Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’. 

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.  

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive.  I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

Chapter Text

The change from winter to spring brought new happenings to Velaris; pink blossoms on trees, turquoise waters on the Sidra, and the arrival of mating season which meant... well, it meant horny everything.

Nesta wasn’t immune to the hormones and pheromones and whatever else was being secreted into the air. Living in the city all her life meant she was prepared for what spring would bring, but she had been unprepared for spring when a hot-blooded Illyrian was involved.

That morning she woke to a dusky pink sunrise and with a bleary half-open eye, groaned at the number on her nightstand clock. She stretched and rolled, misjudging her distance from the other occupant in her bed.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, her voice still husky from sleep and snuggled closer, patting Cassian’s forehead as her face inched near his. “Still, elbow in the face is twenty points.”

“Hmm. Not sure I like this game and your bed is far too small.”

“Try hanging upside down from the beams like I suggested.”

Cassian’s eyes, centimetres from hers, flew open, bright and alert. Nesta swore he thought sleep was for the weak. “You are a wicked woman,” he said, glancing towards Nesta’s bare shoulder, “but there are other ways we can save on space.”

He rolled on top of her, ignoring her laugh and dragged the sheets with him, wings splayed above them both blocking out all hint of early sunlight.

Honestly, if he kept this up Nesta was going to need the hose.

After Cassian watched Nesta perform The Nutcracker at Solmas, there had been a few false starts. In part due to Nesta’s hectic winter dance schedule and in part due to what Nesta felt was a humiliation strong enough to die from.

Finally, after bouquets were delivered to her dressing room in such volume she would have been able to open her own floristry, she agreed to have coffee with him. Only the once, she’d said.

Coffee turned into lunch and then into dinner. Then, when he walked her home, she’d asked him inside. The next morning they ate their breakfast naked, tearing through toast and jam like starving animals before returning to bed.

Nesta remembered opening her curtains when they were done, the chill sinking through the glass as the frost displayed across the pane with a message. Naughty Girl.

She refused to be judged by frozen water and when Cassian came out of her bathroom, he’d raised an eyebrow on discovering Nesta pressing her middle fingers against her window.

That had been five months ago. Five months.

Snow and ice melted into puddles and now falling petals collected on the ledge outside her bedroom window spelling their own words. Today’s being; Niiiiice.

Yes, spring was hornier.

Oh, but it was nice. The time her and Cassian spent together somehow gave Nesta both peace and excitement, even if it was just them sitting on her sofa with her legs slung over his. Even now, after they’d relinquished themselves to spring’s influence once more, she lay on his sweaty chest, content to listen to the beat of his heart.

“You can’t be comfortable,” she said noting Cassian’s wings angled in unnatural directions to stop them squashing against the wall, but he only shrugged and said he’d manage.

Nesta’s small apartment was fine when it was only herself – small became cosy. When an Illyrian was present - small become cramped. When other, more unwelcome thoughts intruded – small became claustrophobic.

She’d tried reasoning with the apartment, tried flexing a little of her magic muscles to encourage it to increase space but it refused to budge, likely remembering when Nesta made good on her threat to hammer nails into walls.

Nesta had suggested that her and Cassian go elsewhere but last time Cassian booked them a hotel in the city centre. The room was lovely and most importantly, spacious, but that hadn’t been what Nesta meant.

Five months of sleeping together and she’d yet to visit his apartment.

The options she’d considered was that Cassian was either a serial killer hoarding his trophies, that he had a secret family no one was aware about, or that he was ashamed of whatever it was he was doing with Nesta and didn’t want her presence in his home.

She hoped he was a serial killer.

Cassian’s fingers stroked through her hair, tracing down her neck to her collarbone and Nesta knew they’d have to get up soon otherwise they’d never leave the bed. Even the graphically illustrated pamphlet she’d picked up from the Fae and Human Relations Clinic entitled, ‘Illyrian Sex and You,’ hadn’t provided the full picture.

“Oh honey,” a high fae woman next to her had said with a chuckle at Nesta’s blush, “you’ve got no idea.”

Cassian’s voice broke her out of her trip down memory lane. “What are you going to do with a full Saturday off?”

