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Chapter Text

There was a soft breeze blowing off the Sidra as old Sofia Montague approached the large, grandiose estate known as the River House.

She knew little of the inner workings of the royal family, her interactions with them about as limited as any other resident of Velaris. Save for one exception. Namely, that she was Nesta Archeron’s next door neighbor.

That sweet young fae who was going through so, so much.

She’d heard the arguing between Nesta and whoever had the pleasure of gracing her door plenty of times– be it her sister, the High Lady, the High Lord or one of the Inner Circle – The General, or The Morrigan, usually, coming to fetch her for whatever they had in mind.

That’s what she assumed this was, at first. Another summoning. Another evening that would end with the female she shared a wall with sobbing herself to sleep, thinking no one could hear her.

But then, days and days went by.

Too many days.

Too many days, and a tight, foreboding feeling had settled heavy in her chest. Sofia never doubted these feelings, was never one to ignore an omen from the Mother herself, not once in her thousand years of life.

It was that feeling, and the small, seemingly innocent discovery she’d found in the hall that morning, that solidified her nerve.

And so, she was here, at the front entrance of the River House, her hands clutched around the one thing she had to prove she wasn’t out of her mind in her concern.

“Oh, hello.”

Sofia’s eyes found the lovely female who’d called out – undoubtedly an Archeron. She was on her knees in the garden, clearly in the midst of weeding. She didn’t know the third sister’s name, but she recognized her soft features, the color of her hair.

“Can I help you?”

Straightening, Sofia smiled softly. “Yes, my dear, I believe you can. I’d like to speak with your family, please.”

The fae who was likely Nesta’s sister pushed to her feet, brushing off her skirt. “I’m sorry, but the High Lord and Lady only receive citizen complaints on Wednesdays, or by letter.”

“I’m afraid this is a personal matter,” Sofia said. “I live next door to whom I believe is your sister, Nesta.”

The female blinked, brows furrowing, a shadow falling over her face. Immediately, her superficial cordiality that she used to greet strangers faded. “Oh gods, what has she done?”

Tilting her head, Sofia replied, “I think it’s best we discuss this inside, or at least somewhere more private.”

After all, there was no telling who could be listening, out in the open.

Nodding, the Archeron sister opened the front gate. “We’ll pay for whatever she has done, I promise.”

Sofia didn’t know why this female was fussing about such a thing, knowing Nesta as she did, but followed her inside, nonetheless.

The halls were just as refined as she expected – brilliant paintings lining the walls, ancient, priceless artifacts below them on marble displays. The fae in front of her led her quickly through the entryway, around the corner, and towards two large oak doors – a study.

“Just wait here,” she said, and Sofia offered her a small nod of understanding as she disappeared behind them.

She took a moment to take in the splendor of the space – the detailed touches. She sometimes forgot how wealthy the royal family was, until she was reminded of the finery they lived in. It made her wonder why Nesta Archeron ended up in an apartment as dismal as the one she currently resided in.

It shouldn’t have been rented out to anyone – no better than a creaky attic, really. But their shared landlord always did love a profit.

A few minutes later, the doors opened again, and she was met with the face of the Night Court’s third – Morrigan herself.

“Please come in,” she said with a kind smile.

“I apologize for the unplanned arrival,” Sofia replied, entering the study where she was immediately greeted with a blanket of power – a shield that insulated whatever words were spoken here.

Before her, the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stood, both straight and proper in their attempt to exude unquestionable authority. It almost made her laugh. She herself was old enough to remember Rhysand’s father as a child, though she would not voice such a thing aloud.

“It is no matter,” the High Lord said, kindly. “I apologize for whatever grief my sister-in-law has caused to require it.”

Sofia didn’t quite like the tone of his voice – the indication of it. But still, these people were Nesta’s family, and as such, should be informed.

“Is this location secure, My Lord?” She asked.

“Oh gods, it’s that bad, is it?” Morrigan murmured from beside her, settling down into an armchair.

“No one will know of what you speak here,” Rhysand affirmed. “Please, sit.”

“I’m alright to stand, thank you,” Sofia replied, waving a hand. For some reason, she didn't want to get too comfortable here. “I came because I am concerned about Nesta. You see, I live next door.”

Feyre Archeron’s brows rose, and she crossed her arms, pensive. “Has she been too loud? Disruptive?”

“Gods no, Nesta is a lovely neighbor,” Sofia replied. “I am not here because she has erred in some way.”

“If this is about her… tendencies… please know we are aware of them,” the High Lady tried, with a grimace.

“It is not,” Sofia assured, taking in the breath she needed to soothe her irritation at their assumptions. Leveling her eyes at the young fae before her, she finished, “Your sister has not returned to her apartment for over a week now. I would be a poor neighbor, to not be concerned.”

She watched as surprise fluttered across the High Lady’s face, the slight furrow of Rhysand’s brow.

“I came to confirm whether she was with you, but it seems she is not,” Sofia surmised.

“She could be with someone else, gods know where she ends up most nights,” Morrigan said to them, with a frown.

“I assure you Nesta returns to her apartment almost every night,” Sofia offered. “I am usually awake when she does. If not, the barkeep from the tavern she favors will send me a note.”

“That’s… quite kind of you,” Rhysand said, tilting his head. “You are under no obligation to do so much.”

“Nesta is a young, inexperienced female who lives alone. It is what any responsible fae would do.”

Feyre frowned, deeply, something like guilt settling on her face. Sofia didn’t want to dwell on why that was so much of a surprise. Instead, she continued,

“Either way, she left as usual eight days ago, around dinner time. I heard her return to her apartment that evening, with a companion. But I have not heard from her since. Two days afterwards, I knocked, but got no answer. I assumed you had taken her somewhere, but then, this morning while I was sweeping my doorstep, I found this in the corner of the hall.”

Unclasping her hands, Sofia held up the small necklace that she’d found in the corner, caught on a loose nail. She’d nearly missed it entirely, had the sun not glinted off the metal chain. The chain that had what was unmistakably blood in the ringlets. It had all but convinced her that something was amiss.

Feyre reached out a hand, accepting the pendant from her carefully. Her brows furrowed as she turned it over in her palm.

“Elain, you bought her this, right?”

The other Archeron sister – Elain, apparently – approached Feyre’s side, to inspect it. “Yes,” she said. Something like a small pride fluttered across her face. “Nesta wore it every day.”

 “What’s this?” Another voice called from behind her – a deep tone she had learned to recognize well.

Turning, she took in the hulking frame of the Night Court’s General standing in the doorway, concern on his brow. They knew each other only vaguely – having passed each other in the hallway. It was enough to have him on alert, clearly.

“When is the last time you saw Nesta?” Feyre asked him.

Cassian frowned, stepping into the room, and closing the door. Apparently, he had stepped through whatever sound shield the High Lord had in place. Though, she assumed the security measure didn’t apply to his family.

“Three weeks ago,” he answered. “When you last asked me to fetch her.”

“Forgive me,” Sofia began, folding her hands, “but when was the last time you saw your sister?”

Feyre winced properly then. “Three weeks ago.”

“Nesta is missing?” Cassian asked – to her, she realized abruptly.

“I believe she is,” Sofia replied. “Nesta sticks to her routines. I bring her dinner, most nights, and she has looked after my grandson, on days when I am needed in my shop.”

Cassian tilted his head. “I was not aware there was a child in your apartment.”

“His parents were lost in the war.”

The General shifted, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Then you’ll have to forgive me. I would have been… more tactful, in my wording, the last time I was there.”

Feyre quirked a brow, in silent question. But Sofia merely offered him a small smile. If there was anything she knew about this male, it was that he was entirely unequipped to deal with Nesta Archeron, and his words often came out terribly. 

If circumstances weren’t so dire, she would have found it amusing.

“Nevertheless,” Rhysand said, hands tucked in his pockets. “If Nesta is missing, we will investigate immediately. It is a matter of great concern to us, of course.”

"Of course," Sofia replied as she dipped her chin, pleased with the outcome. “I do hope you find her soon. Nesta is a lovely neighbor to have, and I would never want anything to happen to her. But these, as I’m sure you are aware, remain dangerous times, even if the King of Hybern is dead.”

Something shadowed the High Lord’s face, as if he knew that fact too well.

---

Cassian’s body hummed with adrenaline – with need.

Nesta was missing.

Nesta was missing.

How the fuck had they let that happen?

The old female who had informed them had only been gone for a moment, winnowing away in an easy snap of her fingers as soon as shew as past the final barrier on the front lawn – a surprising display of magic – and already he was out of his mind with worry.

So many things could have happened to her. So many things could be happening to her. The horrors grew worse and worse the longer he thought about it.

“She could just be passed out in an alley somewhere,” Mor said, as if trying to lighten the situation. “We may not need to panic yet.”

“For over a week?” Feyre asked, voice tight with concern. “No, something’s wrong, I feel it.”

“Azriel will meet us at her apartment,” Rhys interjected, stepping outside where they were all gathering. “But we shouldn’t waste a moment, if there truly is something amiss.”

If there was truly something amiss, Cassian was feeling pretty certain he would rip the entire world apart, until they found her.

Relax, his brother’s voice said into his head, as they all prepared to winnow. Don’t panic until we’re certain something has happened.

Cassian didn’t get the chance to tell him to fuck off before they were all whisked away through the ether, landing unceremoniously at Nesta’s front door. Because, obviously, something had happened. 

And now, standing in front of this apartment, he could already mark the difference.

Nesta wasn’t here, he couldn’t feel her. He always could, when she was near, like a small surety in the pit of his chest. He knew when she was on the other side of that door – could feel her ire, her grief, her frustration. It practically charged the air.

But now there was nothing. Just… nothing.

“There’s no one inside,” Azriel’s voice came from the shadows, a moment before he stepped out. “But the door is locked. We’ll have to break it down, unless you want to find a key for all seven locks she has apparently installed.”

Grimacing, Cassian assessed the wooden thing before him. He knew just as well as they all did that Nesta had those locks installed for a reason. To break it down felt like a gross violation of her privacy, of her safety. Though, if she was truly gone, how safe was she really?

“Be gentle about it at least,” Feyre said, brows knitted tightly. “Just in case she’s still here somewhere.”

Just in case she wasn’t in danger, were the unspoken words.

Cassian stepped forward, resting his hand on the door. Channeling his inner power, his siphons pulsed once, brightly, and the hinges and locks fell off the frames. In that moment, he hoped she wasn’t here, if only to not completely shatter her sense of safety with how easily he was able to break through.

Quickly, he moved in time to catch the door before it could crash to the floor, and placed it to the side, taking a breath before he braved himself for what he’d find within.

None of them had actually been inside this apartment. Nesta always met them at the door, and no further. But looking at it now, he felt a little sick.

It was barren, painfully so. The tiny kitchen table had chips in it, with only one chair to speak of. Beyond was a small kitchenette, looking just about as utilized as the hearth in the far corner. The chill was biting, the draft suggesting more than one hole or crack in the walls or the ceilings.

“Gods,” Mor said, lifting a hand to her nose. “When was the last time she aired the place out?”

Cassian ignored the comment, stepping gingerly over the threshold, eyes scanning for any trace of her. The front room, at least, looked untouched.

A stack of books was on a dilapidated bookshelf, along with the few things Elain had given her, in their time here. In front of it was a worn-down loveseat – barely big enough for two. There was no warmth, no comfort here. Every single window had the shutters drawn; the curtains pulled over.

There were homes in Illyria better put together than what they saw here.

With a breath, he moved towards the bedroom, nose crinkling despite himself at the leftover sex and alcohol that permeated the air. Behind him, he heard Rhys open the windows, to give enough light to actually look around.

The bedroom door creaked, and as he took in the sorry state of the bed, the blankets torn unceremoniously onto the ground, the scattered clothing, and vanity that’s contents had been strewn about the tabletop, something heavy settled in his gut.

Glancing to his left, he took in the bathroom – a tub so small he didn’t think he could even stand in it, and a sorry excuse of a sink.

She’d truly been living in squalor, while they’d all moved on with their lives in their fancy, comfortable homes.

Why was he just now realizing that?

“Nothing looks… amiss, per say,” Feyre observed. “I knew she was living somewhere less than savory, but I hadn’t realized it was so…”

“Depressing?” Rhys supplied.

“That’s a word for it,” Mor muttered.

Cassian couldn’t find his voice to offer any input, fighting between the nausea and the dread in his throat. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. He felt it in his blood, his very being.

Azriel, it seemed, felt similarly. The shadowsinger’s face was drawn tightly, his steps light as he scanned every single inch of the room, seeing things the rest of them weren’t trained to.

Approaching the vanity, Cassian assessed the brush there, the few pieces of jewelry. There was so little of her here – nothing personal. It was the clothing they’d bought for her and nothing more. Feyre had picked things that resembled her old fashion and that had been that.

His fist clenched at his side, and not for the first time was he struck with a self-oriented rage so acute he almost hit something.

“Her scent has faded,” Rhys said. “She truly hasn’t been here in days.”

“What… What do you think could have happened?” Feyre asked then, quietly, a hand clutching her chest.

“Here,” Azriel said, his voice soft, and Cassian snapped his head to the left, to assess where his brother was on his knees, by the bed.

Lifting his hand, Azriel revealed a vial, open and cracked around the top edges.  Holding it out to him, he ordered, “Smell it.”

Determined not to let his fingers tremble, Cassian lifted it to his nose. Only to rear back as the sharp, pungent smell assaulted it.

“There’s powder here, too,” Azriel added, running his finger along the floorboard. “Faebane.”

“Faebane??” Feyre asked, stepping closer to observe herself.

“This is dwale,” Cassian said, holding up the vial. “She was drugged.”

Just saying the words aloud made something boil in his blood – a rage that wouldn’t be sated until he had the neck of whoever had done this constricting in his grip.

Rhys was in his space a moment later, taking the vile for himself, to assess it. Despite their differences, Cassian knew his brother wouldn’t stand for an attack against his family – or anyone associated with them, really. He’d already felt he’d failed at preventing such a thing too many times.

“Who?” Cassian asked him quietly.

Rhys shook his head, contemplative. “She cut the King’s head off. She stole from the Cauldron. It could be a number of people.”

“The queens, Hybern, someone else,” Azriel mused, rubbing the remnants of the powder from between his fingers. “We’ll have to retrace her steps, see if she has any enemies.”

“She’s pretty, and young,” Mor said, all light heartedness having vanished from her demeanor. “Gods, some vile male could have-”

“No,” Rhys cut off, sharply. “Not in Velaris.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Cassian countered. “None of us do.”

“Check the taverns,” Azriel said, straightening. “I'll speak with her neighbors and contact my network, to ensure everyone is aware. I don't have many eyes in Hybern, after the war, but we should at least investigate that thread. And quickly.”

Beside him, Feyre trembled, her face blanched. He could see thousands of scenarios running through her head – unspoken horrors that her sister might be going through. New traumas that would only serve to exacerbate the existing ones.

“I promised her I’d never let anything happen to her again,” She said, faintly. “What if-”

“We’ll find her, Feyre.” Cassian pressed, as much for himself as for her. “I promise, we’ll find her.”

That much, he was certain of. He would find Nesta and bring her home. And whoever it was that kept her from them – from him – would experience a wrath unlike anything they’d ever seen.

---

The cell she was in was damp.  Cold. 

Frigid didn’t even begin to describe the sensation of being seated on the mossy floor, in nothing but her nightgown.

The shackles around her wrists were heavy, weighing down her arms that ached more and more with each passing hour. A cut on her neck burned, from where a rope had damaged the skin, ripping off her necklace. Elain's necklace. 

She knew where she was. She would never forget this place.

She would never forget how those males had yanked her from her bed by her hair, had gagged her in thick, scratchy cloth, and bound her hands in coarse rope. She would never forget the tears on Elain’s face, the way she trembled, sobbing all the way up until her head was shoved underneath the Cauldron’s depths.

Her captors were different than the ones who had stolen her that night. Of course, all those males were dead.

These, though, were worse. These males had played a longer game – a more sinister one. She’d been foolish enough to allow their infiltrator to catch her interest, to buy her drinks, and, ultimately, take her home.

She’d been foolish enough to let him stay longer than it took for her to put her clothes back on. And foolish enough not to notice the drug they'd put in her drink. Nor the way they stalked up behind her, hands curled into fists. 

She’d fought – with all her strength, she’d fought. But the powder was quick, and the sedative was quicker.

Drifting for days, she was only aware that she was being taken somewhere over a long distance - across a sea, through cavernous hallways, into this hell she now found herself in. 

And now, awake in this dark, dark cell, she knew only three things.

The first was that Nesta was back in Hybern, at the mercy of the kingdom whose leader she’d beheaded.

The second was that, one way or another, they had infiltrated Velaris, right under her family's nose. And now they had her for reasons she had yet to discover. 

The third, and the one she was most certain of, was that this time, she would have vengeance.

Chapter Text

Cold water doused Nesta’s frame in an icy shroud, yanking her from her state of unconsciousness back into the harsh world around her.

She gasped as her eyes shot open, vision blurred as drops of water flooded her lashes, the air ripped from her lungs. Pitching forward, she felt the discomfort of her linen nightgown now clinging to her skin, so similar to those first few moments out of the Cauldron that for several seconds her mind – fractured as it seemed to be these days – could not quite tell if this were a dream or reality.

“Time to get up, little witch.”

Reality it was, then.

The familiarity of the voice churned her gut, and as she blinked the water out of her eyes, she took in the male before her. He’d been handsome enough, when they’d met. For well over two weeks, they’d spent evenings at the Wolf’s Den, chatting and playing cards. After all, Nesta didn’t let just anyone take her home. His brown eyes seemed so soft then, and inquisitive. They were dark, and emotionless as pits now.

She curled her lip at him, snarling, something so inherently fae it felt unfamiliar, yet the correct response all the same. He laughed, amusement flickering over his face, and she wondered if that strangeness was as apparent to them as it was to her.

“Still a hellcat, just as you were the last time we had you in our clutches.”

Reaching down, she felt for that power she’d been cursed with, for those flames that licked up her throat and through her veins, stronger with each passing day.

But instead, there was nothing. Like a shroud over her senses, that power was gone, suppressed and stifled.

The male before her tilted his head, as if he was aware of her realization.

“Those shackles will keep you quiet, Nesta. No cauldron-born curses from you, I’m afraid.”

The chains rattled as she shifted her arms, as if to emphasize the point.

“Stop playing with our food, Jamis.”

The other voice was gruff, low, and though Nesta did not see this other male, she assessed this one before her – whose name had not been Jamis when they met, but Samuel. Foolishness once again settled heavy over her chest as the depth of the ruse became clear to her.

“But she’s so delightful to toy with,” Jamis crooned, reaching through the bars to grasp her chin, forcing it up so she looked up in the eyes. “Besides, I’ve already gotten to play with her plenty.”

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip in the same exact manner it had a week ago, when he’d enticed her enough to go to bed.

In the days since, she’d barely been conscious – manhandled throughout whatever route they were using to get to Hybern’s castle. She didn’t know how long it had been, only that she hadn’t eaten in a long enough time that hunger gnawed at her stomach, her throat dry and scratchy.

