't leave just yet. There is something I need to say."

Her heart sank. 

'I couldn't promise I wouldn't break it, and you don't need to give it to me just yet, darling.'

“I do care for you, more than an ally.” He searched her face, his expression revealing the depths of his vulnerability and the uncertainty that plagued him. "Can you forgive me for still carrying a piece of my heart for her?"

She felt the sting of heartbreak in her chest. For the second time, she met a male who loved the Cursebreaker so deeply that she questioned if she was a mistake in the making. 

Eraexa, she far as she was convinced, was her destiny. For duty, there was nothing she could do, but let the burgeoning love fade, twisting the dagger deeper. It was only a kiss.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Chapter Text

Rhysand

Today was the day.

Breakfast in the dining room was simple this morning. He’d set the table so it was just the two of them, telling the maids to disappear and only come back when the Eraexian coaches arrived at the border.

Cassian agreed to fly Genesis rather than himself – as much as he wanted her near, it was best to keep a distance. He hated the look on her face the night before, one mixed of hurt and resignation. He thought he’d moved past Feyre’s death, but Genesis’ powers not only brought back painful memories of her but even informed him she was alive.

Somewhere else. With someone else, maybe.

He intended an alliance with Genesis, but he did not expect her gift as a Seer. That was rare enough, and for her to demonstrate even some of these traits was even more beneficial to his Court. She had not come to him in his dreams since the Oracle's revelation. He wondered if his confession had anything to do with it. Mother, does she even know she’s doing it?

Another trait, perhaps.

Despite the deal they would travel together, he knew it would be months later, after her coronation, that he would see her again. Mor, Amren, and Azriel would stay behind to keep a check on things.

Genesis came down the stairs, wearing grey pants and a long-sleeved tunic that hugged her curves. “Good morning,” he greeted softly. He pointed out Nerrida and Cerridwen had other duties to attend to, so lemon cakes, muffins, and coffee were the order of the day. She was surprised to see the table was set for two, rather than the usual number of chairs when they dined with the Inner Circle.

Rhysand took a seat. “Tamlin has sentries posted along the border. But nothing to worry about. We will be flying over under a shield rather than winnowing through. It’s faster and far less likely to be spotted.”

I hope your time at the Night Court hasn’t been too unpleasant,” he joked.

She sipped her coffee. “It’s been a wild ride,” she laughed sarcastically. “I’ve been here just a few weeks and I’ve already met the High Lords, seen an Oracle, been told I’m a Seer, I’m pretty sure I had relations with the bathhouse, and I recall sending a certain Lord of the Night Court tumbling to the ground with my sonar brain.”

Rhysand's lips curved into a half smirk at her words, unable to help himself. Her bluntness and humor always seemed to bring a smile to his face. "Yes, it has been quite the adventure," he agreed. "And that's no small feat," he added, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "But in all seriousness, Gen... you've handled everything thrown at you with grace and strength. I'm not sure many people could have done half as well as you have."

She smiled at him, leaning forward on the table. “Well, I think coming back here every so often to train up on these so-called abilities will only make me better.”

He beamed inside with hope. “Before we depart, there is something I’d been meaning to give you.” Rhysand stood up and walked over to her, handing her a velveted, Tyrian purple box. “I would have waited until your coronation, but I feel it’s more practical this way.”

Her eyes glimmered as she opened the box to reveal a small silver pin, intricately carved with a delicate pattern of swirling vines around a sword. The surface was smooth and reflective, glinting in the light. The pin was small yet striking and seemed to hold a significance deeper than its size alone.

Her eyes widened in awe, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of the silver pin. The delicately carved pattern seemed to possess a magic of its own, its meaning unspoken yet profoundly felt.

“This pin is an ancient artifact, crafted by the elves of Ilveria years ago. It carries with it a power of protection and is known to give strength to those who wear it. It is perfect for a queen."

Genesis reached out her fingertips tracing the etched vines. "It's beautiful." The words are barely above a whisper, but they are filled with a sense of reverence. She couldn’t remember the last time someone gave her a gift, less one that had so much meaning behind it.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she said softly, “for all your kindness.” She leaned up to him and kissed him on the cheek. He pulled back slightly, caught off guard at her gesture. She lowered her head, seemingly embarrassed for crossing a boundary. She began to pull away, yet he stilled his hand on her arm, looking down at her lips. A surge of emotion washed over him, a mix of gratitude and longing.