She shifted, trying to escape the fingertips drifting to the tops of her breasts and focused on the unsexy tasks before her. “Visiting Elain,” she replied, “if I don’t turn up to praise her garden in prime spring than she refuses to talk to me for months.”

One of the unwelcome changes of winter to spring was the shift in management at the Velaris City Ballet Company. Although Eris, the last fae director was an absolute, unmitigated prick, he was a prick Nesta was used to dealing with. Though he didn’t hold humans in high regard, at least he respected Nesta’s talent as a dancer.

The new director, Tamlin, had donned a sneer when he read Nesta’s name from the call sheet before making Gwyn cry, resulting in an argument between Nesta and him. After, he invited Nesta to his office and informed her that she didn’t have many more nails in the coffin of her departure to be hammered down.

Now, Nesta barely had any performance time. She wasn’t even ensemble; she was second ensemble. The once prima ballerina was about to become the prima cleaner.

The lies she spun to Cassian about her days didn’t include that. Instead, she deflected. “What will you do?”

“The usual.”

‘The usual’ for Cassian was free flying off the mountain Ramiel with Azriel and Rhys, followed by brunch with Mor and then training which seemed like a combination of throwing punches and getting hit by swords. Or avoiding getting hit by swords. Sometimes when she met him afterwards, Nesta couldn’t tell what the actual aim of the training had been.

Nesta stretched again, her back arching and cracking and the sheets fell from her chest. “Oh no,” she said to Cassian, noting the gleam in his eyes at her bared breasts. She shimmied under the covers to get to the end and crawled out, standing at the foot. “I have things to do.”

“So do I,” he said, eyes skimming from breasts to thighs and back again.

She grinned, shaking her head and scooping up his shirt to cover herself. In truth she couldn’t blame the spring air, he’d been like this all through winter.

The fucking fae were always fucking. Or tried to be.

Nesta pulled her hair into a braid as Cassian sat up to rest against the wall, wings now stretched as wide as possible in the gap, the talons brushing the plaster. “Hey,” he said, his voice breezy. “I have an idea. Before you visit Elain, why don’t you come with me for some of them?”

“Some of what?”

“My Saturday activities. Might be fun.”

“I’m not launching myself from anything thank you and I don’t feel like getting whacked with a sword.”

“You could come with me to brunch with Mor.”

Nesta paused, her fingers tangling in her hair, the braid pattern now destroyed.

Cassian had said it in a way like it wasn’t a massive deal to say to one of his long-standing friends, ‘oh by the way, you know Rhys is seeing Feyre who we all love. Well, I’m sleeping with her sister. No, not that one. The one no one likes.’

She looked over at Cassian, his skin holding a hint of crimson, his eyes staring down at his sheet covered knees. There was a lurch in her stomach. If he couldn’t make eye contact with Nesta during an invitation to brunch, how would he be throughout the actual event? Nesta imagined sitting opposite the blonde, glamourous Morrigan, a plate of maple-soaked pancakes between them, while Cassian pretended death glares weren’t being shot Nesta’s way.

Though her first inclination was to tell Cassian she would rather spend her time bathing in the Kelpie pool this was his first attempt at something different, something more public.

“I could look at the timings,” Nesta said, re-braiding her hair. “Are you sure Mor wouldn’t mind? Won’t it be weird if I just turned up with you?”

Cassian’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ll come? Ah she’ll be cool with it. She’s used to me rocking up with....”

Nesta arched an eyebrow of her own. “One-night stands? Girlfriends?”

“I was going to say, ‘lovely ladies of which I’ve spent lots of pleasant time with.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can say we bumped into each other by the door.”

Nesta blinked but kept her face impassive. Cassian had shrugged at his statement, a hand casually gesturing into the air. Casual, casual. All so casual.

Almost half a year. Dinner dates, brunch dates, lunch dates – every meal date possible they’d done it and invented some of their own. He’d attended her performances while she still had dances to perform and he was over at her apartment so much that the front door of the building now opened to let him in.