“You’ve slept quite a while, pretty,” Jamis said. “We’ve had to find ways to entertain ourselves.”

The prospect triggered her rage, and with a gnash of her teeth, she bit the thumb that continued to tug at her lip, hard enough that copper exploded across her taste buds.

Jamis cried out, yanking his hand back to inspect the damage.

“What have you done now?” That voice called, from farther back into the room, bored and unimpressed by the dramatics.

“The bitch bit me,” He snarled.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out the heavy iron keys to her cell, unlocking the door in a gruff movement. Nesta barely had the time to brace herself before the back of his uninjured hand whipped across her face, sending her harshly to the floor.

Coughing, she struggled to gain her breath, her bare legs scratching against the straws of hay lining the floor beneath her.

“Stupid cunt.” He muttered; just as heavy footsteps sounded up the hallway.

Lifting her eyes, she assessed this new companion. He was tall – as tall as Cassian, surely – his head shaven, his eyes black like night. Weapons of all kinds were strapped to his waist, his back. And on his face a long scar cut jagged across his nose and his cheek.

A male built on violence.

He squatted down, to meet her gaze, assessing her like one would a mouse caught in a trap.

“You let something this pathetic get the best of you?” He asked, condescension dripping from his voice.

“Shut up. She did not get the best of me. Merely a lucky shot.”

He hummed in response, head tilting. There was something hungry in his eyes. A hunger that was unique to males who believed they were entitled to anything they set their eyes on – and anyone. Nesta knew it well.

“She’ll pay for it,” He said quietly. He was like Azriel in that way, she supposed – quiet, and certainly lethal. “Once we figure out how to rip that power from her, she’ll pay.”

So that's what this was. It always came down to her power. The Cauldron. The Cauldron's power. Her curse.

“Until then,” He continued, pushing himself up, “She needs to eat. If she dies before the king arrives, it won’t be her head that’s sliced off first.”

The male turned, grasping a bowl, before he entered the cell, and knelt down before her once more. It was that moment that she realized, with her hands bound behind her, she would need to be fed.

In a movement so fast, she could not stop it, his hand whipped out, gripping her hair and yanking her upright. She was unable to restrain her cry as pain burned through her scalp. In the same breath, his fingers gripped her jaw, silently forcing it open.

“Behave,” He said, lifting the bowl of what looked to be some kind of pungent broth to her lips. “You bite me, and I’ll have your tongue and your teeth.”

---

Cassian stared down the bartender at the Wolf’s Den with narrowed eyes, hating every single thing about him.

He was tall and slim. Handsome. His hair long, as long as Lucien’s, but curly. Dark black streaked with grey and tied back with a strap of leather. He wiped down the bar top lazily, assessing him as if he were the most unimportant fae in all of Velaris.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Nesta Archeron.”

“For what reason?”

It took every ounce of his self-control not to curl his lip.

“Court business,” he answered, fingers flexing at his side. “Have you seen her or not?”

The male tilted his head, assessing him. “Maybe.”

Cassian’s blood ran hot. “Maybe?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“I don’t have time for games.”

“And I don’t have time for hulking Generals who come into my tavern before we open.”

Cassian breathed in, then breathed out. Calm and collected, he thought to himself, just like Azriel would be. 

“Look. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need to know if you’ve seen her or not. I know she frequents this establishment.”

The bartender placed his rag aside and crossed his arms.

“You could say that. Nes spends most nights at my bar if she can help it.”

Cassian’s entire world quieted as the words left the male’s mouth.

Nes?

For reasons he would ponder later, Cassian pictured what this male’s face would look like if he punched him with all of his strength.

“That’s the High Lady’s sister you’re referring to." He said lowly. "If I were you, I’d address her with more respect.”

To his outrage – and, if he was honest, abject horror – the fae before him simply tilted his head back and laughed.

Laughed, as if he hadn’t committed such a heinous offense as to address Nesta as anything other than –

“She doesn’t mind, I assure you. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Cassian straightened, wings tucking in tightly. At his side, his hand formed a fist so tightly he felt something strain in his wrist.

“That’s not the point. Have you seen her or not?”

The bartender sighed, shaking his head. “To be honest, General, I assumed you and your family locked her up somewhere, so she didn’t, as you’ve said in this establishment before, ‘embarrass you’ anymore.”

“How dare you,” Cassian snarled. “We wouldn’t lock her up like a fucking prisoner. If we took her somewhere, it would be to help her, not punish her. And, obviously, we haven’t.”

The male before him narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe that for a second. It was the first thing to give him pause. Just what exactly did these people think of them, that their first thought was that they’d do something like that?

“So, she really is missing then?”

“Yes. Did you not believe me the first time?”

The bartender slid his eyes to the door, as if assuring it were closed.

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” Cassian said. “Who she left with the last few days, who she talked to, how often she was here.”

“She was here every night. She usually stayed at the bar, or at the cards table with the regulars. There are about five of us who play. If she went home with someone, more often than not it was one of us.”

Cassian didn’t think this could get any fucking worse. “Us?”

The male smirked, as if he knew exactly how much the idea that he’d graced Nesta’s bed would piss him off.

“Yes. You think I’d let her go home with just anyone? If she showed an interest in someone else, fine. But more often than not, General, my little band of regulars gets their release from each other. It’s a safe arrangement.”

“And that little arrangement includes you, does it?”

His eyes glittered, and Cassian wondered if Rhys would care if he committed murder.

“From time to time. Nesta usually likes to nurse her drinks til closing. She’s a lovely conversation partner. Sometimes, the two of us carry on through the morning. Sometimes, all of us will.”

“All of you?”

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” The male asked, arching a brow. “Yes. Five of us. Six including Nes. We look out for each other, and all live nearby.”

Again, with the fucking ‘Nes.’

Cassian gritted his teeth.

“And who are these others?”

“Two males, one female. One who identifies as neither. All of whom come to my bar to reckon with their sorrows in a Court that often fails them.”

Cassian’s wings flared, affronted.

“I’ll have you know Rhys does his best for his people.”

“For most people,” The bartender countered. “But the discrimination remains, all the same. Hence why you are currently looking upon the establishment I dedicated my life to building as if it is no better than dirt under your shoe.”

Cassian grimaced as the words hit him, knowing full well the feeling of being judged by those with wealthier means. Guilt suddenly coated the back of his throat, and he eased his posture. Still, he had a mission, and so, softer, he asked,

“I don’t suppose your band of regulars have seen her either, then?”

The male shook his head. “We’ve all been here every night this week. Like I’ve said, we assumed you took her. If I’d known you hadn’t, I would have already been looking.”

Anxiety began to tighten his chest, at the idea that there were no leads here. Truly, this male did not seem to know where she’d gone yet seemed decent enough to care about her wellbeing.

“Since you’re here though, and your intentions seem to be her safety-”

“They are.” Cassian interrupted, with a growl.

The male remained unimpressed, and continued, “there was a newcomer who frequented a few times over the last few weeks. Said he was a merchant, trying to regain his income after the war. He was friendly enough, played cards well. Nesta liked to talk to him about his travels. The last night he was here, I believe she went home with him. They left separately, though he had propositioned her beforehand. He seemed safe enough to me, and she had sobered. Now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen him since, either.”

That was something.

“Tell me,” Cassian ordered, leaning closer. “Describe him.”

“Tall, brown eyes. Sandy hair. Foreign, though you wouldn’t know it if you weren’t listening.”

Cassian tilted his head. “Foreign in what way?”

The bartender frowned. “Foreign in the same way all the refugees are, who are trying to salvage their lives after the war. He was originally from Hybern. I’m sure of it.”

His ears began to ring as the words settled over him. Suddenly, he felt as though his heart would rip from his chest.

“How are you sure?” He asked quietly.

“Because, a hundred years ago, I sounded the same.” The bartender said simply.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. Spinning on his heel, he moved towards the doors, intent on flying across the sea right this moment, if he had to.

“Cassian.”

The use of his name had him stopping, just enough to turn and look back at the male behind the bar. He lifted his chin, concern so stark in his eyes that Cassian couldn’t help but respect him just a little, for his care. Even if the idea of this male having known Nesta so intimately, so much better than he did, made him physically ill.

“Say the word, and we will help in any way we can.”

Blinking, he nodded once, surprised by the offer. It was only after, once he was airborne, that he realized he hadn’t so much as asked the male’s name.

---

Sofia had never seen the famed Shadowsinger before.

She’d heard the stories – they all had, of course – of the Court’s spymaster. Of the male who wielded shadows just as he wielded blades, with cobalt siphons and a talent for violence.

But the male standing before her now seemed… surprisingly normal.

“I trust you have investigated,” She surmised from her door, eyes scanning over the way he engulfed the entire entry way.

“Yes,” he replied. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

Sofia tilted her head, contemplating. He was known to be dangerous. A killer. To let him in may not necessarily be the wisest choice. Still, if it meant helping young Nesta…

“I mean you no harm,” He said, softening. “I just want to find her as quickly as I can.”

Tentatively, she nodded, and stepped aside to allow him through. Her apartment may be large, perhaps the nicest on the floor, but he still took up a significant amount of its space as he made his way inside. 

“Tea?” She asked as the door shut behind her, her carefully constructed wards settling back into place.

The Shadowsinger watched her closely, but his voice held some kindness as he replied, “No, thank you.”

She gestured an arm, inviting him to sit, which he did, albeit stiffly. Settling herself down in her preferred armchair, she watched him expectantly, tracking the shadows that curled over his shoulders, and seemed to whisper in his ears.

“You said the last time you saw Nesta was a week ago.”

“Yes. I heard her come in, peeped through my hole in the door to check.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“A tall fae male. Different from the usual group. But nothing seemed amiss.”

At this, he arched a brow. “The usual group?”

Sofia’s lips twitched, almost amused at how little they knew about this female’s life, if it weren’t so terrible. “Yes. Nesta usually only brought the same five or so fae home. I think they all looked out for each other, in a way. Sometimes it was just one, sometimes more than one. But usually all the same.”

The male before her blinked once, his only tell that it was new information.

“But this male was not one of these…usuals?”

“No, he was new,” Sofia said. “I admit, I left the following morning quite early to go to my shop, so I do not know when either of them left.”

“I see. And your shop?”

“I'm a dressmaker. Have been for centuries," She explained, waving a hand. "Anyway, no one has been in or out of that apartment since. As I told the High Lord and Lady, until I found her necklace, I assumed that you all had-”

“Yes,” He interrupted, though not harshly. Instead, he shifted almost uncomfortably. “You’ve said as much.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. We’ve typically only been graced by your family’s presence under less than pleasant circumstances. It has not left the impression you likely desired.”

For the first time, the male before her frowned, as if he was offended by the notion. Would she see him now? This famed brute that had no mercy? 

“And you looked after her yourself?”

“Yes,” Sofia replied, careful. “Someone had to. I brought her dinner at least, treated her if she was ill. I should not have to tell you she has not been well. It took some coaxing, but she was letting me care for her, slowly but surely. Though, to be frank, I am concerned as to why your family did not come yourselves. It’s quite dangerous, to leave her alone in her state.”

He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to offer some kind of explanation, but then there was a creak, and her head snapped to the left, where her grandson’s wide eyes were peaking from behind his bedroom door. Nosy, just like his mother had been.

“Yuri,” She chastised, anxiety flaring at the idea of his exposure to the male on her couch. 

“Baba? Is this about Miss Nesta?”

The boy’s eyes looked warily at the shadowsinger, who was watching him with interest. Sofia held out a hand, beckoning him, a surge of protectiveness in her chest.

“Yes.” She said. “And I thought I told you to stay quiet while we had company.”

To his credit, he looked at least a little guilty. But before he could apologize, the spymaster on her couch leaned forward and said,

“My name is Azriel. And you are Yuri?”

Yuri straightened, nodding firmly. So brave, her boy was. The Shadowsinger’s – Azriel’s – lips twitched upwards, his shadows curling back to reveal more of his face. 

“And how do you know Nesta?”

“She reads me stories,” He said, unable to hide his affection in his eyes. “She looks after me sometimes, when baba has to work. She’s teaching me the letters. But I still don’t know them all.”

A smile did grace the male's face then, a soft thing that took all intimidation from his demeanor. How curious. 

“That’s alright. There’s plenty of time to learn. When was the last time you saw her?”

Yuri brought his hands together, nervous. “Since before baba did. Mr. Azriel, is she hurt?”

Azriel’s shadows fanned from his arms, as if the idea of such a thing offended them, as if they were itching to know the answer themselves.

“If she is, we’ll make sure she gets better. I promise.”

The words seemed to ease her grandson, who looked back at her, eyes hopeful.

“You have your answer, child. Run along now,” Sofia said, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll call on you shortly.”

He nodded once, eyes flicking between her and Azriel once more before he said, “It’s nice to meet you,” and disappeared back into his bedroom.

Azriel watched him go, quietly.

“A nice boy,” he offered. “I’m sorry about his parents.”

“So am I,” Sofia replied. “Still, we do what we can. Nesta has been a large help. She means a lot to him, I think.”

He offered her another genuine smile then, one that showed in his eyes. One that finally confirmed to her that he was not the violent monster his reputation suggested.

“Then he will be among the first to know when we have her back.”

Pushing to his feet, he made his way towards the door, apparently satisfied with his answers. But as he left, he paused, turning to offer,

“And, when we find her, we will do better for her. On that you have my word too.”

Brows raised, Sofia watched him go, pleasantly surprised. Maybe there was something about the resolve in his voice, in his expression, but in that moment, she realized she genuinely believed him.

---

It took twenty-three steps for the guards to get from the door of the cellar to where Nesta was being kept.

She counted every single time, calculating the average. Calculating, and bracing for whatever came next.

They’d left her alone for hours now, the air so cold that she was still damp from her brutal awakening this morning. The hay beneath her had cut into her legs – this nightgown shorter than the one she’d been captured in when she became fae, stopping just above her knees.

It gave them too much skin to look at. To poke and prod. And if she looked, she knew she’d see irritated welts already forming from where her wet skin had chafed against the straw. Her arms did not fare any better, aching from their position behind her. There was no give to the shackles, even with her arms being as thin and boney as they were now.

Her entire body throbbed – her face bruised and bloody from a split lip she’d received earlier, her rib cage sore from her captor’s steel toed boot.

They may have wanted her alive for whatever they planned, but they certainly didn’t care to keep her well.

And in truth, Nesta couldn’t blame them, wretched as she was.

She could tell it was night by the silence, the heavy darkness that seemed only to thicken as the hours went by. They extinguished the torches when they left, leaving her to stare at shadows. It was in these moments that her mind woke to haunt her.

Because despite herself, Nesta did not believe anyone was coming for her.

As vengeful as she felt, as dead set as she was on revenge the moment she got the opportunity, she did not for a moment assume she would have any aid in whatever escape plan she conjured.

Even if she desperately wished for the opposite.

Presumably, it hadn’t been long since they’d taken her. Or at least, long enough to notice. But even still, weeks passed at a time without seeing her sister or her sister’s family. She could be comfortably in her grave by the time any of them felt the need to drag her to another function.

Would they miss her? Certainly not, with all the grief she caused.  

She liked to think Elain would weep for her, that Feyre would feel just as vengeful as she was, at the offense.  Rhysand would console his mate, his guilt stretching only as far as her upset, and Amren would shake her head, bemoaning the loss of someone so powerful.

Morrigan would be unsurprised. She may even feel relief to have the evil sister of her dearest friend sent to the dogs.

Azriel, perhaps, would feel guilt over the loss, only because he didn’t see it coming.

She did not like to think what he would feel. In the months and months since the war, Cassian had barely offered her a second glance, if it was not to remind her of her failures, to berate her for embarrassing Feyre and taking her for granted.

Would he laugh? Would he shake his head in eternal disappointment?

Surely, it was a nuisance he was now rid of. A death-laden promise on a blood-soaked battlefield he was no longer obligated to keep. (Not that she ever thought he would, anyway.)

She wondered if any sadness would tug at him at all, any kind of remorse for what could have been.

She wondered, if she escaped, if the first thing he would say would be a comment on her appearance. A criticism, for being caught so unawares in her nightgown, for whoring herself to the enemy, albeit unknowingly.

It had only taken a few measly hours, a day maybe, for her resolve to escape morphed from ‘when’ to ‘if.’ It was perhaps the most blatant proof of her pathetic weakness. Her sister, and her sister’s family, had spent weeks, months, years, in captivity, and they had not broken. They’d been determined to escape, and they had.

Her resolve had lasted only as long as the first kick to her stomach, the first bruise on her jaw from where it had been forced open.

And while she would go down screaming, taking anyone in her vicinity with her in her rage, she no longer felt certain she would come out of this.

She would try, if only to ensure Hybern did not have the last victory. But her hope was a mere flicker, her rationality suffocating it with each passing moment.

She was weak physically. She was weak mentally.

The odds had never been so stacked against her.

She was alone, and no one was coming. 

She would likely die here, without notice. 

It was this knowledge, in the dead of night on the ninth day of her captivity, that caused Nesta Archeron to cry.

---

Cassian paced relentlessly in front of the large table in Rhys’ study, only half listening to the conversation.

The clock had struck midnight over an hour ago, meaning it had likely been nine days since Nesta disappeared.

Nine days of enduring whatever hell her captors could think of to put a young, beautiful female through.

He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sit still. In his chest, something primal raged and bellowed, demanding justice, demanding to set her free only to hold her close until she felt safe once more.

“You said the bartender confirmed her suiter was from Hybern?”

He heard the words, but did not answer, instead lost in his own fury, his own sick guilt. He kept seeing her face in his head, the last time he saw her in person. She’d been in her doorway, hair askew, dressed in what were certainly the same clothes she’d been in the night before.

He’d teased her for it, had gone so far as to ask if her partner for the night had even bothered to undress her. Nesta had merely blinked at him, eyes empty. And then she had shut the door in his face without so much as a word.

He’d taken it as an affront, an offense, and had simply called Feyre’s demands for her attendance to dinner through the door before leaving in frustrated disappointment.

Cassian wondered now where his empathy had been all these months. He wondered why he hadn’t insisted on coming inside, on recognizing that those empty eyes weren’t full of disdain, but grief and pain. He wondered why he hadn’t softened, hadn’t ensured she’d eaten, or washed, or fuck, hadn’t been hurt by the countless fae she likely encountered.

Though, even as he felt that guilt, he knew she wasn’t entirely alone, based on what that male at the Wolf’s Den had said, and Sofia next door.

What he hated most was that it was so hard for him to be grateful to them, for doing what he failed to do. He hated that they were likely the only reason she wasn’t dead.

What a pathetic, horrible excuse of a male he was. 

“Cassian.”

Turning his head, which felt like a monumental effort, he took in the youngest Archeron before him. She was standing with her arms crossed, brows furrowed, and beyond her the rest of his family were watching expectantly, various expressions of pity, confusion, and irritation amongst them.

“Sorry,” He bit out. “Yes. He was certain of it.”

“So, we go to Hybern then.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Azriel countered. “There’s no proof that they’re linked to the new monarchy. They could simply be loyalists in Prythian, who wanted revenge. If we launch an attack on Hybern now, we risk a new conflict, or missing our chance to save her if she’s still here.”