He pulled her in, embracing her slowly as if waiting to see if she would push him away. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she stayed still, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. She wrapped her arms underneath his shoulders, hugging him as she rested her chin on his shoulder. The tension in his body gradually melted as he held her, feeling the warmth and comfort in her embrace, a brief respite from the heavy emotions he had been carrying.

In that moment, he was grateful for her understanding and forgiveness, but also guilty for the pain his confession had caused. He knew he opened a wound that was still tender. But holding her in his arms, feeling the rhythm of her breath against his chest, he felt a fleeting moment of peace, a reminder of the connection they shared.

Rhysand pulled away, his violet eyes studying her face. She could feel the warmth of his body, his breath fanning across her cheek. He pressed his forehead against hers and raised a finger, gently bringing it under her chin, thumb brushing against her lip. He wanted more, to fill the void of emptiness that tugged at him for so long. But to go any further would only confuse her, especially so soon after the Oracle’s revelation. They needed time, and for her, and the Alliance, he was willing to wait.

Someone else knocked on the door. They slowly pulled their bodies away, casually walking towards opposite ends of the room.

“Enter,” he commanded.

It was Nerrida. The stagecoaches had arrived at the border of the Human-Fae Realm.

+++

Genesis

Cassian held Genesis in his arms as they flew over the Spring Court, with Rhysand not far behind, a shielding spell masking their presence. Genesis glanced over the rolling hills of the Spring Court, dandelions as tall as trees and herds of deer galloped through the hillside, sheepdogs corralling them to their farmers. She knew she would miss the ever-pink roses and lavender-colored butterflies that swept the lands. The fae was marvelously kind and welcoming, and for that, she would be forever grateful.

“There,” Genesis pointed out her banners, a black eagle and swan facing a bisected equilateral cross and sword, against a field of red. Cassian began his descent, both he and Genesis unsure if trouble may lay ahead. His Siphons were fully charged. She grasped her sword, and to ease her mind, it was still there.

Cassian looked ahead, spotting sentries of the Spring Court, just on the fae side of the border. “We’ve got company.” They seemed to be patrolling the area, encampments setup as if they’d been on duty for weeks. It’d been that long since the last time she saw him, at the High Council meeting.

They perched on a nearby hilltop on the Human border, Rhysand landing shortly after. “I thought it best to land further from the coaches. Showing up right behind them would impale us all.”
Cassian and Rhysand tucked in their wings, unshielded their presence and began walking towards Jaeys, waiting with her guards. “We need to move quickly, if Tamlin’s sentries inform him of our whereabouts, things could get ugly.”

Genesis greeted Jaeys with a smile and warm nod. Jaeys extended his hand towards Cassian and Rhysand, welcoming them to Eraexa. Rhys’ eyes drifted over the guards and horsemen, noting the way they kept their hands on the swords at their hips. He smirked. He could mist them in a heartbeat.

The guards were utterly confused. They expected Genesis to be an elderly woman, grey -haired an frayed. Instead, she looked decades younger, as if Fae powers had kept her youth. Her hair was not the chocolate brown that whispered through the generations, nor her pale, alabaster skin. Instead, it was fire-red hair, smoky emerald eyes and olive skin. She radiated as she approached her guards, who looked roughly the same age, perhaps slightly younger, and somewhat tense from the voyage. “We best get on with it, Spring Court sentries are just on the other side,” Genesis warned Jaeys. As her coach door opened and she put her foot on the pedestal, she heard her name.

Fuck. Tamlin.

She could feel Rhysand roll his eyes so far back it made her head hurt.

"Gen." His voice was soft, almost gentle.

She stepped down and turned to him, standing not far off in the distance. There he was, beautiful blonde locks that waved past his shoulders, his tunic fitted to trace the outlines of his broad chest, tapering effortlessly to his waist. His normal regal facade was replaced with forlorn, in his emerald eyes a silent plea. Eyes like hers. Jaeys pleaded with her to remain with the guards and begin the journey, but she found herself walking carefully toward him as if he were a ghost.

“Gen, I-" He took a deep breath, trying to gather himself, his eyes never leaving her face. “I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry for that. I never meant to cause you pain, but I was a fool. I was blinded by my own grief, my own pain, and I wasn't there for you when you needed me." His voice was raw, eyes shimmering. He gently reached for her arm, tentative, as if he was afraid she'd pull away.