She hadn’t been to his home and they hadn’t told anyone that they were – what? Dating? Seeing each other? Sleeping together? Nesta had used the word girlfriend in relation to women who had rocked up to his brunch with Mor but that’s not what she was. Even if she was, would any of his friends, her sister’s friends, be impressed?

The only one would be pleased would be Emerie but Nesta wasn’t ready to give her the satisfaction of knowing her stunt with The Nutcracker choreography had worked.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Thinking about it, I can’t.” She kept her voice as light as she could. “I’m taking the slow route to Elain’s and if I’m late to view the peonies open, she’ll kill me.”

There was no change to Cassian’s expression, he simply nodded and relaxed his shoulders. “Sure,” he replied, and Nesta wondered if he wanted that to be the answer all along.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” she said, turning away. Usually, she would extend the invite to him but not even the pollen in the air could fight its way through the heaviness of her chest. “Feel free to stay, have some coffee.”

“No, it’s best I go. I’ll be getting the third degree from Az and Rhys about being late.”

The bed creaked behind her as he rose, his heavy tread padding its way across the floorboards. A warm kiss landed on her shoulder, “I’ll see myself out, you go grab your shower.”

Nesta turned to face him, nodding with such enthusiasm she must have resembled a bobbing goblin. She kissed him goodbye, nothing more than a brief touch of her lips on his, before dashing into her bathroom.

The shower she took was long and hot, the steam curling into condensation everywhere in the small space. “Am I unlovable?” she asked the apartment walls.

When she stepped out from under the spray of water, there was a reply in the mist on the mirror.

No, it said, you’re not.

***

Elain lived an hour from the heart of Velaris and wasn’t too difficult to get to if you knew the best method of travel. Winnow Express didn’t operate outside the city parameters and if Illyrian Air had been operational, it still wouldn't be an option Nesta would have gone with.

Peregryn Air was renowned for speed and customer service but the prices highlighted on the app were out of Nesta’s shrinking budget. In the end, she settled on Pegasus’ non-flying option which meant she travelled by horse and carriage – much to Elain’s delight when Nesta arrived.

“Look at you!” Elain had squealed. “Very classic!”

The sisters sat under the shade of an oak tree, serenaded by the hum of bees while long stemmed flowers bobbed their heads in the breeze.

“How is Velaris?” Elain asked, adjusting her wide brimmed straw hat.

“Oh, you know this time of year – perilous.”

“Have you seen a lot of Feyre?”

Nesta shook her head and took a sip of her drink. Pink and fruity and delicious with a strange but not unpleasant tingle that Nesta couldn’t put her finger on.

“I saw her in March for lunch but then the snow melted and now she’s shacked up with her boyfriend.”

“Ah yes, spring madness.”

“I just hope they’re cleaning down the counters.”

They both shuddered.

“How about you?” Elain poked an ice cube in her glass with her straw. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Before Nesta could stop herself, the words fell from her mouth. “I’m sleeping with Cassian.”

There was a shriek from Elain and the hat flew off as she leant forward over the small garden table, the ribbons of her floral dress close to sinking into the pitcher. “Noooo! When did that start?”

“Soon after Solmas.”

“Five months! Are you just sleeping with each other or is other stuff going on?”

“We've been on dates. And he stays over so much it's like he's living with me.” Nesta frowned. Where was all this coming from? Although Elain wasn’t in contact with Feyre’s inner circle, it didn’t mean that Nesta planned on spilling her guts.

“Oh my goodness,” Elain said with a giggle. “I’m not surprised, you two always had a thing for each other.”

“We did?”

“How’s the sex?”

“Best sex of my life, in fact this morning he-”

Nesta jerked back in her chair, forcing her lips to press together. Elain was leaning so far over the table now it seemed she was seconds away from clamouring over it and onto Nesta’s lap. Nesta looked at the glass in her hand, the delightful blush pink liquid almost gone showing a golden residue collecting at the bottle. She stuck her nose in for a sniff.

Yes, there it was along with the cherry and hibiscus.

“Elain – did you put Amorveritas berries in this?”

Her sister had the decency to go a little red. “Maybe.”

“Elain! That’s a gross betrayal of trust!”