“She’s not.” Cassian growled, though he didn’t know where the words came from.

But somehow, he inherently knew. She was not on this island. Because if she was, he would have already found her. Instead, he was left feeling empty. At a loss.

“You may think that” Azriel offered, taking a gentler tone. “But we can’t be sure.”

“Gods, if only she’d stayed with us,” Mor said, sinking down into a chair. “We could have kept her safe. But she had to go off and be on her own.”

“Nesta has always been difficult,” Elain tried. “She wanted no part of our lives. She made her decision. I just didn't think it would result in this.”

“I tried,” Feyre murmured, staring at the floor. “I asked her to stay.”

“We know, darling,” Rhys soothed, as he always did, coming to her side and sliding an arm around her shoulders. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Stubborn to a fault and look where it’s gotten her. I told her she was wasting-”

“Nesta wasn’t well.” Cassian snapped, interrupting Amren, who looked upon him with abject disdain at the slight. Their Second had, to her credit, come home from Summer immediately upon being informed of Nesta's disappearance. But she remained as bitter as she always was, when it came to her.

“She was – is – sick. She is hurt. She did not leave to spite us. If anything, we were spiting her, by leaving her to fend for herself.”

“We offered her help, and she denied it.” Mor countered. “What more could we do, Cassian?”

“We didn’t offer her anything but expectations for her to do exactly as we asked, to assimilate into this family without issue.”

“What else was there to do, boy?” Amren asked. “She has no where else to go.”

Cassian shook his head. “We have all been patient with each other. For years – decades, even – we gave each other the time to heal. It has barely been a year. And you all gave up so easily.”

“She gave up pretty easily too, when it came down to taking care of things when they were children.” Rhys said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Why should we have-”

“Finish that fucking sentence, Rhys, and I will punch you so hard in your face you can’t see straight.”

Rhys’ nostrils flared, and a warning growl rumbled from his throat. Cassian’s wings flared, equally irritated. If his brother wanted to fight over this, that was just fine with him-

“Enough.” Feyre chastised, breaking their standoff.

Reaching up to pinch her brow, she said, “Cassian is right. I… I have thought about it. I know that Nesta’s behavior in the cabin wasn’t good. But I did poor things too. So did Elain. We were children. To condemn her isn’t fair. Especially after what she gave during the war. She is not like us. She does not love easily, or trust easily, because no one has ever proven to her that she should nor given her the time to learn how.”

“And now,” She continued, voice wavering, “She is missing, and you’re all sitting around trying to justify how it happened when ultimately it is because we assumed one day she’d come crawling back to us after we judged her so callously.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, one that indicated the weight of the shared guilt in the room. Elain sniffed, once, though did not let her tears fall. Ultimately, it was Rhys who said,

“We will get her back. We will get her back and do our best for her, like we would anyone else.”

“We never should have lost her in the first place,” Cassian muttered, finished with the conversation.

"You're right," his brother said, to her surprise. "And when we get her back, we will make sure she knows that." 

"That's assuming she's able to hear it, after we waited so long to fucking do anything." He warned, and without another word, left the study. 

He had to get out of there, away from these people he loved so dearly yet could not fucking understand. 

Why were they waiting? What for? Damn Hybern to hell. Nesta was gone, and the longer the waited, the higher chances were they wouldn't get her back. 

Moving out into the side garden, he did not stop until he was far enough away to catch his breath without prying eyes.

His heart had yet to stop racing, the pressure in his chest threatening to kill him. He had to find her, and soon. He had to bring her home, to apologize on his knees for failing her, and do whatever it was she needed from him to help her heal.

To do whatever it took to convince her that he cared. That he was hers. 

But even the thought of all this new trauma – of all the pain she was likely in – brought tears to his eyes.

How much longer did she have? How much more could she take?

And as they dripped onto his cheeks, he wondered just how far he’d have to go, to bring her back to him. 

Chapter Text

It was on the fourth day of consciousness that Nesta was moved from her cell.

It was abrupt, something tense about her captors’ expressions. She’d yet to learn the other one’s name – though he clearly seemed to be in charge. She’d been dragged abruptly to her feet, knees popping with the strain, before being pushed down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and to what was, distinctly, a room meant for interrogation.

Conspicuous stains lined the floor, and weapons and tools of all types lined the walls. She wondered, morbidly, if Azriel’s torture rooms looked as absurd as this.

“On your knees.”

The stone was cold as she was pushed down, her body throbbing with the impact. It felt like a monumental effort to lift her head, to assess her surroundings, but she’d be damned if she looked any weaker than she had to in front of these brutes. She didn’t know how many days in total she’d been here, but the longer time passed, the more resolute she became in her desire to see it all burn.

It was a heavy minute of silence, then two, before the purpose of her movement was revealed to her.

The iron door before her swung open slowly, creaking, and suddenly she was face to face with someone who looked strikingly like the dead King of Hybern.

“Your majesty,” Jamis dipped his chin, in respect.

And it occurred to her, abruptly, that this was the King of Hybern. The new King of Hybern.

The King, who in an easy movement had the pommel of his sword under her chin, thrusting it upwards so she met his cruel eyes.

“Fascinating,” he said, his voice smooth and deceptively charming. “I did not expect the Cauldron-born whore who took my father’s head to be so… pathetic looking.”

Nesta refused to answer him, her eyes burning in her fury, her refusal to yield to whatever he demanded of her. The sword under her chin shifted to push into her cheek, turning her head left, then right. The King clicked his tongue.

“You’ve been rough with her. Such a shame, to mar a pretty face like this.”

“Forgive me,” Jamis’ partner said. “She has been… difficult.”

“There is no need for apologies, Alistair,” the male before her replied, with a grin. “I only told you to keep her alive, after all.”

“If you’re going to kill me, then kill me.” Nesta spat. “I grow tired of these games.”

It earned her another backhand – she’d lost count of how many she’d received by now. But the irate look on the King’s face was worth it.

“Not yet, pet.” He crooned. “That would be too kind a mercy for you.”

He leaned down, bringing his face up close to hers.

“We’re saving you for something special. It will be a year since the war came to an untimely end one week from now. It is then we will make an example out of you.”

“I suppose that is the best you can do,” Nesta sneered. “Since your army has been decimated. My death is a pathetic excuse of retaliation for the victory Prythian had over your forces.”

In an instant, the King’s gloved hand was around her throat, squeezing until the air was wrenched from her.

“You think your death is the extent of my plans? You give yourself too much credit. I could extinguish you right here and send your head back to the Night Court this moment. You have no idea the revenge I have in motion, Nesta Archeron. You are merely the start.”

It was a frightening prospect – that Hybern was planning revenge. Their forces were decimated, true. But what harm could they cause her family? The other Courts?

“Then… do it.” She wheezed, voice barely a rasp.

If she was going to die, it may as well be here, quietly, rather than serving any greater purpose.

But the king shook his head. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

He released her roughly, sending her to the floor as she coughed, gasping down air.

“My people want revenge, witch. I’ve promised them they will have it. One year marking the end of that battle, I will feed you to them, piece by piece. Your execution will be only the beginning. But first, I am going to break you down. I am going to rip that power from you until you have nothing. And when you are nothing but bones, I will send the scraps of you back to the Night Court for your sister to deal with.”

The threat made her gut churn, despite herself. She had no idea how he would rip these flames from her. But then, Hybern had been responsible for throwing her into the Cauldron, had been responsible for obtaining the Cauldron. She did not know the extent of their resources.

“Try it,” She gasped out. Turning her face from where it rested on the floor, she met his eyes again. And smiled.

She would not show them her fear. Her belief that no one was coming for her. She would find her moment. Be it when they brought her to the gallows, or in her cell. She would find that opening and unleash her power on this place. Even if it killed her. Which seemed, she was beginning to realize, increasingly likely.

The king seemed to sense as much, his eyes revealing how disturbed he was, in the same manner that his father once showed, a year ago. It was enough of a victory for her. Quietly, he said,

“It was so easy for my spies to grab you. Your family having abandoned you to those slums you called home. Pathetic really, what’s become of a war hero like yourself. I don’t think anyone will bat an eye, when your flames are snuffed out, do you?”

She spat at him in answer, blood staining his boot. He snarled in response as he stood upright, sheathing his blade.

“Useless wretch. Get her out of my sight. Teach her a lesson for her insolence. I'll see her on her execution day.”

She let out a long breath as he turned on his heel and left the chamber, preparing herself for whatever hell she was bound to receive. Before her, a slow smile spread across Jamis’ face, wicked ideas alight in his eyes.

She decided then he would be the first to burn.

---

“We go to Hybern now.”

“Cassian, we cannot just march into Hybern.”

“It has been days, Rhys. Days. Two weeks total since she’s been gone. And it’s the only lead we have.”

Rhys let out a long sigh, his eyes scanning over the map laid out before them. It was barely morning, but Cassian’s patience was running thin. He couldn’t wait any longer. Azriel’s shadows had searched all over Prythian but had gotten nothing. Nothing.

“I don’t have much of a network in Hybern anymore,” Azriel reminded, his voice a bit soft, as if he knew the thin line they walked on. “If we went in, it would be largely blind. We don’t know where she’s being held.”

“Hell, Cass” Rhys added, “it’s not even certain that it is Hybern itself who has her. We don’t know that it’s not some fanatics left over from the war. She could still be here, in Prythian.”

“She’s not!” Cassian snarled. “She’s not here. I know it. And while we sit on our asses, she is there, going through whatever kind of hell they wish to inflict on her.”

His brothers both blinked at him, revelations in each of their faces. But that was a truth he would not allow himself to think of for a single moment. Not until Nesta was back home, and not until he had the chance to make sure she clearly understood just how much of an asshole he’d been, how little she deserved it, and how he would be better for her.

Still, the intuition could not be ignored, he supposed.

Slowly, Rhys nodded his head. “Alright.” He said. “Give us a day to gather our resources, to make sure we have everything we need to get in and out safely. Then, half of us will continue to search here, and half of us will go to Hybern, covertly.”

Cassian’s nostrils flared, wanting to object. For fuck’s sake, they should be going right now-

“I know what you’re feeling,” Rhys added, carefully. “I know, Cass. But I won’t risk them having the opportunity to move her, or Mother forbid, kill her, by us being reckless. Give us the day to make sure we can do this as safely as we can.”

“We’re going to get her back,” Azriel said to him, his shadows wreathing his face, emphasizing his own upset. “I promise, Cassian.”

Whatever revelations his brother had come to in his own investigation, he didn’t know. But ever since, he’d been quietly fuming in that unique way of his that indicated he was both incredibly angry at himself and at whoever dared harm his family.

He likely would be for a long time.

“And then,” Rhys finished, staring at him earnestly, as if he knew every ounce of pain, regret, and fear going through him, “You’ll have the chance to rid yourself of all that guilt on your face. Perhaps all of us will.”

---

The wooden switch cracked violently against the back of Nesta’s legs.

Thirty lashes, to the back of her thighs, her calves. 

It was a mercy, apparently, that they hadn’t chosen her back.

Nesta’s body shook from where she was bent over a table, her arms still shackled behind her. She’d already bitten through her lip, tears mixing with the blood and grime on her face.

She’d been switched before, by her grandmother. But the strength of a fae male warrior was vastly different from an old, mortal woman. She hadn’t known it could cut this deeply.

She lost count after twelve, her vision blurring and her voice hoarse from the screams she couldn’t keep locked in her throat.

All the while, her captors laughed, delighted, perhaps, at how vulnerable she was in this position. Still, they did not give into the basest form of violence. Even dressed in such a thin nightgown, they did not cross that final barrier.

She expected it at any moment. Still expected it now, honestly. But as they hit her again, and again, and again, it seemed they were more interested in bloodshed than that kind of violation.

Nesta supposed that was the greatest mercy of all.

She was barely conscious when they finished with her, so much so that she barely registered the pain that radiated through her wrist when they threw her onto the cold floor of her cell, her body landing hard on it.

“She’ll be out for a while,” she heard Alistair say. “But be ready. We move her at the first sign of the Night Court on our shores.”

“They haven’t made a peep yet,” Jamis replied with a laugh. “By the time they get here, our Priestesses will have extracted that power from her, and she’ll be nothing but a corpse.”

All over again, she drifted through the veil of unconsciousness. Her thoughts left her, her mind only aware of the pain and the heavy, heavy weight of exhaustion.

She saw faces – her sisters, the regulars at the bar, her father, her mother, flashing one after another. Reminders of how far she’d fallen, of who she had failed by being taken here. But it was visions of red that plagued her most. Red stones, bronzed skin.

Promises, vows, and declarations. His voice was the only clear sound her mind could seem to remember – to focus on.

It was his voice, hoarse yet resolved, on the battlefield.

”We will have that time. I promise.”

Time she’d squandered, time she’d never taken advantage of when they survived. It was too late to regret it now. But then that voice rang out again, that hazy memory of that fleeting moment in the human lands – when he knew the one secret that she’d never told a soul without her having to utter a single word.

Her mind offered her the rage on his face, the burning promise. His answer when she’d asked what the idea of her harm would drive him to do.

“It’d make me hunt them down and shatter every bone in their body.”

She didn’t expect him to do such a thing now. He’d forsaken her, as he rightly should have, now that her wretchedness was plain. Still, in this weakest of moments, lost to her pain, her fear, and her exhaustion, she wanted him to. She wanted him to burn this entire place to the ground, in her name.

But he wasn’t coming. None of them were. She would die here, and that would be that.

It was her last clear thought as she drifted out of consciousness. 

When she next woke, hours later, she was newly resolved.

Her body healed slowly, with the lack of food and water, her magic repressed with these shackles. But it was no matter. She had started to become numb to the pain, so long as she stayed still. Unfortunately, vengeance would not come with her inaction.

She was decided. She would not wait the week – did not think she would survive it. She wanted revenge now. She wanted it to be over now. She wanted peace, and rest. But first, there would be a cost.

And so, when Jamis came to force more broth down her throat, she took her first of many calculated risks.

His hand was as firm as always in her hair, but not firm enough. In one rough movement, she bucked her head, hitting the porcelain bowl in his hands, and sending it shattering across the floor.

“Fuck!”

Shards went everywhere, large and small alike. Predictably, he struck her hard enough to send her to the ground after them, onto the cold stone floor. But that was what she wanted. In the moments after the blow, her fingers outstretched, searching, until they closed around a large piece. Shifting, she pushed her hands back, until it was shoved beneath the hay, yet still within reach.

Blessedly, when he magicked away the rest of the shards, it remained, her fingers brushing over the cool surface of it, over and over again like a lifeline.

“If you don’t want to eat, that’s fine.” Jamis growled. “You can lick what’s left off the floor.”

Nesta’s eyes fluttered, but her lips peeled back into a blood-stained snarl, an unhinged grin, as he slammed the cell door closed. He stared at her through the bars for a moment, disturbed, perhaps, at how feral she had suddenly become. She held his gaze until her eyes burned, until he shook his head, muttering to himself, and disappeared back up the hall, the door to her prison slamming with a loud ‘bang.’

---

There was an air of solemnity as the Inner Circle prepared for battle.

Feyre and Mor would take Prythian – ensuring all the known Hybern strongholds were empty, that there was truly no trace of them on their island. Amren would stay behind, per their rule that one always remain in Velaris.

Meanwhile, Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian would go to Hybern itself. Rhys hated that they did not have more information, that Azriel’s shadows could not investigate properly until they were on land. But Cassian was certain. More so than he usually was.

And try as he might, Rhys couldn’t deny him.

Not with a bond like that so apparent.

He wondered if Nesta knew. Wondered if that was a reason they’d been so strained, before all this.

He supposed they’d find out.

Beside him, Cassian was wound up tightly, strapping blade after blade into his leathers, adjusting and readjusting the buckles. He wanted it perfect – like any General would. But this was more than that. This was redemption, this was making up for what he knew was a long list of failures running through his brother’s mind, culminating in the greatest one of them all – losing Nesta all together.

If he was honest, that long list of failures was currently going through his own mind, as well.

He knew, when Nesta left their home, that she would be at risk. When he heard of the drinking, the fucking, he knew they needed to be careful.

But Feyre had been so upset, and the bills ran up, and he was so desperate to get things back to normal. To have peace and happiness.

So much so that he neglected the young fae who’d just survived her first war – who did not have an accepted mating bond to rely on, as Feyre did, or the temperament to gain the love of those around her, like Elain.

The shame was thick over all of them, not in the least when he looked upon his own citizen’s face – of this older female who’d had more experience than even him – who’d done little to hide her own disappointment in the oversight.

It was a failure as a leader, for someone to have to voice such a concern to him about his own family.

It didn’t help that Cassian had come storming into the River House days ago after visiting the Wolf’s Den, only to regale him with the story of the bartender who had, apparently, also been keeping Nesta alive while they all carried on with their own lives. Who thought so little of them that he did not expect Cassian to have come searching for her at all. 

Feyre, he knew, was taking it hard. She’d wanted a perfect family, and he’d wanted desperately to give it to her. But they’d moved too quickly. And he couldn’t help but feel responsible. She was young, she hadn’t dealt with this before either. When she’d wanted to push forward, he let her, when he knew full well that not everyone would be ready.

So now, they had to fix it. Fix this.

And, gods damn him, they would.

“It’s time.” Cassian called, drawing him from his thoughts. “We need to go.”

There was no room for argument in his voice, but Rhys wouldn’t push him. He’d already done that enough.

As they moved out, Feyre greeted him in the doorway, her expression equally resolved. For a brief moment, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and held her close, silently assuring that they would be successful, come hell or high water.

“Don’t come back until we have her,” She said, her eyes clouded with her worry, but also her anger, her fury that they were in this mess to begin with. They would argue about it later, he was sure. After. When Nesta was safe. 

He would weather it. 

“I promise,” He swore, putting every ounce of his determination into the vow.

Cassian said nothing, his wings flexing as if he was about to fly there himself if they didn’t leave in the next moment. Rhys didn’t doubt that he would.

Azriel was beside him now, adjusting Truthteller in its sheath, his face masked in perfect emotionlessness. Rhys knew him better. His tension was building too and would explode with the right push. Hopefully, in the form of beheading whatever brute thought they could kidnap a member of their family without consequence.

“Alright,” he announced, approaching his brothers. Reaching up, he clasped a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, if only to briefly get him out of his head. “Let’s bring her home.”

It was a quick snap of a winnow, a swirling of shadows, and then they were on the rocky beaches of Hybern.

The wind whipped at their faces, clouds rumbling overhead. Stormy, as Hybern often was. Rhys took a deep breath, and let it out, sending up a prayer to the Mother that this didn’t end in more war.

To his left, Cassian’s siphons pulsed, and he turned his head, watching the way his brother’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed. He knew, without even having to ask, what he was feeling in his chest.

“She’s here,” he surmised.

Cassian dipped his chin once but seemed beyond words. Rhys had a feeling he would not speak again until Nesta was in his arms. Dipping his chin, he said,

“After you, then.”

---

Nesta could hear the thunder from her place in the bowels of wherever the hell she was. She didn’t know how far underground she was, but she knew that the storm must be quite something, if it caused everything to rattle.