His words stunned her.

"Feyre's death was the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. Losing her, it felt like a part of me died with her. I was lost, I was broken, and I didn’t know how to go on without her. I know that tore us apart. I know I pushed you away. I was drowning in my own grief, my own pain, and I couldn't see past it. I couldn't see what I was losing. I was a fool, a complete fool. I let the grief consume me, I let it blind me to what really matters. To what I had right in front of me this whole time. I know I don't deserve it. I know I've lost the right to ask. But I love you, Genesis. I can't bear the thought of losing you forever."

Her heart swelled one last time for him. She let herself feel the sincerity of his words, the warmth of his touch against her. For a moment, she felt his words flow through her veins like a gentle babbling broo and she remembered the comfort of his known embrace. It was everything she wanted to hear. Part of her wanted to caress his cheek, feel his smooth skin against her palm.

The grand gesture. He waited until the bitter end. 

“Tamlin, I will always be grateful for what you’ve done for me." She hoped that she could break his heart as gently as possible – she still needed him to be a supportive ally, and then she’d be that much closer to a treaty. "You will always be a friend to the crown, but I can't give you what you need,” she said softly.

And just like that, her heart closed. She turned to walk back to her stagecoach, clasping her hands at her stomach, feeling his heartbreak with every step until she climbed into her stagecoach. He walked after her, his eyes pleading, His voice was stricken, the pain and the shock reverberated. "I...I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be just your ally, when all I want to do is hold you, to touch you, to call you mine."

50 years ought to do the trick. He followed her, until her guards unsheathed their swords. They wouldn't stand a chance against Tamlin, yet it would be foolish for him to shift into form and tear them all apart.

Rhysand took a step closer to Tamlin, speaking in a low, quiet voice “You're acting like a lovesick fool. I know you love her. But sometimes, love isn't enough.”

He climbed into his stagecoach with Cassian and the coaches rode off.

Chapter Text

Genesis

Days had gone by. Genesis rode separately from Cassian and Rhysand. They traveled in plain clothing and unassuming carriages, blending in to avoid unnecessary attention.

Illyrians flew overhead as they rode south, carrying nets of healing crops and foods promised by the Night Court. Her chest beamed at the sight, silhouettes of jet black wings soaring high, the sun shining on all their glory. Soon, the resources her people needed would be delivered to main towns with storage areas, guarded by local militia to prevent stealing while rationing supplies as they came. She and Jaeys smiled at one another.

Progress starts today.

“I hope to see a regular report on the status of distribution. Reports on instances of unrest or violence, including any towards the Fae are vital.”

As she gazed up, her thoughts drifted to Rhysand. She could still feel his lips, his tongue. How he inhaled deeply, pulling her in. It was as if he’d been hiding a part of himself away, only for it to take him over, like the night takes over the sun.

Her eyes overlooked the yellow-green hills of the passing village, taking in farmers toiling the fields who stopped to gawk at the carriage line. Cottages adorned the village, each beset by acres of roving sheep and farmland.

She glanced out the window to see a life-sized statue. Her eyes trailed the mounds of bud roses and violets, the only color the village had. They surrounded her - a young maiden with long hair, in hunter’s garb. It stood facing north, holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, a look of determination.

Jaeys noticed Genesis fix on the statue. “That is Feyre Archeron, my queen. More commonly known as the Cursebreaker.”

“I didn’t realize this village had favored the Fae Realm.”

“They do not. In fact, quite the opposite. In this region, she is a martyr for the Human cause. She is remembered for traveling to the Fae Realm to fight the King of Hybern on behalf of the Human Realm, but died in vain.”

Genesis cocked her head to the side, incredulous.

“The truth has many faces, my queen. Many in the village pay their respects to her, though few travel far to visit her grave.”

Feyre was revered for her sacrifice in the Fae Realm. A human who loved a High Lord, risked her family and gave her life so that his kind may once again, rejoice in the light. She won - beat Amarantha at her games, solved a riddle no one else could, and was mercilessly killed in spite of it. Prythian owed her a debt that could never be repaid, yet the High Lords could not grant her a new life.