Elain’s freckled nose crinkled as she sat back in her chair, adjusting her hat which had seemed to grow an extra inch to hide more of her face. “Oh, you’ll forgive me. How else am I supposed to know what’s going on in your life?”

“You could ask.”

“I always ask,” Elain said with a huff. “You say ‘its fine’ and move on. But the last time you said it was fine – and I believed you – I got that phone call from Feyre to say you’d been arrested.”

“That was sorted out. And Feyre didn’t need to get involved either.”

“Hmm.”

They sat, the heavy shade of the tree covering them greater than before. Nesta glanced up, it wasn’t her imagination that the oak was leaning over them both, trying to listen into every word. “Do you mind?” Nesta snapped.

Elain winced and waved a hand at a low hanging branch. “Sorry, it has a will of its own. Loves gossip and my life doesn't give it enough.”

Nesta placed her drink down on the table. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved in magic? I thought that was the whole point of moving away from Velaris?”

Elain sighed and looked away into her garden, fingers twisting themselves in her dress. “I wasn’t. The problem is that little seedling we have. It’s hard for it not to take root. I wasn’t bothered in the city but now I’m here and I feel like I’m in my right place and I guess it grew.”

She looked to Nesta and Nesta nodded for Elain to continue.

“I have a non-magic herb and flower garden and a magic one. But Nesta, the prices I can charge for the magic produce is ridiculous! People will pay anything! You see all these acres of land? I own them. I’m about to put a down payment for my own Pegasus delivery service.”

Nesta smiled at her sister. “That’s wonderful. I’m really pleased for you.” But something wriggled inside her. Not a writhing serpent of jealousy, more a wriggling worm of discontent. Feyre was living her best life, her art indulged at Rhys’ expense, and so was Elain with her cottage and booming business. Nesta was happy they were happy, she just wished she wasn’t so unhappy.

“I’m looking for another job,” Nesta blurted out as Elain’s eyes went wide. The confession nothing to do with the berries and more the weight Nesta felt when she woke each morning.

“Why? You adore the ballet.”

“If you thought Eris was bad, he has nothing on the new director. Give me another week and I’ll be begging to clean the stage just to stay relevant.”

“Oh, Nesta.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta said, waving her hand as though she wave away the tightening of her throat. “I’m thinking about tutoring children in dance. If I can’t be the prima ballerina any more than maybe I can teach the next one.”

“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

They both went quiet and when Nesta looked over, she saw Elain’s doe brown eyes grow watery.

“No please don’t cry,” Nesta said, “I’ll bounce back, I always do.”

“Does Cassian support this?”

There was a beat of silence as Nesta reached for her glass, just needing something to hold. Nesta had no plans to finish her drink and start telling Elain everything. Before she knew it, she’d be confessing about the time she and Feyre gave Elain’s ‘Garden Witch Barbie’ a haircut and makeover.

Some things, like that Barbie, had to remain buried.

“Cassian doesn’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re sleeping together. We’re not in a committed relationship. Besides, I don’t think he’d be interested.”

Elain leant forward to rest her elbows on the table and place her head in her hands, peering at Nesta. “Are either of you seeing anyone else?”

Nesta paused. Well, she wasn’t and she didn’t think Cassian was. No, she knew he wasn’t. He’d taken a call from Rhys while she’d been cooking dinner one evening and overheard him rebuffing Rhys’ attempts at a set-up.

“I’m not. I don’t think he is.”

“And this is Cassian we’re talking about. Pretty sure a queue as long as the Rainbow Bridge exists lining up for him, and it’s not to hold his hand.”

“I’m going to ignore you now.”

Elain tilted her head, eyes not leaving Nesta. She was unnervingly like Feyre when she had something in her sights. The Archeron family gift being a sliver of magic and a shit-ton of stubborn wilfulness. “Why don’t you think he’d be interested?”

Nesta shrugged her shoulder and looked around the garden for something, anything, that would remove her out of this conversation. Aside from placid rows of flowers and a nervous looking cherry tree nothing was coming to hand.