One of her wrists continued to throb incessantly, so much so that she feared she may have broken it, when they’d thrown her onto the ground. But in her other hand, that shard of porcelain was her lifeline.

It took monumental effort to force her body to bend, to contort so she could pull her legs through her arms to get her hands in front of her. The lashes on her thighs chafed, aching with each movement, and the burn brought tears to her eyes, but she managed it.

And as she assessed her wrist properly, she noted the swelling, the black and blue. Broken, assuredly.

But that was alright with her. She only needed one hand for this.

She flipped the shard in her uninjured hand, eyes scanning over the point of it. It wasn’t a blade, but she had enough vengeful rage within her to make it work.

She just needed the right moment.

Thunder cracked through the air, muffled, yet loud enough that she could feel the power of it.

Perhaps it would cover up the sound of what she had to do. Perhaps it would give her that opportunity to escape.

And so, she waited.

She waited until the door up the hall opened. She counted every single step. Lighter – indicating who her visitor was.

Jamis snarled down at her as he approached, and she marked the ring of keys on his hip, one for the cell door and the other – she hoped – for the shackles around her wrists.

“Water for you, since you lost your right to food,” he said, jamming the larger key into the lock and wrenching the door open.

She watched him carefully, counting her breathing as he knelt down in front of her.

“Seems you’ve been wiggling around,” he said, noting her arms’ new position of being in front of her. “We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Nesta breathed in slowly as he reached out a hand, cupping the back of her neck to tilt her head back, to all but force water down her throat.

She waited, watching the moment his eyes shifted towards the pitcher of water to his left, his focus split.

And then, with all the rage, the strength, the desperation, she could muster, Nesta lifted her arms.

With an enraged cry, one that gave him only a semblance of warning, she brought them down as hard as she could, jamming the shard of porcelain into his neck.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Chapter Text

The blood was warm as it splattered over Nesta’s face, her chest, her hands.

Jamis could only stare at her with wide eyes, choking on it, the pitcher having fallen to the floor.

“Fuck you,” She snarled. “Fuck. You.”

He grabbed at her, fingers only weekly circling around her throat, sliding down her chest as he slumped over, hitting the floor just as another rumble of thunder shook the room. The action left a bloody handprint down the front of her nightgown, but it was the worst he could do.

There was a blade at his belt, one that she snagged as soon as she spotted it. And with her new weapon, she poured every ounce of her rage and humiliation and agony out in the form of bloodshed. Her vision narrowed in on it, and she couldn’t stop. Staring into his rage-filled eyes, she stabbed him over and over.

Again.

Again.

Again.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!”

She hated him. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted him to die at her hands, after what he’d done to her. This male that had coerced her into bed, saw the most intimate parts of her, only to subject her to this agony. This ridicule.

It was only when her wrist throbbed in pain that she realized he had stopped moving ages ago. And, that she was viciously sobbing.

Tears streamed down her face as she fought to catch her breath, the pain of her heaving sobs radiating through her chest.

Falling back onto her heels, she assessed her work. It was gruesome, far more so than when she’d beheaded the King of Hybern. There was, she realized, little of Jamis left to be recognized now. As he deserved.

Thunder cracked again, causing the torch he’d hung to flicker. It was enough to jolt her back to reality, to remember the urgency of her situation. Raising her bound hands, she wiped roughly at her face, over her teary cheeks. Then, she leaned forward, dropping the blade and pulling at the ring of keys on his belt.

She had to get out of here before Alistair came looking.

The largest was for the cell door, she knew, but there were multiple others, of all shapes and sizes. They slipped through her bloody fingers as she frantically tried to fit them into the locks of her shackles, swearing violently when one after the other failed to release them.

But then, blessedly, the lock clicked, and the first manacle was free, dropping from her injured wrist with an echoing ‘clank.’

She winced at the sound but didn’t wait to unlock the second.

Free, at last.

Reaching forward, she grabbed for the dagger again, and pushed herself up, keys jangling in her hand. Immediately, her legs buckled, and she fell forward roughly into the cell bars, jostling them. Clutching tightly to the iron, she forced herself to get her bearings, to stay upright.

The door was unbearably heavy, so much so she almost couldn’t move it. But it budged, gradually, creaking loudly.

Stumbling out of her cell, she took a moment to stare at it, at the gore and horror she’d left behind.

Before she could help it, an absurd little laugh bubbled up from her chest. A kind of morbid satisfaction at what she’d accomplished. It was a laugh that ended in a sob, her mind fracturing all over again as the reality of what she’d just done set in.

Monster. Wretch. Demon.

If her actions in the war hadn’t confirmed it, this certainly did.

Gasping in air, she shook her head, demanding composure. Gripping the blade in her good hand, she turned towards the long hallway, and began her trek. She took one step. Two. Three. Four.

After ten, she caught sight of the large door ahead of her.

At twelve, she began to think further, to try and remember anything that might suggest a way out. She began to wonder how many guards she’d have to go through; how harsh the wilderness would be.

At thirteen, the door ahead of her suddenly opened, and a shadow stretched across the entrance way, followed by heavy, heavy footsteps.

---

“She isn’t in the main chambers of the castle,” Azriel announced as they pushed through the thick forest surrounding Hybern’s keep. “That much is certain.”

“The castle is a labyrinth,” Rhys countered, a glamour shield shimmering over all of them, which was the only reason they could be heard at all, with how harshly the rain pounded. “Probably hundreds of buildings and sublevels with secret exits. It was meant to be a fortress and, though I hate to admit it, serves its purpose well.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed as they came upon one of the far walls, which spanned high above their heads. It was true, breaking into Hybern was usually a feat in itself. If the last time they tried this was any indication.

Still, he’d burn it all down, if he had to.

“I say we split up,” He said. “There’s too much of it for us to cover together.”

“That’s dangerous,” Rhys warned, his fingers flexing as his power simmered. “If one of you get caught, we may not get to you in time.”

“You have far too little faith in us,” Azriel muttered. “I’m not going to get caught. He’s right, though. It’s too large, Rhys. Besides, if the three of us waltz in together we’re more likely to be caught anyway.”

Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the foreboding structure ahead. Cassian’s chest tightened, despite himself, at the idea of Nesta alone in there, somewhere deep within the bowels of the castle.

“Alright,” his brother relented, shaking his head. “We’ll go three ways. Stay in touch. The first moment you feel overwhelmed, say something. I won’t lose two members of my family in this damned place.”

Cassian fought the urge to snap at the idea that they had permanently lost Nesta. Because they were getting her back, no matter the cost.

But Rhys shot him a look that cut through the irritation, one that said he knew exactly what he was feeling, and just how intensely.

So, all Cassian offered him was a nod.

“Good luck,” his brother said, waving a hand to lift the shield. Immediately, any sounds were drowned out by the rain, the storm.

Azriel Disappeared into the shadows without a word, just as Rhys took a step to winnow away.

The last thing he heard from him, in his mind, was a simple,

And don’t fucking die.

---

Alistair moved slowly into the cellar, unbothered, whistling a soft tune, as if this were all perfectly lighthearted.

Nesta counted each step.

“Gods, Jamis,” He drawled. “She better be alive in there, with all the blood you can smell up the stairs.”

Breathing in, Nesta flexed her hands around the blade, her back pressed firmly against the wall, in the shadows. She became perfectly still, trying to emulate the skill she’d often seen from Azriel – though she’d received no formal training herself.

All she remembered was how Cassian had positioned his blade in her hand during those last days of the war, the way she saw him hold it when cutting down enemy after enemy. 

She hoped she held it well enough now. 

The large male passed her by, hands tucked into his pockets, and she clocked the moment he paused in front of her cell, assessing the scene she’d left for him. She didn’t give him time to process it before she moved up behind him, lifting her arm to jam the blade into his neck.

In one breath, she brought it down, hard.

But in the next, just as the blade neared his skin, his hand shot back, capturing her own.

Panic speared through her chest as she struggled in his grip. With a low laugh, he turned his head to assess her, eyes shining with the promise of bloodshed.

“Well, well, little witch,” he all but purred. “Looks like you just became more interesting.”

Snarling, she spat in his face, crying out as he lifted her by the wrists until her feet were off the floor, the pain of her broken bones throbbing all the way up her arm.

In one moment, she dangled in the air, the blade forced from her grip.

In the next, he had her pinned against the wall, her head smacking against stone that was dangerously close to the torch that provided the room’s only light.

Alistair grinned at her, something feral in his eyes, which slowly flicked downwards, towards her chest.

Nesta sucked in air, but copied him, dipping her chin until she saw why he was looking so smug.

“Let’s see how far you get now, kingslayer.”

The sight of the blade in her stomach made all sound become muffled in her ears, save for a distant ringing. She watched, almost mesmerized, as blood bloomed over her nightgown, spreading across the fabric until it mixed with her first victim’s.

It was so shocking she didn’t notice the pain.

Until he wrenched it free.

She didn’t know if she screamed, if any sound made it out of her throat at all. But the pain that exploded throughout her body made her vision go white at the edges, burning deep to her core. Before she could recover, his hand wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the wall, her air supply immediately cut off. Vaguely, she heard him throw the blade to the side, as if it were nothing.

Feet still dangling off the ground, Nesta struggled, her hands clawing at his wrist, which was so large she could not even wrap them around it. All the while, he tilted his head back, and laughed.

It was a wicked sound, one full of delight and frigid cruelty. Nesta wheezed, choked, and desperately looked around for anything that could help her. Anything.

"I'll drag you to the Priestesses now. Surely they can perform their ritual before you bleed out. Then, perhaps we'll put on a little show for the rest of the kingdom to watch. They've already started to gather, you know, near the keep."

Nesta's vision tunneled, and for a moment, she was overcome by despair. She began to think an end like this was rather fitting, with how pathetic of an existence she already led. Of course, she would kill one, but not the other. Her revenge would end here, in this pathetic cellar.

Alistair laughed again, sounding far too elated. 

"Gods, I could snap your little neck so easily, Nesta. I barely have to try."

In her struggling, Nesta's elbow bumped the bottom of the torch shaft, enough that her eyes flicked to it, assessing.

Alistair tightened his grip, as if his intention truly was to kill her. Her father’s face flashed before her eyes, the miserable expression upon it right before he died, and suddenly Nesta’s blood was hot again, her rage burning her chest.

No.

Reaching out, her fingers wrapped around the torch, tugging it free. Before the male before her had a chance to catch it, she tilted it forward, jamming it into his face, sparks and ash flying back at her.

He let out a deafening roar, dropping her immediately as his hands shot to his face, frantically brushing off the embers, assessing the damage.

Nesta let out a sob at the harsh impact onto the hard stone floor, but quickly rolled to her side, her eyes finding the blade where it had landed underneath the table, they’d once used to punish her. Pressing a hand to her stomach, the pain so acute she couldn’t breathe, she began to crawl towards it, desperate, gasping for breath.

It felt as though she was pushing through the thickest mud, her muscles burning, her lungs unable to bring in enough air. But she was almost there. Almost.

Her fingertips reached out, touching the hilt of the blade.

Then, a hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her backwards.

She screeched as Alistair pulled her back to him, rolling onto her back so she could kick at his chest, his face, wherever she could reach. He growled, one hand covering his eye.

“Don't be fucking difficult,” He snarled. “Or I’ll fucking kill you right here you bitch!”

She reached out again, desperate, fingers latching onto the table leg. She kicked again, and again, and again, until his grip loosened just enough for her to yank herself back upwards, her fingers searching for the hilt once more.

Just as they closed around it, Alistair tugged her down until he was over her. She brought it to her chest as he straddled her waist, the weight of him crushing her. Just as his hands went for her throat once more – probably to finish her off – she screamed again, and stabbed the blade upwards, cutting through his shirt, into his torso.

In the same instant, silver flames exploded from her hands, and suddenly he was flying backwards, landing hard against the far wall beside the door, the blade still in his chest.

He did not rise again.

Instead, there was nothing but heavy, heavy silence. 

Panting hard, Nesta stared at his prone form for several moments, nose crinkling at the scent of burnt flesh. She waited for him to get up, waited for his eyes to open and for him to be on her again. But he remained still.

So, so still.

Rolling to her side, she coughed, trying to catch her breath. She felt the warm stickiness of her blood around her fingers, which were pressed firmly to her wound, but she couldn’t bear to look at it.

She knew she had to run. She had to get up. Something deep within her seemed to cry out the words. But she was so tired, and everything hurt so badly.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw the face of her father again in her mind, heard the crack of his neck.

She would not die like him.

Biting her lip, she forced herself onto her knees, gripping the cell bars as her vision briefly went white again, then refocused.

She could do this. She would do this. She just had to get far away enough. And then she could rest.

With a stifled cry, she pulled herself upwards, and turned back towards the door, following a path of scorch marks up the hallway, her blood dripping with every step.

She gave Alistair one final appraisal as she passed, assuring his eyes remained closed. Refusing to look any lower than his face, she turned to the stairway ahead of her, and began to climb.

---

Azriel ducked in and out of rooms, through hallways and alcoves, his shadows swirling with each practiced movement.

Each time he came up empty, he felt the pressure of the clock ticking.

He hadn’t heard any explosions yet, any indication that one of his brothers had alerted Hybern to their presence, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

And once that time was up, the element of surprise would be lost.

His shadows fanned out ahead of him, whispering all the information they could gather.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Lady Death is not here.

He tried to reign in his temper, his own feelings of desperation as he pushed himself further underground, into the subterranean levels where the vilest kinds of activities took place.

Not here, not here, not here.

He’d covered a large expanse of the eastern side of the keep, winnowing in and out of spaces, giving his shadows just enough time to scan the area. He didn’t remember the castle being so large before. But then, he’d only really been conscious during the beginning of that ordeal.

It sent another stab of guilt through him. At how his failure that night was impeding his ability to find Nesta now.

Anything? Rhys called into his mind, just as he pushed through another empty room.

No, Azriel replied. I’m in the underground tunnels now. You?

Nothing on the western side. Cassian is on the south end somewhere, which has the heaviest forest coverage. The north side is built on the cliff’s edge. If she goes out that way, it’s a free fall.

Azriel refused to entertain the thought.

Any casualties?

His brother’s voice was dark as he said, a few. They won’t be missed.

Azriel didn’t reply, pushing forward as he searched room after room.

Fucking empty.

He almost gave up on the section completely, almost moved onto another chamber, when the scent of burnt flesh suddenly pierced his nose, bringing him to a startling halt.

Where? He whispered, watching his shadows curl away from him, down various hallways.

Below, they whispered. The flames burn below.

He followed their guidance blindly, trusting them more than any other. Moving around a corner, he walked through another passage, down another floor, until he nearly stumbled over the remains of a guard, burnt beyond recognition.

Eyes wide, Azriel took in the gruesome sight, before he lifted his head and counted several more, scattered throughout the hall.

Smoke still filled the air as he stepped carefully through the passage, silently assuring that each one was truly dead. The scene was messy, but effective.

The kind of work someone trying to escape would do. 

At his feet, he saw a trail of bloodstains, and followed to the end, where he was met with a flight of stairs.

Here, his shadows whispered, and something in Azriel's stomach tightened with dread.

Breathing in slowly, to prepare himself, he began his descent, running through the possible horrors that may lie ahead. 

But the moment he stepped into the cellar; he was met with the scent that was uniquely Nesta Archeron.

Nesta, blood, and smoke.

He stepped over the body of another, larger male, noting the dagger buried between his ribs, the deep burns on his chest, and moved carefully up towards the cell at the end of the hall.

There was blood everywhere. Obvious signs of a struggle. Grisly, and violent.

A vicious kind of rage settled deep in Azriel’s gut at the implication.

When his eyes found a second male lying in a pool of his own blood within the cell, the pieces came together slowly, along with a million questions.

Gods, what had they done to her to cause a scene like this?

Rhys, he called out. I think Nesta has escaped. Tell Cassian to check the exits. And you…you need to see this.

Just then, the first male he passed let out a low, agonized groan. Alive.

Azriel turned his head slowly, his focus zeroing in on the bastard. At his side, his hand moved to rest around the hilt of Truthteller, fingers flexing.

Rhys said something, an urgent response, but it was no longer important.

Because now, he would get answers.

---

Nesta ran.

Or at least, moved as quickly as she could.

Blindly, she pushed through hallways, up long, spiraling stairwells.

Up, she’d decided, until she saw the outside world.

Her mind was a haze, her vision blurry. The only thing she knew was that her flames burned at her finger tips, and that she had to get out.

"Hey, stop!"

She did not pause to look at the face of the guard in her path, she merely lifted a hand, to be done with him. His screams echoed in her ears, which slowly began to mingle with others.

One after the other after the other. Until there was nothing but a cacophony of unintelligible sound in her head. 

"She's here!"

"Wait - No please!"

"I beg you, mercy! Mercy!"

"W-What are you?!"

"Monster!"

"Demon!"

"Witch!"

She ignored them all -- their pleas for mercy, their terror. That power in her chest hummed with the satisfaction of a kill, of hitting its mark, and it was through that power alone that she kept walking. Kept pushing. 

Distantly, some part of her hoped the Mother or whoever watched over her would forgive her for the crime of it.

But the larger part of her craved the vengeance. 

There was only the cruel high of it and her one singular objective. 

Run. Get out.

She continued to climb; her body long-going numb to the pain that engulfed it. She felt cold, yet also light as a feather, and decided not to dwell on the implications of what that meant for her overall health. That was a problem for after.

Up, and up, and up, she lost count of how many stairs she climbed, stumbling more than once as her body protested the idea of ascending.

Her feet slipped on wet stone -- or perhaps it was her own blood -- and her hands scraped along the walls, catching on loose nails and iron bannisters. 

It couldn’t go on forever. There had to be a way.

Clearing another set, she stopped a moment, her chest heaving.

Abruptly, she heard what sounded like an explosion, followed by the ringing of a bell. 

Perhaps the entire castle had been told of her escape, and she'd be faced with an army. 

She pondered the consequences of burning them all. 

Move. A small voice in her head reminded her. She had to move. 

Gripping onto the wall, she hauled herself forward, desperate, one foot in front of the other.

It was another stairwell, a long hallway, but then Nesta was face to face with a large door that had been cracked open.

And beyond… beyond was the sun.

Nesta stumbled as she pushed herself towards it, propelling herself until she all but fell through the entry way.  Her feet met wet cobblestone, and as she looked up, she saw the parting clouds, heard the thunder now rumbling in the distance.

The storm had broken.

The storm had broken, and Nesta was out.

If she’d had the strength, she would have laughed, or cried.

Whatever came out of her throat was somehow neither yet a mix of both. 

But then there was a shout from the distance, a crash. A horrified scream.

"Look, there she is!" A voice called, sharp.

Without assessing the threat, she began to run again, down the path and into the forest beyond, her feet scraping against the rough cobblestone.

She imagined someone had found her victims by now. She imagined they were already waiting for her, out here in the forest. And so, she pushed herself harder, faster, running over branches and loose stones and slick leaves blindly, unable to see much in front of her through the thickness of the trees.