The carriage came to a halt. Moments later, her horsemen informed her an axle had broken on one of the carriages. Jaeys gently reminded her the village may not be warm towards her if they discovered who she was, given her political aims. She decided she couldn’t sit still. There were many more days ahead on the road. She motioned for the door.

She opened the door and stepped outside, only to be greeted by the largest house in the village.

“Have you been traveling far?” A voice softly asked in the distance.

She turned to see an elderly woman carrying a woven basket of lilies and roses, her dewy face and floral dress reminiscent of spring.

“I suppose I have, yes. Is this your home?”

“It is my family’s home. I live down the road with my husband, my sister has this place all to herself.”

She glanced at the home, where another elderly woman stood in the doorway, wearing a black cardigan and floor-length skirt, stern eyes in quiet judgment.

There it was, in bold letters that curled like vines.

House Archeron.

+++

The elderly woman who invited her in placed her woven basket of lillies and roses on the dining room table, servants bringing in serving trays of small sandwiches and cakes, laying pots of tea laid atop peach-colored doilies.

Corners of the home were stacked with books, in between walls of bookcases. The faint stench of wine wafted through the air, as if it had spilled days ago. “It’s not so often these days we have someone pay homage to our sister.” Jaeys trailed along behind her, taking a seat next to Genesis, though he preferred to stand.

“Well, the garden around it is so beautiful, it caught my eye. I suppose it was only pure happenstance that one of my axels broke and now I’m welcomed into such a…warm home,” she smiled politely. The truth was it wasn’t a warm home. It felt cold and frigid, and no amount of floral china or colorful doilies could mask the despair that had settled into the home.

The woman in black huffed and rolled her eyes. She was entirely gaunt and frail, her clothes hanging off her body. Her eyes expressed a bitterness towards life, perhaps a guilt.

“Why thank you. Our sister was such a wonderful person, everything she did for us growing up and what she means to the village. My husband continues to hold an annual vigil in her honor.”

The woman in black swiftly turned on her heel and walked out of the door. “You’ll have to excuse Nesta; she always had a sour temperament,” she laughed lightly. “I always thought she would marry a prince and have his children, but it simply wasn’t in the cards for her…now she just spends her days reading unsavory novels and barking at the bartenders.”

She laughed at the joke, but she understood there was a kernel of truth. “And how do you like your life in the village?”

“I am as happy as I can be,” she shrugged. “My children are grown, I have seven beautiful grandchildren. All who live nearby. My husband is a prominent member in our village…though he’s had some challenges navigating political issues concerning the Fae Realm. My I spend my days in the community gardens and looking after our childhood home.”

Her eyebrows raised, yet she kept a blank face. “What issues? I’m not aware of them too much, only what I hear in passing.”

“With my husband away so often at court, I don’t hear too much. I do not have much interest in his affairs. But he’s an avid supporter of keeping Human and Fae Realms separate. Though, I will say our children have a different opinion on the matter.” Her face turned disappointed. “The new queen-“

A knock on the door interrupted the elderly woman, followed by a commotion with the woman in black outside. After a moment of bickering, Genesis approached the door to find two guards and Jaeys seemingly unnerved by the frail woman.

The coach had been repaired.

Genesis thanked both women for their hospitality, though Nesta appeared to be so distracted by the General she hadn’t bothered acknowledging her. She probably, wouldn’t have, in any case. She walked towards the coaches to see Rhys preoccupied on Feyre’s statue and the grave beneath, solemn yet stoic. Cassian stood next to Rhys, inaudible words spoken to him, as if trying to soothe him. Cassian quickly shifted his eyes onto Nesta, seemingly curious yet uncertain about her. It was only a moment before he turned his attention back to his coach, climbing in. Rhys knelt down briefly before following suit into his own carriage.

Genesis walked to Feyre’s grave, noticing a small trinket. A piece of wood, carved into the shape of a flower. She kneeled and picked it up, surveying the discoloration and cracks it earned over the years, turning it in her hand. Images flashed through her mind - the woman in black, enraged in a drunken stupor, claiming Feyre’s story was nothing but a damned lie, aggravating rallied men with their fists raised. She shouted the Faes killed her sister, and Feyre got herself killed too.

Genesis blinked and gazed back up at Nesta, eyes glued to Cassian’s coach. She placed it down, next to a single vine of jasmine and stood back up. She took one last look at Feyre’s statue, her eyes in determination.

Not one in hatred, but of love.