“He’s not seeing anyone else but it’s not like he wants anyone knowing he’s seeing me either. We only go out to places no one we know goes to, I haven’t even seen his apartment let alone spent a night there and this morning he suggested we pretend to bump into each other so I could join him and Mor for brunch.”

Elain straightened in her chair. “He invited you to brunch with Mor?”

“Not really.”

“Yes, he did! And we’re talking blonde bombshell Mor? Ex-girlfriend Mor? Best friend forever Mor?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Is there any other?”

Fae were notorious for many things; parent issues, extensive criminal records, long lifespans and ridiculously high sex drives. Sooner or later, most fae found their way into each other’s beds, or bathrooms, or balconies, or underwater sex centres if Nesta believed Gwyn’s stories.

Cassian and Mor had both lived a long life, so long that Cassian didn't remember birthdays. But he did remember meeting Mor and finding her, in his words, ‘painfully attractive.’ Mor thought the same of him and they indulged in their mutual attraction until the spark burnt out before it became a fire.

Aside from Azriel, Mor was a rare factor in Cassian’s life that would remain until the end of eternity. Not even Rhys held that honour. Nesta had only met Mor a handful of times through their connection via Rhys and Feyre. Those occasions hadn’t been unpleasant, had even verged on cordial, but Nesta wasn’t known for natural warmth and Mor hadn’t extended conversation beyond polite pleasantries.

“I think you should talk to Cassian,” Elain said, “because I think you’re wrong. I think he would be interested to know what’s going on in your life and I think you want to tell him. You’re pissy over this whole Mor brunch thing which means you like him.”

“Well of course I like him.”

“No, you like him, like him. As in ‘you want him to be your boyfriend’ levels of like.”

Nesta snorted, a noise she hadn’t made in years. Feyre brought out the bratty teenager in her and Elain brought out the bratty child. “We’re grown women talking about liking boys. Soon we’re going to be doodling initials over hearts.”

“There have been studies on the success of doodle magic.”

Nesta sighed and rubbed her forehead, their talk kickstarting a headache. Soon she’d be begging to talk about anything else, even if it was Elain’s pruning routine.

“Nesta,” Elain said, quieter this time. “Please talk to Cassian. Five months is a long time – no don’t interrupt – I know five months is nothing for fae or Illyrians but I remember Feyre saying once that Cassian doesn’t do relationships.”

“Exactly.”

“No, I mean he doesn’t do anything that lasts over a month. In Cassian time, you’re married.”

“Elain-”

“Just promise me you’ll talk to him.”

***

Nesta had to begrudgingly accept that she’d softened over the years.

A promise had been extracted from her by Elain and a basket had been thrust into her hands. According to Elain the sex apples were all the seasonal rage. Nesta eyed up the shining red fruit and was beginning to understand how Elain was now able to afford the construction of her own set of Pegasus stables.

She trudged up the stairs of her building, ignoring the breathy moans from behind her neighbours’ doors on each floor. The sooner spring was over, the better.

Nesta heard Cassian before she saw him, a loud baritone passing as singing vibrating through the walls. Her apartment was now letting him waltz right in and that irritated her. This was her home; he had his own. Probably.

The door opened for her and she murmured a half-hearted thanks to the building which caused it to slam behind her. Cassian was in her small kitchenette, wings tucked in, hair tied up, wearing an armless undershirt revealing his swirling Illyrian tattoos.

He looked up, a broad grin on his face. “Hey, how was your day?”

“Fine,” she said, placing the basket onto the sideboard and looked around. Cassian’s jacket and shirt were thrown over her bed, his overnight bag back in the same corner he’d left it.

“Tea?”

“No thanks.”

“I thought we'd go out for dinner tonight, Autumn Court has just opened a new restaurant, The Forest House. I could fly there in less than an hour. The website says to expect lots of smoked meats and craft ales.”

Cassian boiled his water, a mug with a teabag waiting on the side from his unique blend of tea which now lived in her cupboard. The kettle whistled and a surge of irritation bubbled beneath her skin. The water never boiled that quick for her.

“Why are you here?”

Cassian’s smile slid from his face. “What do you mean? I always stay over on Saturday nights, it’s our thing.”