She ran until she couldn’t anymore, until she stumbled and caught herself hard on the trunk of a tall pine, the bark cutting into her palms.

Gasping, she tried to focus, tried to slow her racing heart. She knew that if she sat down, she wouldn’t get back up. She had to keep going, had to keep pushing until it was safe, until it was over-

The snap of a branch had her head lifting, her eyes scanning for the cause.

Fuck, had they found her already?

Just beyond, she saw the hulking figure of a male, moving slowly through the trees. A warrior.

The idea of fighting another so large almost brought her to tears.

But her fire burned hot in her veins. She could do this.

Reaching down, she grasped for a rock – for anything she could use as a weapon, should she need it. Clutching it tightly, she moved as quietly as she could, wincing at every rustle of leaves.

She tried to sneak around him, tried to slip by unnoticed, if it meant she could avoid the fight.

But just as she moved directly behind his back, he turned, and their eyes locked.

For several long seconds, the world stood still, the only sound the rasp of her breathing.

Then, the male before her straightened, the red stones strapped to his hands and chest flashing far too brightly for her sensitive eyes, his blade glinting in the sun. She tracked the way he held it in his right hand, strikingly familiar, yet threatening all the same. 

Could she wrench it from him, if she had to?

Suddenly, he let out a shuddering breath, drawing her eyes back to his. Oddly, his face had scrunched up, as if he was horrified. As if he wasn't part of this entire operation that had stripped so much of her.

Nesta wouldn't fall for such a trick. 

She tensed, waiting for him to make a move. But instead, in a voice that cracked, he simply gasped,

“Nesta.”

---

Cassian stared at the female in front of him, who had gone stock still, who was staring back with wide, almost unseeing eyes.

It took every ounce of his strength, of his five hundred years of training, not to scream in horror. Not to burst into tears, or fall to his knees, or explode in fury.

Nesta was… Nesta was covered in blood.

Her face, her hair, her clothes – or what served as a sorry excuse. She looked as though she’d bathed in it. Drowned in it.

Rhys’ words had only left his head moments ago – We think Nesta’s escaped, check the forests.

There was something so shaken about his tone, as if he’d been jarred to his core. It was a voice Cassian hadn’t heard him use in decades.

Now, seeing this, he knew why.

Nesta’s chest heaved, her pupils blown, and her fingers flexed around the rock in her hands. Behind her, he could see bloody footprints, her bare feet likely having caught on the rough branches and stones of the underbrush.

He could smell nothing but her blood and the remnants of rain.

In the back of his mind, he knew they needed to move. He knew that she'd left a perfect trail for Hybern's men to follow, and that they only had moments to escape undetected. 

And yet, he was frozen. 

For several seconds, neither of them moved, eyes locked together. She was sizing him up, he realized absently, prepared to go through him, if it meant getting free. Because she was in a shock so profound she didn’t recognize him, something that was confirmed when he took a step forward only for her to rear back, a hand raising in warning, flames bursting to life at her fingertips.

But Cassian was well equipped for this. He had been since his very first war, when he’d talked down more than one soldier – including his own brothers.

He could do the same for her.

“Nesta,” He said softly, holding up his free hand in a nonthreatening display. “It’s alright.”

Her nostrils flared as she watched his movements, brows furrowed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He assured, slowly bending down, to drop the blade in his other hand to the forest floor. With his foot, he kicked it away.

Foolish, perhaps, for their current situation. But he was confident, with the well of fury in his veins, that he could kill any fool who might dare attack with his bare hands.

"It's over now, Nesta. All over." 

Nesta remained silent, save for the wheeze he could hear in each breath, her eyes tracking his every move.  Holding up his hands again, he said, 

“You’re safe, sweetheart. I promise. It's just you and me, Nes."

As he said the name, she straightened, almost as if she’d been struck. Suddenly, she blinked rapidly, her entire body seeming to shudder. Cassian kept his breathing deep and even, despite the tears burning his eyes, the tightness in his throat.

“What…” She started, her voice wrecked, no more than a hoarse rasp. “What are you doing here?”

The confusion in her voice was perhaps more devastating than the sight of her physical condition. 

“I’m here for you,” he replied. “I’m here to take you home.”

A strained sound left her throat.

“You… You came for me?”

Cassian’s lips parted, the impact of the words stealing the breath from his lungs. Taking a careful step forward, he asserted,

“Of course I came for you, sweetheart.”

Nesta shook her head, in disbelief.

"You aren't real," She whispered, almost to herself.

Cassian frowned at the way she seemed to curl inwards, unable to trust even her own mind. "I'm real, Nesta. I'm right here. It's time to go home." 

“I didn’t-” She started, voice cracking. A tear streamed down her face, followed by another, and another. “I didn’t think-”

“I will always come for you.” Cassian declared. “Always. No matter what." 

Abruptly, the rock slipped from Nesta's hand, and she swayed as it clunked to the forest floor. She took one shaky step towards him, almost as if she still didn’t believe it. Devastation plain on her face, she gasped,

“Cassian."

He moved forward in a single large step, just as her knees buckled, and then – finally – he was clutching her to his chest. She heaved a sob, her fingers reaching up to grasp at his leathers as his arms wrapped tightly around her, so much so she was nearly lifted off the ground. 

“I’m here,” he promised, pressing a firm kiss into her hair, breathing in the scent of her beneath the gore. “I’m right here, Nes. I’ve got you.”

“You came for me,” She whispered again, as if it was the only phrase she could manage.

Her body trembled so fiercely he could feel it in his bones. 

“Yes,” He replied, voice thick. “And I’m so sorry I took so long. I’m so sorry.”

She could only sob into his chest, gasping for breath through her tears. Cassian soothed her the best he could, knowing full well that nothing he could say would make this better.

“It’s over,” he repeated. “It’s over, love, we’re going home now. They can't hurt you anymore.”

She coughed viciously, the sound rough and jagged. He could feel her muscles straining as she tried to stay upright. But despite her best effort, she became increasingly deadweight against him, her energy sapped now that she no longer had to keep herself moving.

"I've got you," he said, firmly. "I've got you, Nesta. Rest now." 

Maintaining an arm around her waist, Cassian's other hand rubbed up and down her back as he shushed her. Up and down over the thin fabric that had likely offered little to no warmth in the depths of the castle. 

But on his second pass, his fingers suddenly caught in a warmth seeping through her night gown. A wet, sticky warmth.

Lifting his hand, his body jolted at the sight of fresh blood coating his palm.

Instantly, he returned it to her skin, stepping away just far enough that he could slide his fingers to her stomach, where he found a tear in the fabric. The slickness of blood he found pooling there made him feel sick. Nesta whimpered at being jostled, but he was frantic in his search. 

“Nesta, where are you hurt?”

She blinked at him; eyes bleary, not seeming to notice when his fingers found the puncture wound. He would recognize the shape of it anywhere -- long and thin. The work of a blade. 

“Nes,” He urged, lifting his other hand to cup her cheek, to encourage her to focus. The action smeared the blood on her skin, the dirt. Desperate, he pressed, "I need you to answer me, sweetheart. Did someone stab you here?”

Slowly – so slowly – she nodded, sending his heart to the pit of his stomach. But then, a small, delirious smile tugged at her lips and she quietly replied, as if it were a secret between just the two of them,

“But I stabbed him back.”

He stared at her for a second, in awe of her resilience, her strength. Shifting his hand up to run over her hair, he rasped,

"Of course you did, gorgeous girl. Of course you did."

Leaning forward, he placed a firm kiss to her brow, her cheeks, not caring about the blood and grime that covered her. In the same breath, he pressed his hand more firmly to her wound, fingers wrapping around the side of her waist. Resting their foreheads together, he said, 

"And I'm so fucking proud of you for that. Do you hear me? You got out of this hell all by yourself. You did everything perfectly, beautiful."

She stared at him for a moment, eyes cloudy. She seemed pleased at his praise, something that contrasted horribly with the tears on her cheeks. But then, her eyes fluttered and she swayed dangerously, knees buckling, the rest of adrenaline seeming to leave her body in an instant.

“Easy,” He soothed, catching her in his arms as she fell, hooking one under her knees to lift her. “Easy, Nes. Just rest now, alright? We'll get you home."

Nesta’s head lolled against his shoulder, distinctly unconscious by the time he had her in his grip, and he swore, viciously, unsure if she even heard him. Opening his mind, he called out to Rhys – a firm demand. One that was met instantly with his brother's concern.

 As he waited, his body trembled in rage, muscles straining with the need for violence. For justice.

He was going to burn this entire place to the ground until not a single stone remained.

To his credit, Rhys appeared only a few moments later, flecks of blood on his cheek, though seemingly unharmed. 

“Holy shit,” Rhys breathed, his skin paling as he took in the sight of Nesta's broken body. “What-”

“There’s no time,” Cassian snapped, voice strained.  “She needs – She’s hurt.”

He couldn’t get the words out, his own disgust and horror locking up his throat. His siphons pulsed with barely restrained rage, enough that Rhys merely nodded. He waved a hand, and a cloak appeared in his arms, which he held out.

But as he stepped forward, to take her, Cassian stepped back, a snarl on his lips, his arms pulling Nesta closer to his chest. In a voice that wasn’t entirely his own, he growled,

“Don’t you touch her.”

Rhys’ face softened. “I need to take her, Cass,” he said, gently. “I can get to Velaris the fastest. Madja’s already at the House of Wind, waiting for us.”

Rationally, he knew this was true. But she was his to protect. His. No one else could ensure her safety the way he could.

“I know what you’re feeling,” Rhys offered. “I know it exactly. But you will burn Velaris down if you don’t release that rage, brother. It will consume you. One of her captors is alive. The castle is still standing, but they know we’re here. They will find us in moments. Let me take her, so you can get justice.”

Cassian looked down at Nesta’s slack face, the blood streaked there, the bruising he could see on her cheek. Rhys was right. He knew that. But still, he couldn’t… he couldn’t let her go.

“Cassian,” Rhys pushed. “I will take care of your mate, I promise. I will protect her with my life. But she is going to need you to be present for her, when she wakes. She’s going to need you to be calm, and safe. She doesn’t need to see more violence. And right now, you are vibrating with it.”

Snapping his head up, he stared at his brother, shocked he’d voice the truth so easily. But it was true. Now that Nesta was in his arms, the bond burned in his chest so acutely it almost brought him to his knees. And with it was his insatiable need to avenge.

“I swear it to you,” Rhys repeated. “Let me take her, Cass.”

Cassian breathed out, shuddering.

“Finish things here, and I will return your mate safely to Velaris. We can call it a bargain if that will sway you.”

A bargain. It made sense to his most basic instincts. A binding agreement that required follow through. Rhys couldn’t hurt her, if he agreed to such a thing. It was enough to get him to force his head to nod.

He barely noticed the tattoo that appeared on his wrist. Instead, he could only watch as Rhys held out his arms again. Silent, and with stiff muscles, Cassian stepped forward, placing Nesta gently within them. Before he let go, he tucked the cloak around her, covering her legs, her arms, offering the decency she'd clearly been denied these last two weeks. He positioned her hand over the wound in her stomach, thumb brushing gently over her palm.

“Go,” he said softly, unable to look anywhere else but her face.

Rhys adjusted his hold, tucking her closer, before he said, “Don’t come back until you’ve poured every ounce of your anger out here. Start a war if you must, but don’t let her see that side of you. Not before she has to. Not before you have the chance to make things right with her.”

He jerked his head in agreement, unable to find the words to say anything further.

“Straight through the trees, you’ll see Azriel. He’ll take you both home when the job is done.”

He didn’t need the instructions. There was already a trail of his mate’s blood that showed him the way.

Stepping away, Rhys was gone before Cassian could process his thoughts to form a reply. For several seconds, he stared at the space his brother previously filled, now empty.

Nesta was safe, he told himself. Nesta was safe.

And now, this place could burn.

With a deep breath, he turned towards the keep, reaching into his belt to pull out another blade.

Disappearing into the trees, Cassian began his mission.

Chapter Text

Rhys’ wings snapped outward as he winnowed over the skies of Velaris.

Nesta was entirely still in his arms, her heartbeat slow. Even in the few seconds she’d been in his hold, blood had already seeped into his leathers, so much he felt it on his skin. It made him feel cold, dread and vicious guilt settling deeper into his bones with every passing second.

Catching an updraft, Rhys pushed towards the House of Wind as quickly as he felt comfortable flying, with someone so delicate. The new bargain tattoo on his wrist tingled, a perpetual warning that, should he fail to keep her safe, the consequences would be dire.

As if he’d let himself fail at such a task ever again.  

Angling towards the mountain overlooking the city, he spotted the lights from their beloved home built into the rock. The House was safest, far away from any threats. It was a place where, hopefully, she could recover without fear.

We’re coming, he called out to his mate as he approached, unable to keep the distress from his voice. Feyre responded immediately, her own anxiety straining his chest so tightly it hurt to breathe.

Madja’s here. She said. I’ll meet you on the balcony. Elain and Mor too.

Rhys glanced down at the female in his arms, the gore that was splattered over her face, her limbs, and grimaced at the idea of gentle Elain having to witness such a sight.

You might… he started, swallowing thickly at just how horrific Nesta looked. You might need to prepare Elain for this. It’s bad, Feyre.

Elain is not my concern at the moment, Feyre snapped. Just bring her here, to me.

Silently, he obeyed, swooping down to land on the main balcony of the House with a thud. Immediately, Feyre’s footsteps came out to meet him. Nesta did not so much as flinch, far too still for his liking.  

“Quick, Madja has the room ready. Is she- Oh gods.”

Meeting eyes, he caught the moment his mate’s face fractured. Horror wasn’t a severe enough word to describe it, nor the cleaving of her heart that reverberated down the bond. Lifting her hands, Feyre covered her mouth, eyes wide, and suddenly he realized that perhaps she hadn’t been properly prepared to see her sister this way.

“Oh, gods Rhys. What… What-”

She was frozen in her spot, staring down at Nesta as if she couldn’t believe what she saw. Rhys certainly couldn’t blame her. He could barely stand to look down at her himself, with just how much violence she’d been through. It made him so sick with his own guilt he feared he’d drop to his knees.

“Feyre, move.”

Elain’s voice was sharp as she all but pushed his mate aside, moving into his space before he could properly register it. She didn’t waver as she took in her sister, whose breath was labored, her face set in a permanent wince. In a gentle hand, she brushed Nesta’s hair out of her face, matted and thick with blood as it was.

“Inside,” She ordered softly. “Quickly.”

Rhys nodded, following her. As he passed Feyre, he sent as much affection as he could muster through the bond, even as she could only watch, tears in her eyes. It was only when she was the only one who remained on the balcony that she was broken from her shocked trance, her steps unsteady.

“Mother above,” Madja breathed as they entered the bedroom – the closest to the entryway. “Have mercy.”

“I haven’t been able to check her myself,” Rhys explained, assisting the old healer as they set her down on white sheets that would quickly become stained. “But she’s bleeding heavily from her stomach. I came as quickly as I could.”

“We need rags, fresh water. I need to see how much of this is hers and how much isn’t.”

Rhys nodded, then waved a hand, clearing away the blood from Nesta’s skin. The grime was still there, and she would need to be washed, but it at least revealed the patchwork of true injuries that plagued her. A sight that looked straight out of a nightmare, so gruesome that it had his throat burning and his breathing shuddering.

Images of the cell Azriel had found flashed through his mind, the overwhelming amount of blood that filled the tiny space. It was a scene of violence that could only have been produced from the basest kind of rage, of survival instinct. She had taken no prisoners, and he could not blame her even if he wanted to. It had taken every ounce of his control not to kill that lone survivor himself.

What horrors had Nesta undergone to drive her to such a state?

The House provided the essentials right away, and for a moment Rhys could only watch as Madja ran her hands over where blood continued to seep from Nesta’s torso. She murmured words in the old language – healing spells, her brows knitted in determination.

“Here,” Elain asserted, having appeared suddenly to his left. “I’ll clean the rest.”

She pushed around him as if he were an inconvenience, her lips drawn into a hard line. A bit awkwardly, he backed up for her, watching as she took a rag and began wiping her sister’s face.

“It will be a long night,” Madja said, without looking up, voice clipped. “Best go get settled.”

It was as polite a dismissal as he’d ever heard. With one last look at the battered frame of the eldest Archeron, he slowly moved back into the living room, letting out a long breath as he took in the equally heartbreaking sight of Feyre sobbing profusely into Mor’s shoulder, who held her tightly.

His cousin met his eyes, shock and confusion within. He wished he could offer some words of comfort or explanation.

But he’d never wanted to see something so grotesque again. Not within the family. Not after everything he’d done to try and ensure it. The failure left him with nothing to offer. No words, no actions, no consolations. Just crippling, crippling guilt.  

And now, the only thing any of them could do was wait. Wait, and pray that whatever war Cassian started in retribution would be over quickly.  

---

Cassian tried not to lose his sanity completely over the fact that he was able to follow the blood either drawn by or from his mate all the way to where Azriel was waiting in the chambers below.

Few soldiers stood in his way, and he would barely remember them as he cut one after the other down with his blades. He lost count of the trail of bodies he left behind, his only focus being that of finding where exactly they’d kept Nesta, and what precisely they had done to her.

Another strike. Another scream. Another one of his mate's enemies wrenched from the earth. 

Rhys had blown their cover moments before Azriel realized she’d escaped, far too flashy to ever be good at stealth missions. But that was fine with him. There would be nothing left here once he was finished, anyway.

Don’t come back until you’ve poured every ounce of your anger out here. Start a war if you must, but don’t let her see that side of you.

Just the thought of the order had the new bargain tattoo tingling on his wrist. He would unleash hell, to be sure. But he wouldn’t start a war. A war required two sides of relatively equal standing to come to blows. After he was finished, there would be nothing left of Hybern’s central fortress to mount any kind of threat.

He walked silently through the main hall of the castle, burning everything in his path, cutting down anyone in his way. The servants, it seemed, had enough sense to flee from the moment Rhys had revealed himself. But no one else would be spared.

The smoke was thick, smoldering curtains and wooden furniture littering the halls, broken windows doing little to create fresh air. The best way to cripple a fortress, he knew, was to destroy it from the inside. Brick by brick.

Turning down long, curved hallways, descending countless flights of stairs, he left the main floors of the castle and entered the crypts below. 

Abruptly, he came across the first sign of Nesta's own vengeance. Staring at piles of ash that littered the hall, his eyes froze on the larger puddles of blood. He passed over them without much thought, following the carnage down, and down, and down to the lowest levels of the keep.

He saw evidence of her everywhere. A smeared handprint, where she had likely needed to stop for a break, footprints along the uneven stone floors. Pausing to assess one, he could even make out the distinct length of her thin, delicate fingers.

Reaching up, he brushed his own along the print, shuddering as he remembered the warm, sticky feeling of the blood on her skin. 

It made his mind incredibly quiet. Quiet, in the sense that he knew exactly what he was going to do here, so that he could get home to her as quickly as possible.

He passed destroyed rooms, more charred remains. She had to have taken out dozens of men, their barracks lining the halls. He wondered if she even realized it, in her adrenaline-fueled escape. The knowledge that she was able to enact such a revenge on her exit was the only thing that kept him going until he reached that final passage.