“Is it? Or is it just convenient for you so you don’t have to leave after fucking? Because that’s what we do, that’s ‘our thing’ – we eat and fuck.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open but only for a second. “What did you just say?” His voice was soft but disarmingly so. The kind of soft the mermaids used before they sank their sharpened nails into your calf.

“You heard.” Nesta shifted where she stood, wondering where this was coming from, wondering if Elain had snuck something else into her glass.

For the briefest of moment’s Cassian’s face changed into something unrecognisable. Suddenly he was wearing a different face, one Nesta had never seen directed at her but was likely a familiar sight to those he hunted down as a bounty hunter. Black consumed all of his eyes, his wings flexing, talons scrapping against the brickwork. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, while a shadow passed over his features.

His eyes scanned her face, his nostrils flaring. This version of Cassian, albeit restrained, was still dark and dangerous and Nesta’s pulse hammered in her throat with a reason far from anything considered arousal.

Then, the moment drifted away. Cassian let the moment drift away as though it were a cloud in the spring breeze.

“How’s Elain?” he asked, injecting a lightness to his tone.

“She’s fine,” Nesta said with a frown.

“And what happened to put you in this mood? What did she say?”

An indignant snarl left Nesta’s mouth. Best Cassian know all of her she decided. He’d heard Feyre’s stories of how difficult Nesta could be. “She didn’t say anything. And how dare you! I’m not in any mood, this is my home, I want to sit on my couch, watch ‘Suriel on Saturday’ and do fuck all.”

“Then we’ll do that.”

A shriek left Nesta’s mouth and she pushed the base of her palms against her eyes until she saw lights. She took a deep breath in, trying to remember the exercises she’d been taught from her court ordered ‘Temper Your Temper’ class.

When her breathing calmed, she pulled her hands away. Cassian still standing in the same place, eyes fixed on her.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m losing it, like I’m something to be pitied.”

“I’m not-” he began and paused, scrubbing one large hand over his face. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

Any energy Nesta had vanished, and she turned to the section of her apartment which acted as her living area and walked over to the couch, sinking into the oversized cushions and pulling her knees underneath her. She stared at a blank spot on the wall ahead.

“I’m going to quit the ballet.”

A soft ‘what’ came from the kitchen followed by the heaviness of Cassian’s tread before the couch dipped under his weight. Nesta swayed towards the middle, their knees brushing.

“Why?”

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’m not being utilised and won’t be for as long as Tamlin is in residence and he’s not going anywhere fast. The longer I stay, the more I doubt my ability so I need to get out while I still believe I’m good. I am you know – good.”

There was a chuckle next to her and she turned to look at Cassian, a broad grin stretched across his face, any hint of his earlier anger gone. “You are,” he said, “I have your Nutcracker performance etched in my memory. Might get a tattoo of it. Before we started dating, I masturbated to it more than was healthy.”

Nesta coughed on air and chose to ignore his latter comment. “We’re dating?”

Cassian frowned, turning towards her. “What else are we doing?”

“Sleeping together.”

“Yeah, but the other stuff – the hanging out, the going out – that’s not dating to you?”

Nesta pinched the skin between her eyebrows in her fingers, a tension headache beginning to rise.

In the basket of fruits Elain had gifted her, there was a nectarine designed to soothe any ailments but her mouth was dry and her throat was tight. If she tried to swallow a bite, she was concerned she’d choke and turn into some tragic modern fairy tale.

The last thing Nesta needed right now was a series of dwarves rocking up to cart her off in a glass coffin to be gawked at by perverts. They had a habit of turning up every time there was a fruit related choking incident.

She sighed, releasing the skin between her fingertips. “Yes, but also – no. When I’ve dated other people, I’ve felt like I’m in their life. I don’t always end up meeting their friends but at the least I’ve been to their homes you know? I haven’t been invited back to yours once.”

“Ah,” Cassian said, “so there’s a reason I haven’t invited you back to me place.” A deep crimson bloomed on his cheeks. “I don’t actually have a place to invite you back to.”

Nesta blinked at him, the words taking longer to meet her brain than she would have thought.