Here, he smelled Azriel, saw his shadows lingering, like a silent marker, urging him on. As he walked down those final steps, his nose crinkled at the sheer intensity of the scent of blood that assaulted it. Not just Nesta’s, that much was obvious. If it was all hers, she wouldn’t be alive right now.

There were no other words to describe what had apparently happened in this room other than a bloodbath. It pooled on the floors, coated the walls. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, emphasized by deep scorch marks on the ground. As he made his way down towards the single cell in the corner of the room, his boot scuffed against the shaft of a now extinguished torch that rested in the center of the floor.

Lifting his eyes forward, he found his brother standing over a single male form – or what remained of him. Shadows kept him in place, and he could hear the way his breath was labored, so similar to Nesta's, when she'd collapsed in his arms. 

A sure sign of the Spy Master's work. 

It was rare that Cassian accompanied Azriel when he did these kinds of interrogations. He was, after all, known for a kind of violence that only few could stomach. But as he assessed the body left behind in the room’s cell – the height of him, what he could see of his brown hair – and confirmed exactly who he was -- he decided he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how disturbing this event became.

Approaching the lone survivor before him, he withdrew a smaller dagger, and used the flat of the blade to force his chin up, so he could assess his face. Here was a warrior bred for violence, who had likely beaten and murdered countless innocents in the name of his King. Cassian knew the type well.

A smirk tugged at Cassian’s lips at the sight of the damage to one of his eyes, the angry red skin and soot that marred it, the socket swollen shut.

“And what happened here?”

The male snarled and spat blood out on the floor at Cassian’s feet.

“It would seem Nesta got the best of him,” Azriel supplied, arms crossed. “If you look, you can see the imprint of the torch rings.”

A deep sense of satisfaction briefly replaced the vicious anger in his chest. Good girl.

“And was that before or after you stabbed her?”

It was an easy enough guess. With how viciously the other body had been mutilated, he could assume Nesta caught him by surprise. It would have been this male that posed the largest threat. Who put up the biggest fight. Who was responsible for most of the hurt she was feeling.

The male in question laughed, though it came out as a pathetic croak. “I assume she didn’t get too far, if you have to ask.”

“Whether she did or didn’t isn’t what you should be worried about anymore,” Azriel warned, voice low and deadly. 

“I have no secrets, only the pride of my mission,” the male spat. “The witch deserves to burn.”

Cassian leaned down, gripping his jaw hard enough that he could hear the start of bones cracking. Staring into his eyes, he assessed the cold, emotionlessness there. The lack of remorse. He was a monster built for torture. One who thrived on it, who enjoyed it.

“Rest assured,” He said. “My mate took her fair share of revenge on her way out of this place. As if it would ever have been enough to hold her.”

He felt Azriel’s eyes on him, though knew his brother was already well aware of the bond that had yet to cease burning every facet of his consciousness. But this male’s eyes widened just a little, betraying his surprise. It was, after all, a known death sentence to harm a fae with a known mate. He was probably trying to figure out how they’d missed such an important fact.

It only served to deepen Cassian’s guilt, his self-loathing. After all, they wouldn’t have if he’d been even half worthy of the title.

Luckily, he had the perfect outlet to unleash it all. Tilting the male’s head back, Cassian assessed him, took in all the features left for him to target, until he broke.

“Thankfully, though, she left you for me.”

---

Azriel stood back as he watched Cassian extract every ounce of revenge, he could on this sorry excuse of a male without killing him.

“Being defeated on the battlefield wasn’t enough for you, was it?” His brother snarled, blood dripping from his knife. “You needed more humiliation.”

The male’s breath was ragged, the eye that hadn’t been burned by Nesta now blackened. Cassian had taken an ear, as well as a few fingers as they pried every bit of information they could from him. It was messy work, far less precise than what he would have done. But Cassian wasn’t in the mood for anything but pain, and Azriel wouldn’t be the fool to remind him to go easier, just because they needed answers.

“I serve my king, defeat or otherwise,” he wheezed, blood coating his lips. “He wanted revenge, he will have it, one way or another.”

“By ripping a female from her bed? Drugging her so she could not fight you? A coward’s attempt.”

“By ripping that power from her chest,” the male countered, with a cruel, blood-stained grin. “By handing her over to our people, to rip her apart piece by pretty piece. You would have gotten her back eventually, or whatever was left of her.”

Azriel’s siphons pulsed in his own anger, his desire to get his hands dirty. But even as his shadows darkened the room, he knew he would not get to cause any more harm to this male. No, he was to be Cassian’s victim, and Cassian’s alone.

Cassian tilted his head, deadly silent, the idea that they planned to steal Nesta’s power unsettling as it was absurd.

“Quite presumptuous,” Azriel said, carefully. “That you could take something Cauldron-given.”

“Our Priestesses have the means, even if yours do not,” the male sneered. “One way or another, we will get it back. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But I promise you-”

His voice cut off in an agonized scream, and Azriel flicked his eyes downward to assess where his hand was now detached from his body. Cassian considered him for a moment, assessing his work, before he unceremoniously stabbed his blade into the male’s stomach, as if to sheath it. Stepping away without a word, he moved into the cell, picking up the large set of shackles that had been left behind in Nesta’s escape.

They scraped the floor loudly as he dragged them, a grating sound that echoed off the walls.

“I’ve heard enough of your talk,” Cassian snarled, returning to his side. With a gruff hand, he gripped the male by the back of the neck before thrusting out his other arm towards him, a silent command.

“To the top of the keep,” He said. “I want him to see his kingdom burn as he dies, if he can still see at all.”

Azriel’s lips twitched, and his shadows swirled, as if they obeyed Cassian’s words over his own. He had more questions to be asked, wanting to know the inner facets of the planning, just how exactly they got into Velaris to begin with. But there would be no protesting his brother now. Not with the depraved promise of violence that he wore unabashed on his face.

So, silently, he obliged him.

As they landed, the wind whipped viciously at their faces, though the outraged cries of a condemned male cut through it. Blocking the now shining sun from his face, Azriel watched his brother wrap the chains around his victim and the flagpole bearing the crest of Hybern. Around and around, the chains held him securely in place, his single remaining hand tucked uncomfortably behind his back.

“One day,” the male promised, “it will be you who burns.”

Cassian’s face was impassive, unmoved by the words. “What a pity you won’t be there to see it.”

With a jerk of his chin, he ordered Azriel to follow him without another look back.

Launching into the air, they landed in the center courtyard, where his brother was quickly slashing through the dozen or so men that made a pitiful excuse of a last stand. It was only the sound of arrows being drawn by archers on the upper battlements that stopped him in his spree, and suddenly Cassian looked up, scanning his gaze around all the various structures of the castle grounds.

“Stand down by order of the King!” A soldier called, though his voice betrayed his fear. “We have you surrounded!”

“Are you prepared to winnow us out of here?” Cassian asked, quietly.

“Of course,” Azriel replied, a shield of his own settling around them. “But what are you-“

His words died in his throat as he watched Cassian  unbuckle the siphons from his hands, his shoulders and chest. Then, he tossed the sacred stones at him without explanation, and Azriel caught them haphazardly, brows furrowed. There was no reason for him to remove them, unless he intended to unleash sheer, unfiltered killing energy. But such a thing could kill him.

He couldn’t possibly intend to-?

“Cassian-”

“When I’m finished, not a single stone of this place will remain unscorched.”

Cassian held out his hands, and before he could voice another protest, that raw, unfiltered Illyrian power burst free, encompassing the air around them in bright, blinding light. It consumed everything, and for a moment, Azriel could not see, nor hear, nor think.

The impact of it ripped the air from his lungs, nearly knocked him off balance, and it was only through sheer instinct that his shield held over them both, his own siphons pulsing with effort. He could barely make out his brother’s form in the blast, though he saw the way Cassian’s eyes glowed with his power – the amount of it enough to kill most Illyrians who would dare try to wield it unguided.

In the end, what was left of Hybern’s soldiers didn’t stand a chance.

The flames were already burning high when Cassian lowered his hands, which were now singed black, already blistering from the force of it. He trembled, exhausted, and Azriel was assaulted with the smell of his burnt flesh, something that had violent memories flashing briefly before his eyes and a sense of urgency flooding his senses.

They needed to get out of here, and quickly.

There was nothing left of the courtyard where they stood, and as he looked around, not a single building had escaped the flames, some already crumpling into a heap of brick and burning wood. Without a doubt, the entire keep would fall to ruins in a matter of moments, taking anyone inside with it.

Already, he could hear the frantic screams of soldiers and staff as they tried to find an escape.

Beside him, Cassian’s chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow. But the deep, unchecked fury had dimmed in his eyes, replaced with what could almost be satisfaction.

A worthy revenge.

“Let’s go.” Cassian bit out finally, no room for argument in his voice.

Azriel shuddered at the ferocity of it, the viciousness, but nodded his head, reaching out a hand and clutching his arm.

As his shadows swirled around them, the last thing he heard was the collapse of one of the towers, a loud horrific crash, and a plume of dust and ash.

But then, there was nothing but silent darkness.

---

Cassian breathed heavily as Azriel wrapped his hands, treating the burns that covered the expanse of them.

He smelled of smoke, of bloodshed, they both did. And part of him itched for more. But it was over now. The keep was destroyed. The barbarians who had tortured Nesta were gone. And that had to be enough.

Because now he had different priorities.

“You’re lucky these don’t scar,” Azriel muttered, brows drawn tightly in disapproval. Cassian tilted his head, fingers flexing.

“What, don’t want to match?”

His brother’s eyes flashed up to his, outrage within them. It was a poor thing to say, he knew, but his filter was nonexistent, and he frankly didn’t care.

He just wanted to see her.

“I don’t need to tell you how stupid you were to pull that fucking stunt. You could have been killed. How many Illyrians do you know who have walked away from something like that?”

“It was worth it,” Cassian said, with a shrug, as if it meant nothing. “For her, it was worth it. Besides, I’m stronger than most Illyrians.”

Azriel shook his head, something that fueled his offense. As soon as he tied off the last bandage, Cassian yanked his hands away, and pushed to his feet.

“You can’t make me regret it.”

“Perhaps not. But there were other ways to burn the keep down, if that was your goal.”

Cassian shook his head, moving to the window, staring out over the city of Velaris. They were in the House of Wind, only feet from where Madja worked tirelessly to save Nesta’s life, to put her back together.

After she’d been cleaned, apparently no one had been allowed in that room.

And by the look on Rhys’ face when they arrived, he knew he would be stopped if he tried to enter now.

“It wouldn’t have been enough,” He muttered. “I would have needed more. I would have burned the whole island, innocents and all. Nesta would not have forgiven me for that.”

Azriel was quiet for a few moments, cleaning up the bandages and rags around him.

“You purposely tired yourself out,” he surmised quietly. “So, you could come home to her.”

“Rhys and I made a bargain,” Cassian affirmed, nodding his head. “I was to stay until I was satisfied, and he was to get her here safely.”

Looking down at his fingers, Cassian winced at the pain that now radiated through them. He knew it was foolish. Downright suicidal. But at that moment, he hadn’t cared. He had been someone else. A mate so deeply outraged it had driven him to frenzy. Even if he didn’t deserve a moment of Nesta’s time.

“It was still fucking idiotic. I’ll never stop telling you.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different,” Cassian replied. “But know that if it had been your mate, I would not have stopped you, either.”

Azriel didn’t reply, and it was only after several long seconds of silence that he realized his brother had left him alone without another word. Closing his eyes, Cassian let out a long breath, settling his mind, using every technique he’d been taught in his centuries of training.

It was time to be calm. To be safe. The violence was over.

When he finally made his way into the living room, he took in the faces of his family who sat in anxious silence, all waiting for Madja’s word, whenever she finished her work.

It was Feyre’s tear-filled eyes that settled the last of his rage, that replaced his anger with a need to care, to protect the people he loved most. Opening his arms as she rose to greet him, he enveloped her in an embrace, squeezing tight.

“It’s over,” he said, kissing her head. “She’s home.”

“It should never have happened,” Feyre sobbed into his chest. “Never.”

He couldn’t refute her, so he just held her tighter.

“It won’t ever happen again,” Rhys promised, from his place on the couch, having yet to change out of his bloodstained leathers. “We will make it up to her. I promise. Things will be different.”

“It shouldn’t have taken her abduction for you to say that” Elain commented quietly, a tumbler of whiskey in her hands. “You were wrong to begin with.”

His brother grimaced but nodded his head. “I know,” he replied, voice rough. “She will know, too.”

Elain eyed him suspiciously but did not comment further.

“Well, boy, did you start a war?” Amren asked then, as Feyre eventually pulled away to return to her own mate’s side, clutching tightly to him.

Cassian shrugged. “There’s not much left for them to fight with. The keep is gone.”

Mor’s brows rose. “Gone? Like entirely?”

“There is nothing left,” Azriel affirmed, standing in front of the hearth, his hands tucked behind his back. “It will take them years to rebuild it.”

The implications of it settled heavily over all of them. Of the violence it had required.

“I think Nesta would have burned it down regardless, if we hadn’t been there,” Rhys said.

“You said she broke herself free,” Amren replied, tilting her head in curiosity. “She used her power?”

“She burned dozens of them on her way out,” Azriel supplied. “But more than anything, I’d wager she escaped through a mix of stubborn will, strength, and luck.”

“Gods,” Mor murmured, shaking her head.

Cassian waited for Amren to say something about the need to harness Nesta’s powers, about the importance of learning she could wield them still. But the Second was silent, something deeply disturbed on her face.

“And the new King?” Rhys asked. “Was he among your victims?”

“I’m not sure,” Cassian answered, honestly. “I’m sure we will know soon enough. If he wasn’t, he is one of few.”

“Good riddance,” Amren muttered, her fingertips resting on her lips as she stared into the flames in the fireplace. “Let them all burn.”

Azriel told me what you did. Rhys said into his mind. Reckless doesn’t even begin to-

I don’t care. Cassian snapped back. You would have done the same.

His brother’s lips pursed, but he did not refute him. Instead, he offered,

 Make sure you take something for the pain, at least. And apologize to our brother. You've upset him. 

The second order was one he'd do as soon as he could think straight. He knew he'd triggered something deep in his brother's memories with such a risk. But the second was a laughable idea -- easing his pain. One that was so absurd Cassian could have hit him for it.

There would be no relief for him, because this was not a victory. This was a desperate attempt at redemption, and even then, he fell short. And would for the foreseeable future, until Nesta knew just how deeply he felt about making it up to her.

No, he would feel every minute of this suffering. Of his skin knitting itself back together. It was no less than what he deserved, for such a grotesque failure.

Besides, he could feel her pain through this bond as if it were his own. An ache so profound it made him nauseous. But it only served to make him more resolute.

As long as she suffered, so would he.

---

Nesta slept for three full days.

Clad in a linen white robe, she was motionless under the silk sheets of what was now her bedroom in the House. Bandages wrapped around her torso, both of her legs, her feet. Her wrist was braced. Every day, Cassian would watch as healers applied ointment to the cuts on her face, the bruises, and would step out only when they unwrapped all of their work to check how her body was healing.

She had been lucky, apparently, that she hadn’t bled out completely.

She was dehydrated, malnourished, and battered. But to his – and everyone else’s – devastated relief, she had not been assaulted in that final, most violating way. Even though she’d been in that cell clad in nothing but her thin nightgown, they hadn’t crossed that final line.

It was that knowledge that finally broke Elain, who’d clutched onto Feyre tightly as they grieved for their sister.

Cassian, meanwhile, didn’t know if he should feel grateful for it, or if he should feel angry all over again at the sheer fact that she’d been at such a risk.

It was only on the fourth day that he actually left the House.

They were washing her – Madja, Feyre, and Elain – taking their best care to keep her clean and comfortable. The prolonged amount of time he couldn’t see her nearly drove him mad, until his High Lady had said,

“Why don’t you go to her apartment, and get her things? At least, what you think would make her most comfortable. Maybe make sure her neighbor knows that she’s been found.”

It was a task in the name of his mate’s care, and thus was the only reason he could bear to accept it.

Which was how he found himself once again in the squalor that had been Nesta’s home.

They’d left the windows open, had aired out the space in a way that would likely infuriate her. But if he could help it, she’d never return here again.

On careful feet, he moved about, collecting her few books, any jewelry that he knew was gifts, her hairbrush and any toiletries. It all fit into a single piece of luggage, including the few dresses that hung up in the closet.

The sleeve of one tore completely as he freed it from a hanger, and for several moments he could only stare at the seams, noting how the fabric had fallen apart from constant use. She clearly hadn’t bothered to fix it. She only had two pairs of shoes – boots, and loafers appropriate for warmer months. Both looked worn, and poorly cared for.

Still, he packed it all away, delicately folding each garment in a way he hoped she would find acceptable. He placed her books on top, with her jewelry and other accessories, before closing the suitcase and preparing to take his leave.

The door had been placed back on its hinges, though her additional seven locks would need replacing. He made a mental note to ensure it was done before she returned, if she was insistent on doing so.

Stepping out into the hall, he closed the door gently behind him, taking a moment to settle the turbulent sea of emotions in his head. The grief, guilt, and despair that threatened to eat him whole with every passing minute.

Turning on his heel, he made to depart, to get back to the House of Wind as quickly as he could. But then, the door to his right cracked open, and a tiny head with unruly blonde curls peaked out at him. For a heavy second, Cassian stared at this child who watched him back with wide eyes.

“Do you know Miss Nesta?” The child asked, voice a whisper, as if he knew he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.

Cassian softened, despite himself, and knelt down so as to appear less intimidating.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m Cassian. What’s your name?”

“Yuri,” the boy said. “You’re the male that yells.”

The words hit him like a blow, harsher than any lashing he had received over the last few weeks from Nesta’s sisters or his own mind. Reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, he offered,

“I-… yes. It is not something I’m proud of. I’m sorry, if it scared you. I never intend to do that again.”

Yuri assessed him closely, seeming to look deep into his soul in the unique way only children could.

“Is Miss Nesta alright now?” He asked. “Is she with you?”

“She is,” Cassian affirmed. “She’ll be better soon. I promise.”

The boy nodded, as if this satisfied him. Seemingly more confident, he followed up, “Will you bring her something for me?”

Cassian blinked, surprised, but nodded his head. It was the first time he drew a smile from the child, who disappeared for a moment before he returned, several bundles of paper in his hands.

“Baba and I made her a card, for when she gets better,” he explained. “And I continued to work on my letters, while she was away. She always looks over them, when she comes to visit.”

His eyes scanned over the sheets, assessing the colorful drawings, the crude, yet delightfully innocent writings in crayon. It made his eyes prick with tears, and he swallowed thickly, if only not to break down in front of this boy. Reaching out, he accepted them reverently, taking care not to bend the pages.

“I’ll make sure she gets these right away,” he promised, voice coming out more as a rasp than he intended.

Yuri beamed, a smile bright as sunlight.

“Tell her we miss her,” the child pleaded. “Will you?”

“I promise,” Cassian answered, offering him his best attempt at a smile.

It was enough to satisfy the boy, who promptly closed the door without another word, likely before he got caught by his guardian. Cassian squeezed his eyes shut after he went, allowing a few tears to roll down his cheeks. But he only permitted himself a few moments of grief before he let out a ragged breath and pushed to his feet.

Moving downstairs and onto the street, he tucked the papers into his jacket, to keep them safe against the wind, and shot skyward, hoping enough time had passed that he’d be allowed to return to Nesta’s side when he arrived back at the House.

---

Nesta drifted through a hazy sea, her mind unable to latch onto anything of substance, anything to tether her to reality.

She felt pain, then she didn’t.

She heard familiar voices, then she didn’t.

Back and forth. Tears, soft pleas, tense conversations passing over her head. She was cold, warm, then neither.

The only constant was exhaustion. Such all-consuming, crippling exhaustion that the promise of sleep was her only surety. She could always find sleep here, in this place.

And so, she floated away, content enough not to be bothered with such pesky things like opening her eyes or listening to what was happening around her.

That could come later.

For now, there was just sleep.

Sleep, and peace.

---

Cassian was in the midst of rewrapping his hands when Nesta opened her eyes for the first time.

Seated in a chair that had become his permanent spot alongside her bed, his head had been bowed, focusing on laying the linens over each other properly, tying off the strips in a way that allowed him to replace his siphons overtop, so as to prevent any more power surges.

They were healing, slowly, and wouldn’t scar, at least according to Madja. He couldn’t have cared less, but Azriel’s relief had been distinct on his face at the news, and he decided he’d truly have to make it up to him later, for all the grief he’d put him through.

His fingers ached though, frustratingly so. Enough that he wasn’t aware she’d woken until he finished his task and eased the pain. Instead, he didn’t notice until he finally lifted his eyes to do a routine assessment of her face, her wounds, to ensure she remained at ease.

He found her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, blank with exhaustion and likely the remnants of shock. For several seconds, he could only look at her, not entirely able to process it himself that she was awake. But then, tears began to roll down her face, one after the other, after the other, and his trance was shattered.

“Hey,” he rasped softly, slipping one of his hands into hers, squeezing, while the other reached up to brush her cheek, catching the tears. “Hey, sweetheart, take it easy. You're alright.”

She didn’t acknowledge him, as if her mind still hadn’t quite realized she was awake. Instead, she remained stone still, the salt of her tears stinging his nose. Cassian maintained a gentle rhythm of brushing his knuckles softly against her skin, in an effort to bring her around.

“It’s over,” he soothed. “All over, Nes. You’re home.”

Nesta squeezed her eyes shut abruptly, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Cassian took the opportunity to lift her hand to his mouth so he could press kisses to her knuckles, her fingers, the first of what would be many silent apologies. He wanted desperately to shower her with verbal ones, to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ so many times she could never forget it. But now wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“I promise,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to the back of her palm. “You’re safe now, love.”

He made to release her, to set her hand down on the bed in exchange for offering her water, or food, or anything. But before he could pull away, her fingers flexed, and suddenly she was gripping tight, stilling him.

Despite the throbbing ache it caused, he squeezed back, like an anchor.

“I’m here,” he assured, content to keep filling the silence if she needed him to. “Just breathe. Don’t strain yourself, take your time.”

Nesta opened her eyes again, blinking, a bit more clarity in her gaze, even if her tears remained steady. Her lips parted, and in a voice so soft he barely caught it, she asked,

“How many?”

Cassian’s brows furrowed. “How many what, Nes?”

“How many did I-…”

She stopped abruptly as he realized her meaning, a shudder passing over her frame. Cassian shook his head.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about that-”

“Tell me,” She pleaded, and suddenly – finally – her head turned so that she could meet his eyes.

Cassian held her gaze for a heavy second, fighting his own tears at how deeply haunted her expression was. The guilt he could see there, at ending a life. Perhaps not her captors', but anyone else caught in the fray. Still, he had no power to deny her anything. Not anymore. Stroking gently over her cheekbone, he replied,

“The male in the cell, and maybe twenty or thirty others on your way out.”

She didn’t react right away, continuing to stare at him as if committing every part of his face to memory.

“Alistair?” She asked.

Cassian tilted his head, assuming this was the name of her second captor.

“Alive, when you left.” He replied as he brushed more tears off her cheeks. “Dead now.”

“Dead now,” she repeated, a whisper. “You?”

“Yes,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss it again. “Though Azriel got a small go at him. Rhys too, I imagine.”

He has yet to actually ask what Rhys had done during that entire ordeal -- after he was granted access to this room he hadn't cared about anything else. He supposed he should have, though, if only to ensure she had the information when she woke.

Her brows furrowed deeply as he said the words, and he realized she still didn’t know that he had been accompanied by his brothers, when he found her. She must have thought he’d come alone.

“Rhys, Azriel, and I went to Hybern, to find you." He explained. "Feyre and Mor searched in Prythian at the same time.”

“You all… came for me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Cassian nodded his head anyway. “Of course, sweetheart. The moment we knew you were missing; we began to look for you. I’m only sorry we weren’t quicker about it. This never should have happened, Nesta, I need you to know that. We never should have failed you like this.”

Nesta turned her head back so that she could look at the ceiling. It gave him the opportunity to brush her hair out of her eyes, to blink away his own tears. Her chest spasmed in her subdued sobs, and a soothing sound emitted from his chest, his heart cleaving at the sight of her pain.

Soft and steady, he reminded himself, tamping down the rage that threatened to bubble up his throat at the idea that she's suffered. That’s what she needed.

Squeezing her hand, he opened his mouth to continue his explanation of the past few days’ events, to give her some kind of context to reorient herself. But then, abruptly, she said,

“You all came for me. But I don’t understand why.”

Chapter Text

Nesta’s entire body throbbed.

She felt as though she weighed a thousand pounds, that there was a bruise over every single inch of her skin.

(She realized, absently, that there likely was.)

And in her chest, her heart cleaved. The agony of her distress ached just as acutely as the wounds she could feel underneath the bandages that felt both too rough and perfectly soothing.

The knowledge that it was over, that she’d broken herself out.

That he had come for her. Him, and, apparently, everyone else.

She had little care to stop the tears from flowing down her face, unsure she had the ability to stifle them even if she wanted to. She felt overwhelmed, confused, and angry, even, at her situation. She was supposed to be dead, but now she wasn’t.

She was supposed to be alone, and now, she wasn’t.

He told her she was safe, but she couldn’t quite convince herself that she was.

And Everything. Fucking. Hurt.

As if in answer, Cassian’s hand squeezed hers, the distinct sensation of his own linen bandages brushing her forehead as he pushed hair out of her eyes. What had happened to him, she didn’t know.

“You all came for me. But I don’t understand why,” She’d said, her voice nothing more than a rasp, her throat aching with the effort.

Violent memories of Alistair’s hands choking, squeezing the life out of her, flashed before her eyes, and she could not repress the shudder rocked through her body.

Beside her, she heard Cassian’s breath hitch, as if she’d ripped the air from his lungs.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered in reply, voice cracking.

Brows furrowing, she allowed her head to roll to the side, so she could assess his face. The sight of tears on his cheeks wasn’t something she’d been expecting, and it did little to ease her confusion at what exactly was going on.

Was this real, or a dream?

“What?” She asked.

Devastation wasn’t quite impactful of a word to describe the expression on this male’s face, which only fractured more at her question.

Cassian’s hand that hadn’t been stroking her face squeezed her own tightly, clutching it to his chest.

“I’m so sorry that we made you think we wouldn’t come for you,” he said. “That we would have just let you be taken. I’m so sorry that we ignored you for long enough that you could be taken. We failed you so horrifically, sweetheart, there aren’t words for it.”

Anxiety pinched Nesta’s chest, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at how sincere he looked. He couldn’t possibly be this upset. She wasn’t worth it. This had to be a dream.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t acceptable.

“I-I don’t understand,” She croaked, surprising herself at how distressed she sounded. “You all… You all hate me.”

“No,” Cassian countered, shaking his head. “Nesta, I couldn’t hate you if I tried-”

“You’re supposed to hate me,” Nesta interrupted, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “I left so you didn’t have to see me, so you didn’t need to-”

Her voice cut off as her chest burned, her body struggling to keep up with her mental turmoil and failing, horribly.

“No,” He replied firmly, hushing her, though there was no malice in his voice. Instead, despite its finality, his tone remained soft and gentle. “No, sweetheart.”

Leaning forward, he cupped her cheek in his palm, his brows knitted together.

“Don’t talk, not if it hurts,” he said. “Just listen. Listen to me, Nes. I am not supposed to hate you. None of us should hate you. We have treated you poorly, and did not offer you the resources you needed, and that is our fault. My fault. You did not deserve it.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, not with how heartbroken he was. It made her chest ache more than it already did. So instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, taking in ragged breaths.

“You’re going to get a lot of apologies,” he continued, thumb stroking over her cheekbone, careful of the bruise there. “And you’re going to hear it a thousand times, that this should never have happened. But I know that you’re tired right now, so, I will only tell you this once, unless you ask me to say it again. There was never a single second that we even considered not coming for you. Never, Nesta. It was not fast enough, and that is a failure that can never be undone. But this family, I, will always, always come for you if you are in danger. And the fact that you didn’t know that, that you still don’t believe it, is our failure, not yours.”

His fingers brushed over her hair – a touch so light it didn’t trigger her tender scalp, nor the phantom sensation of those males ripping her head back to force things down her throat. It was almost as if he knew and adjusted the pressure deliberately.

“But you’ve only just woken up. There’s time for us to tell you all these things. And after this is said and done, you can decide what you need and what you want. But for now, just rest. Let me take care of you for a little while.”

She didn’t know what to make of this apology that contrasted so violently with her perceptions. She thought she’d be apologizing, that it would be her that had to atone for this. But now, she didn’t know what to do.

There was so much to be said, so much to explain and hash out and question.

But all she knew now was a crippling exhaustion, one that threatened to drag her under again with each passing second.

And, selfishly, she knew that she wanted Cassian to care for her. It was something she’d always wanted, yet never even vaguely considered allowing.

But her mind was scrambled. She opened her mouth to tell him this information but couldn’t get any words to come out.

No words, just more vicious, painful sobs.

“I know,” He soothed. “I know it hurts, Nes. You can go back to sleep now, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

She wondered if it frustrated him, for her to go back to sleep so quickly after she woke. But her body had already decided on it, the moment she could get her sobs to cease, and her breathing to steady.

“As long as you’ve heard it from my lips that you are safe, that we always would have come for you, that we don’t hate you, nor should, you can sleep as long as you like. I just wanted you to hear that before everyone else tries to come to see you.”

The idea of seeing anyone else was so overwhelming that she felt a little nauseous. Enough so that she opened her eyes, and managed to gasp,

“I can’t…”

Something flashed in Cassian’s eyes, something viciously protective. It was so similar to the expression Rhys often wore, when someone dared question Feyre. It occurred to her for the first time, abruptly, that it was perhaps strange that he was the one sitting here, and not her sisters.

Though, she supposed she didn’t deserve their company.

He shushed her before she could force the rest of her sentence from her mouth, using his other hand to bring her knuckles back to his lips.

“Don’t worry, no one is coming through that door until you rest some more. I promise. Just take your time, beautiful. I know you’re tired, and I know you’re in pain. There’s a tonic in your system, that should help. It’s supposed to make you sleepy, because you need to sleep.”

She didn’t know how the words managed to soothe her enough to take in a steady breath, but there was something about the resolve in his voice, paired with the softness of his touch, that made reality become just a little easier to hold on to.

Even if, in her ears, she could hear the scream of Hybern’s soldiers as they burned alive.

“It’s over,” he assured. “And that’s what matters right now. You’re safe, and you can rest.”

In the back of her mind, something suddenly protested that idea. After all, dropping her guard to do such a thing was exactly how she’d been taken in the first place-

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cassian vowed, as if he’d read her thoughts, and she wondered how he kept doing that – responding to her concerns as if she’d voiced them aloud. “No one comes through that door, other than Madja, without your saying so. I swear it, Nes.”

She believed him, despite all the chaos and pain and confusion that overwhelmed her. Somewhere, deep down inside her, she knew he meant the words wholeheartedly.

“Close your eyes,” he urged, fingers brushing over her cheeks again, her hair. “You can sleep as long as you need to, and I’ll be right here. I promise.”

She had no energy left to do anything but obey him.

“You promise,” she repeated, a whisper.

She felt his lips on her hairline, soft, so at odds with the persona he normally exuded.

“I promise.”

---

Six hours later, Cassian stared down his High Lady with his best attempt at civility.

“How could you not tell me the moment she woke?!” Feyre hissed at him, more than a little affronted when he met her at Nesta’s bedroom door, instead of letting her inside.

“She wasn’t awake for long,” Cassian countered, crossing his arms. “She was overwhelmed. It wasn’t the time.”

“You don’t get to decide when it’s the fucking time,” she snarled. “I am her sister. Elain and I do not need to go through you to see her if we wish.”

“And what about what she wishes?” Cassian argued, frowning. “She told me no, Feyre. So, the answer is no.”

Feyre straightened, eyes flashing in her ire. “She told you verbatim that she did not want to see Elain or I?”

Cassian sighed, long and tired. “Not in those precise words. But the moment I mentioned everyone else, she was distressed. She calmed when I told her no one would come in without permission.”

“So, she was awake long enough to have that conversation, but not for you to inform me.”

Rarely had he seen Feyre so incensed, and he knew she had good reason. But in his chest, the bond hummed loudly, as if in agreement with his firm position. To make matters worse, Elain was due to join her at any moment, he was sure, and then it would be two on one.

“Feyre,” Cassian tried, “she was barely coherent. She was in pain. She was tired. I gave her enough information for her to know where she was, and convinced her that she was safe here, and would be cared for. Then she went back to sleep. And she needs to sleep.”

“She’s been sleeping for days!” Feyre cried. “I’ve been driving myself mad waiting for her to show even a small sign that she’s still with us. What makes you think I would have come barreling in? Do you not think I don’t know that she’d need quiet? You do not know her best, Cassian. Gods, you don’t know her at all.”

A snarl passed his lips before he could help it, offense flaring in his chest.

“I promised her-”

“You think that mating bond in your chest gives you more right to be in that room than me? Than Elain?” Feyre accused. “You don’t get to claim Nesta just because the Mother wants you to make babies. You have been nothing but cruel to her for months now, what makes you think she even wants to see you?”

Cassian reared back, as if he’d been slapped. Feyre was right, of course, but each time he heard it plainly it felt like a blow. Still, the idea of leaving her was… unfathomable.

“She did not tell me to leave,” he gritted out. “I could feel how afraid she was, at the idea of being alone. I promised her I would stay.”

Even now, standing outside her doorway, he felt the heavy pressure to return to her side, to ensure she did not wake without him.

“You are not the only one who can sit with her, Cassian. You do not get to make the decisions here.”

“And you do?” He argued, wings flaring. “You’re the one who always sent me to fetch her, who didn’t want to take no for an answer when she declined your invitations, who constantly complained about her to all of us. Your desire for a happy family did more harm than good, and now you think you’re the one who gets to take care of her?”

“It’s my responsibility.” Feyre snapped. “She is my sister. I already admitted that our tactics were wrong, and you know that. Besides, don’t come for my actions when you didn’t even allow a moment to pass between the two of you before you were at her throat.”

“We all have things to apologize for. But the fact remains that I promised her-”

“Enough.”

Madja’s voice was cutting and cold.

Whipping his head up, he took in the healer who glowered fiercely from beside Rhys, still holding onto his arm from where he’d brought her up to the House.

“If you’re going to argue, you can take it elsewhere.” She ordered, walking in between them to the door. “Nesta does not need to hear it.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Cassian and Feyre said, at the same time. They exchanged glares, before Madja replied,

“You can sit in the room across the hall. Neither of you are good for her worked up like this. She is my patient, and so I trump both of you. Now move.”

Cassian blinked, shocked at the ferocity of the healer’s voice. Lifting his eyes, he looked to his brother for support, only to find Feyre doing the same thing.

Rhys, to his credit, remained the picture of perfect calm. With a shrug, he said,

“Madja is right. What she says goes, you know the rules.”

Feyre scoffed, her offense deepening. Cassian opened his mouth, to protest, only for the healer to bark,

“I know all about your promise, General. I will keep it for you.”

Then, without ceremony, she pushed past him, opening the door to Nesta’s bedroom, and shutting it firmly in his face.

---

Nesta was drawn back into consciousness by the sensation of a warm cloth on the back of her legs, dabbing away at the deep cuts left over from the switch. The sensation sent pain through her muscles, paired with the fact that she’d been rolled onto her side.

Suddenly, she smelled blood, saw the dark grey metal of the table she’d been bent over. She heard their laughs, felt their callouses on their palms-

 Before she could help it a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan slipped from her lips.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I know you’re uncomfortable. I’m almost done.”

It took several long seconds for her to recognize the voice – Madja. And with it, she tried to assess her surroundings.

Vaguely, she could hear the sounds of an argument from up the hall but didn’t have the mental power to properly focus on what was being said. She recognized the timbre of Cassian’s voice though, and the high pitch of Feyre’s.

There was something soothing being rubbed over each of her lashes, an ointment perhaps, and it was the feeling of wrinkled fingers on her skin that eased the rest of the confused panic that had begun to crawl up her throat.

“This should help them scab over,” Madja said. “I’m afraid you’re healing quite slowly, with how malnourished your body is. But healing, nonetheless. I’m sorry to say it will be uncomfortable still, no matter how we position you.”

Blinking, Nesta assessed the bedroom she was in properly for the first time. It was not the room she’d been put in when she first was brought here, but she recognized the House of Wind well enough. The sheets she was lying on were white, but not as stark as the bandages around her hands, the brace on her wrist, which was limp on the mattress.

She could feel the cool air on her bare legs, the fabric of her robe folded up to reveal her thighs for the healer to assess. If it were anyone else, the exposure would have sent her into distress.

“This ointment should soothe your pain shortly. Normally, I’d let you lie on your stomach while these heal, but with that stab wound, I don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure there. So, we’ll elevate your legs best we can without straining you too much.”

That’s right, she realized, she’d been stabbed. Alistair had stabbed her.

She was suddenly assaulted with flashes of long, dark hallways, the stench of burnt flesh, the coarse forest floor, full of sharp pine needles and loose stones.

How warm Cassian was, when he hauled her into his chest, disrupting the chill that had long seeped into her bone. The scent of his leathers.

Everything after that was cloudy, nonexistent. And now she was here.

“I’m going to wrap them now,” Madja warned, and Nesta tried not to grimace too much at the movement it required.

But the healer made quick work of it, and soon her robe had been pulled back down over her legs, and the female’s hands were on her shoulders, easing her onto her back, sliding cushions beneath her knees, her calves.

“Now, let me look at you.”

Lifting her head, Nesta met Madja’s gaze, just as raised voices sounded from down the hall again.

“I’ve told them to be quiet,” the healer muttered, lifting a hand to brush her fingers over the bruising on Nesta’s cheek. “I should very well kick them out of this House all together.”