“I’m not homeless,” Cassian said. “I have a house, a very nice house, lots of bookshelves – you’d love it. It’s in Illyria. I didn’t want to put roots down in Velaris so I fly the distance to the city each time I come or I stay with Rhys and Feyre. I figured if I invited you back to theirs, it would be weird.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak only to close it again. Words were taking longer to exit her brain too.

“I am looking to rent a place,” Cassian continued. “It’s been on my mind more and more but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and do that if there wasn’t a reason to. We hadn’t discussed where this was going and you seemed to be quite casual so...”

Cassian trailed off, gazing at the same empty spot on the wall opposite that had enraptured Nesta earlier.

“You fly from Illyria to Velaris. Daily?”

“Now, I do. Yeah.”

“And you think I’m casual about this? About us?”

Cassian inhaled and turned to face her again. “Yeah, you’ve never mentioned wanting to do anything more – announce to friends or see my place so I figured you either didn’t care or didn’t mind me being here all the time. You never told Emerie that we got together after Solmas so I thought you didn’t want people to know. I thought you were embarrassed.”

“Huh.”

Nesta processed his words. She hadn’t told Emerie, even when pressed, that her stunt with the Illyrian choreography had worked. It was nothing to do embarrassment over Cassian but more that Nesta’s pride couldn’t handle how Emerie had read the situation from a distance.

“I’ve told Elain. She seems to think you’re into me.”

“She’s right. I am into you. In a massive way.”

“I’m kind of into you too. In a massive way.”

Cassian’s following laugh was more nervous air being released from his lungs than mirth.

Nesta reached out to grab the material of his undershirt. “If you’re so into me, why did you invite me to brunch with you and Mor and suggest we go through an insulting charade?”

Cassian winced, reaching out to clasp her hand with his own, his large fingers entwining through her thin ones. His wings flexed and unflexed behind him.

“I’ve spoken about you so much to Mor. If she hasn’t worked out that we’re seeing each other, she’s worked out I’m into you. I thought if we could have brunch she’d see how awesome you were but I didn’t want to pressure you so thought I’d suggest something more.... casual.”

“I was agreeing until you started bringing up ex-girlfriends and making stupid suggestions!”

Cassian began to say something and then stopped before replying. “Well, I panicked.”

They sat back on the couch, Nesta’s hand now removed from Cassian’s top but her hand still cradled in his. The floorboards above them creaked in a rhythm as spring claimed the upstairs neighbours.

“What’s it like staying at Rhys?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shuddered. “Awful. One time I had to hose them.”

Nesta laughed and Cassian looked at her, eyes twinkling. Then, the twinkle dimmed a little. “I’m sorry about the ballet,” he said, his voice gentle, “I know you loved it.”

Nesta shrugged, feigning nonchalance but she knew Cassian could tell she was faking from the way he squeezed her hand. “Some things are meant to come to an end.”

“Not all things I hope,” he said, flexing his thumb to caress her skin.

Nesta squeezed back. “No, not all things.”

What would be her plan now? Options whirred through her mind. Find a new job, quit her current one, call Emerie for a drink where Nesta could confess that Emerie’s plan had worked and listen to her gloat on her genius for a couple of hours. Have brunch with Mor. Tell Feyre.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked her.

“I’m thinking we need to step up our game. I need to find a new role and you need to get an apartment that doesn’t cause you to hit your head on beams.”

“It’s fine – the beams move for me.”

“Of course, they do,” Nesta said with a glance upwards at her ceiling. If brick and mortar could shrug, it would have. “Then I was thinking we could have dinner with our collection of weirdos, tell them we’re in a committed relationship and sit back as they argue over it while we eat dessert.”

The broadest grin she’d ever seen appeared on Cassian’s face, “Yeah?”

“Only if you’re up for it?”

“Oh,” he said, a growl to his voice as he leant forward, “I’m always up for it.”

Nesta rolled her eyes - honestly, spring.

“Wait,” she said, placing her hand on Cassian’s bare chest – how in the Mother had he removed his top so fast? She looked over his shoulder to the basket of fruit on the sideboard, the juicy red sex apples shining. “First, I’m going to bake us a very nice fruit pie.”