“Who?” Nesta rasped, flinching as that hand moved down to brush over her throat, which she realized was just as tender.

“Try not to speak too much,” Madja advised, gently. “The bruising here is significant. It should heal in a few days too but will take longer if you strain. Does it hurt to swallow?”

Nesta tried, grimacing. She nodded once.

“That’s alright,” she soothed. “We’ve been easing tonics down your throat while you slept. Do you think you can try one now? For the pain, and to get some nutrients in your system. Your sister offered some of her blood, when you arrived, but that will do little to help rehydrate you.”

Nesta nodded again, unsure what else she could do. Madja began to adjust the pillows around her, in preparation to prop her up.

“This may hurt a little,” she warned, “but it will do you some good, to sit up a bit.”

Bracing herself, Nesta allowed the healer to lift her, the female surprisingly strong despite her smaller frame. But as her torso bent, pain flared through her abdomen, and she cried out, gritting her teeth as she was situated against the cushions.

“I know, love,” Madja empathized. “You’ve been through too much, haven’t you? Let’s get this tonic in you, and that should help.”

At this point, she’d try anything to ease how horrific she felt. Madja lifted the tonic towards her face, and her hand shot out, to grasp the vial, to prevent her from bringing it to her lips. The healer didn’t comment, smiling gently, and so Nesta accepted the vial cautiously, bringing it to her own lips before she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Madja was quiet for several moments, letting her settle, her fingers stroking gently over the back of her palm.

“I want you in bed for a few more days, before you try to walk.” She ordered. “But if you feel like you need to be cleaner, or are uncomfortable in any way, please tell me. I’ll be staying in the room two doors up, and if not me, then one of my assistants will be here for you.”

“How long…?” Nesta asked, keeping her voice a whisper.

“You’ve been sleeping for about four days. It’s the afternoon of the fifth, currently.”

Gods, that long?

She tried to do the math in her head. She’d escaped on the fifteenth day. It had been five days since.

The one-year anniversary of the end of the war was tomorrow.

What would Hybern do now, without their planned execution?

If she could be rescued in a single day, surely, they could get her back in just as little time?

Madja squeezed her hand, gently.

“You’re safe now, Nesta,” she assured. “Your family will not allow anything else to happen to you.”

Nesta closed her eyes, tilting her head back.

Fucking hell, her family.

Just down the hall, they were probably arguing about what to do with her, or how to approach whatever was going to happen now. She wondered if they’d all come in at once, to offer their opinion, or if they’d send a messenger.

Was that what Cassian had been, when she’d first woken?

No, there was something deeper there. His expression had been too raw. Too… invested.

“Is there anyone you would like me to keep from this room?”

Blinking, Nesta turned her face back to the healer’s, confused.

“What?”

Madja smiled sadly at her. “I’ve been informed that your relations have not been… ideal… with the High Lord and his Inner Circle. I have had many words with them, about not allowing me the chance to evaluate you or your sister, after the war ended. I evaluated each of them, mind you. They are feeling quite poor about the whole thing. I imagine they’re going to want to come in here with all sorts of apologies and explanations and questions. But you get to decide who is welcome, and who is not.”

Nesta frowned. “I do?”

Madja nodded, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, from where it had fallen in her face. Her touch was perhaps lighter than Cassian’s, but Nesta found herself preferring his.

“Cassian has been very protective of you, the last few days, and has only left when we force his hand, or you require privacy. Other than that, it’s just been your sisters and me, for the most part, once you were stabilized. The rest of your family has been camped out in the other rooms of the House.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, my dear. You gave us quite a fright. There was a period where we weren’t sure you’d pull through as well as you have.”

Nesta fought the urge to snort. She couldn’t imagine feeling much worse.

Still, the knowledge that they were all here was… perplexing.

“They will remain, regardless of whom you permit inside this bedroom, I expect.”

Breathing in, Nesta felt the first effects of the tonic begin to take hold – the easing of her muscles, the anxieties in her mind. It gave her the strength to say,

“Just my sisters. And… And him.”

Madja nodded, a small smile on her face, but Nesta was no longer focused on the old healer. Instead, she was more concerned with the strange sensation that had started in her chest, as soon as she spoke of Cassian’s presence.

---

Elain had known this storm was coming, one way or another.

It had been brewing from the moment Nesta’s abduction had been revealed to them.

The tension between her sister and these fae they now called family could have sparked an inferno, with the right words.

And now, standing amongst each other in the main living room of the House of Wind, she watched those flames slowly be fanned to life.

“Are we really going to go over this again?” Mor asked, tiredly, from where she sat in an armchair by the hearth. “We fucked up. We know. So, when she’s awake, we’ll apologize.”  

“It’s not that simple and you know it,” Cassian snapped, standing tall at the head of the room. “She told me she didn’t understand why we came for her. Because clearly, we haven’t given her the impression we would.”

Feyre, who stood nearly nose to nose with him, argued back, “And we can’t remedy that perception unless we can see her, Cassian. Do you not think I feel terrible about it? About assuming the worst of her and letting you all do the same?”

“We let her languish there for so long she had to break herself free,” He barked. “We should have gone the moment we knew it was Hybern. We would have, for anyone else.”

“Cassian, you know why we waited.” Rhys tried, from behind his mate. “There were too many potential outcomes.”

“You wouldn’t be saying this if it was Feyre. Or hell, if it was any of us.”

“May I remind you, Nesta left us on her own,” Mor said. “She stepped out of our circle. There was only so much we could do to prevent this.”

“She was never a part of this Circle, and you fucking know it,” Cassian snarled. “We didn’t let her.”

“You speak so self-righteously, for someone who has attacked her the most, boy.”

Amren’s voice was cool, though she’d largely been quiet for most of this argument. Elain found she was least annoyed by her presence, out of everyone else’s, at the moment.

Cassian turned his ire on the petite female with ease, accusing, “And you haven’t?”

“I never said that. But for you to assert that you can see her, when the rest of us can’t, is laughable. Any one of us going into that room right now world be a disservice to her, whether you want to believe it or not.”

“Amren, Elain and I have to see our sister.” Feyre tried, exasperated.

“Why?” Amren asked. “So, she can feel better, or you can?”

Feyre blinked rapidly, as if she’d been struck.

“You’re all chomping at the bit to say something because it will ease your guilt.” Turning to Cassian, she continued, “you keep asserting that you’ve promised her your presence, but has she actually said she wants it? You’ve inserted yourself at her side before she could decide, because your guilt is so profound that it challenges every perception you have about yourself and your goodness.”

“She is my mate,” Cassian replied, deathly quiet. “What else should I be feeling other than guilt and shame?”

“Does Nesta know that?” Amren asked. “If she is none the wiser, then the only person you’re helping by soothing the shame your bond casts upon you is you.”

Absently, Elain heard Madja’s voice from up the hall, soothing, and noted that Nesta must be awake, for the second time.

But it seemed no one noticed, for they were all still consumed with one another.

“What do you suggest then, Amren?” Rhys asked, tiredly. “Wait for Nesta to ask for help? That went so well the last time.”

“We wait until she’s not on death’s door before showering her with apologies meant to make us feel better. Let the healers comfort her for now, and if she asks for one of us, then we go.”

“She doesn’t think she deserves our care,” Feyre countered. “She won’t ask even if she wants to. We need to show up for her.”

Elain scanned her eyes across the room before they snagged on the shadowsinger who sat in the corner. Azriel was watching her back, and she tracked one of the shadows that curled up his arm to whisper in his ear.

She held his gaze as he was likely informed about Nesta’s being awake. Without shifting his expression, he tilted his head in the direction of the hall, a silent suggestion.

No one would notice her leave, anyway.

“If you overwhelm her, you’re disrespecting her boundaries as much as you are ‘showing up’” Amren retorted. “You will see her. We all will see her. But let the girl remember how to breathe first. And that includes you, boy.”

Cassian continued to protest, joined this time by Feyre, the two of them now strangely on the same side of the argument.

Pushing to her feet, Elain decided she’d heard enough of this conversation, and moved quietly down the hall, towards the bedroom where her other sister resided. She felt Azriel’s eyes on her as she went, and fought a smile, silently pleased he let her go.

Approaching the door, she listened for Madja’s voice, to assess whether Nesta truly was coherent.

“The High Lord brought you back from the island bleeding profusely. Aside from the wounds on your legs and your stomach, you’ve got bruising around your throat, your ribs, and your arms. There are cuts on your feet and your palms from your escape. Your wrist is fractured, though not too severely. Your cheekbone too, though I’ve mostly healed it. I didn’t want to risk damage to your eyes and prioritized it first after we stabilized you.”

“I see.”

Her sister’s voice was nothing but a near-silent whisper. But it was there, nonetheless, and the relief that hit Elain was almost enough to bring her to tears.

“I did not find any evidence that you were harmed in more… intimate ways. Is that correct?”

Nesta was silent for a moment, long enough that anxiety pinched her chest. But then she heard the healer say, “Good. Though, it doesn’t make this any less traumatic,” and assumed she’d nodded.

Taking a breath, Elain raised her hand, knuckles tapping lightly on the wood, quiet enough not to disrupt the ongoing debate a few feet away.

There was another beat of quiet, as if in deliberation, and then she heard Madja’s footsteps across the carpet, slow and steady. When the door opened, Elain took care to keep her eyes on the healer, in case Nesta was feeling private.

“Tired of the bickering too, I assume?” Madja asked.

Elain offered a tight smile. “It is not my priority, at the moment.”

Madja nodded her head before turning to look back at her patient, seemingly asking a silent question. Elain held her breath as she waited, and when the healer stepped back, allowing her entrance, she released it in a relieved sigh.

Stepping inside, she waited for the door to shut behind her before she took in Nesta properly. Her sister sat slightly propped up, not quite sitting yet no longer fully prone. Elain had come to know what to expect in terms of how battered she looked, but with the added weight of the exhaustion in her sister’s eyes, the impact felt just as fresh as when she saw her for the first time, limp in Rhysand’s arms.

Nesta watched her, eyes scanning over her frame, as she often did when assessing her safety. Elain let her, happy to allow her sister the option to be protective if it made her feel better. But when she opened her mouth, to speak, she preempted,

“If the first words out of your mouth are an apology, I don’t want to hear it.”

Nesta blinked, but then pressed her lips together, and remained silent.

“How are you feeling?” Elain asked, moving closer to the bed, just as Madja went back to her designated chair, lifting Nesta’s braced hand to begin unwrapping the bandages.

Her sister let out a huff.

“Perfect.”

Elain nodded. They stared at each other for another few seconds, perhaps unsure how to proceed. But then, Nesta sighed, lifting her better hand in a summons.

Reaching out to take it, Elain sat down on the mattress. Her sister’s skin still felt cool, though not as much as before.

“You gave them hell,” She said. “I don’t know if Cassian told you.”

“I butchered dozens of people.”

“Soldiers who were ordered to hurt you. It’s not the same, Nesta.”

Nesta looked away briefly, watching the healer use her magic to repair the bones in her wrist.

“I wanted revenge,” she said quietly. “And yet I feel guilty for it.”

“Because you are good,” Madja offered, without looking up from her work. “All good souls feel guilt when taking a life.”

Elain nodded. “Anyway, according to Rhys, much of the civilian staff fled from the moment it was clear the walls had been breached.”

Nesta frowned, betraying her confusion. Elain tilted her head, stroking over the back of her palm.

“Cassian destroyed the entire castle. It’s gone now. Azriel and Rhysand helped, I think, at least to cut through the guards and main defenses. But Cassian removed his siphons and used some kind of primal Illyrian magic to eradicate everything.”

Brows furrowed, Nesta asked,

“Is that why-?”

“He’ll be fine,” Madja assured. “Burns on his hands, but nothing fatal. More emotionally distressing for his brothers, than anything else, I reckon.”

“I don’t know why he went to such a…” Nesta began, though trailed off, a wince in her features.

Right. Madja had mentioned she wouldn’t be able to talk much.

“Men – males – are foolish.” Elain said. “They don’t know what to do with their emotions. They care for someone so much, they become jealous, they hurt them. They become so protective; they destroy everything.”

“Mates especially,” Madja murmured.

Nesta, to her credit, did not show her surprise on her face. But something like understanding dawned in her eyes, as if everything suddenly made sense.

Of course, to her, it would. In her mind, Cassian wouldn’t come for her unless bound by natural instinct.

But Elain had watched every time he came back from her apartment, frustrated and at a loss with himself, unsure how their interactions always ended so poorly yet aware he had been too harsh. She knew that he worried about her every moment of every day.

And she knew that he had not stopped attempting to atone for his failures from the moment they knew Nesta had been taken.

Mating bonds may be a thing of coercion, something that Elain wanted no part of herself, but she had seen him in enough distress, from the moment they stepped off that battlefield, to know his feelings were genuine.

Madja finished wrapping Nesta’s wrist and leaned back in her chair, assessing.

“I’m satisfied for now. Do you need anything else, child? I’ll be back before nightfall, to give you something to sleep.”

Nesta shook her head, and Elain smiled gratefully at the healer as she pushed to her feet to take her leave.

“I’ll keep them at bay for a little while longer,” Madja said. “If I need to ward this room, I will.”

“Thank you,” Nesta whispered, shoulders slumping just a little once the two of them were alone.

Elain let out a long breath as silence settled over them once more.

“They didn’t try and come for you?” Nesta asked finally, tension stark in her features.

“No,” Elain replied. “I’ve been perfectly safe.”

There was another stretch of quiet, the tension of things unsaid growing between them. To avoid it, she offered,

“I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Nesta looked increasingly weary as she tilted her head back.

“Me too.”

It wasn’t enough, of course. But Cassian was right in one thing; her sister was tired and deserved to rest.

Squeezing her hand, Elain asked,

“What do you need now?”

Nesta assessed her for a moment, through her half-closed eyes. Then, silently, she lifted her arm again.

Elain smiled at her, shifting to lay carefully along the edge of the mattress. Gently, she placed her arm over her sister’s middle, avoiding the wound that had almost taken her from them.

“I’m here,” she said. “For as long as you want.”

And for the first time since this interaction began, Elain felt her sister finally ease.

---

Feyre should have expected Elain to run out of patience, amongst all the bickering.

It had ended in a stalemate – Cassian being ordered to the roof for a spar with his brothers, while Amren and Mor made themselves busy elsewhere.

Madja had been the one to break the argument – only Elain, Feyre, and Cassian were allowed in Nesta’s room, until her sister said otherwise.

Which was all Feyre had wanted, really.

But when she’d looked for Elain, to gauge her reaction, she saw that her sister was already gone, and knew there was only one place to find her.

She pushed the door open to Nesta’s room quietly, the silence from within telling her that she was likely asleep.

Immediately, she spotted Elain on the bed, lying perfectly still, far enough away so as not to cause Nesta any pain yet close enough for comfort. Nesta’s face was lax as she slept, one of her hands holding lightly onto Elain’s arm, which was carefully draped across her.

As she rounded to the other side, she found her second sister’s eyes open, watching her.

“I should have known you’d ignore the rest of us to come in here,” Feyre said quietly, though there was no irritation to it.

Elain’s lips quirked upwards. “No one was going to miss me.”

“That’s not true,” Feyre countered, but even as she said the words, she knew what her sister meant.

Elain largely existed in the background, quiet and content. She was never expected to partake in large discussions.

“How was she?” Feyre asked, perching on the armchair beside the bed.

Elain let out a breath, shifting to pillow her head under her free arm.

“Exhausted. But still our Nesta. She could hear the arguing.”

Feyre grimaced, guilty for it.

“Did you say anything to her?”

“I gave her a simple apology, but nothing further. I don’t even know where to begin, Feyre.”

Feyre nodded. “I understand Cassian’s protectiveness. But I also understand Amren. Apologizing just to make ourselves feel better will do little if she’s unable to hear it. And yet, I can’t bear for her not to know just how fucked up this all became.”

“She knows about him,” Elain murmured. “Madja told her, though I don’t think she realized Nesta didn’t know.”

Sucking in a breath, Feyre’s chest suddenly felt tight. That was something she hadn’t even begun pondering how to bring up.

“She thinks he came for her out of universal obligation, then?” She guessed.

Elain shrugged. “Probably. But it’s more than that for him, it always has been. She will come around.”

Feyre tilted her head. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so… okay with it.”

Her sister’s eyes betrayed nothing, though her hand adjusted Nesta’s blankets, in a nervous fidget.

“He loves her. I’ve known that since before we knew of the bond. And she’s loved him ever since the human lands. It drove her half mad. I think, with how long we have to live now, they should have their chance.”

Lips twitching upwards, Feyre pondered, “I wish I knew enough about her to see that.”

“I don’t think she knew enough about herself to admit it. But you didn’t have to live alone with her, all those months in the estate, then here in the House. You missed much of their interactions.”

“So, I did,” Feyre acquiesced. “Too much, I think.”

“And we both missed the signs after the war. I thought she’d come out of this just as much as you did. I wasn’t expecting her to leave. And when she did, I was too hurt to make sure she was alright.”

Feyre nodded. “Me too.”

Between them, Nesta let out a long breath, her head shifting to the side. The tonics Madja gave her encouraged a deep sleep, one that was not easily broken. Feyre reached a hand out anyway, to soothe her.

“I never wanted something like this to happen again. To either of you.” She said, stroking through her sister’s hair.

“I know. It isn’t your fault. I think she is afraid, though, and may be for a long time. She will consider everywhere to be a battlefield, even here.”

“I know.” Feyre replied. “But we’ll help her feel safe again. Even if she’s stubborn about it.”

Another small smile pulled at Elain’s lips, and they sat quietly for a few minutes more, content with what had been said.

But then, Nesta’s brows furrowed, and her breathing changed. As her eyes fluttered, Feyre shifted to settle on the edge of the mattress. It was slow, distinctly groggy, but when her sister’s eyes opened, and she saw the recognition within them as they met her own, something finally loosened in her chest that had been constricting since this entire mess began.

“Feyre…” Nesta murmured, the second syllable of her name almost inaudible.

“Yeah,” Feyre affirmed. “Right here.”

Nesta let out a small sound of acknowledgement, distinctly battling her own consciousness. Feyre’s fingers were light as she stroked through her hair.

“Don’t fight,” Elain said quietly. “You can be sleepy, Nesta. It’s alright.”

“You deserve to be sleepy,” Feyre agreed. “You kicked some serious ass, you know.”

A single huff blew out of Nesta’s nose as she blinked to try and keep her eyes open. Her gaze trailed over Feyre’s frame, somehow sharply assessing despite her grogginess. Tiredly, she mumbled,

“I’m sorry,”

“No,” Feyre replied firmly, shaking her head. “No, whatever you’re sorry for is trumped by this. I think you’ve been through enough, sister. Enough, and then some.”

“I told her no apologies,” Elain said. “Stubborn.”

“I think we can excuse the stubbornness if it kept her alive,” Feyre said, with a small smile. “Right, Nesta?”

Nesta made a small, noncommittal sound, before her eyes closed again. Feyre took the opportunity to settle herself down, mirroring Elain on the other side. Elain smiled at her, approving.

Without opening her eyes, Nesta’s braced hand shifted towards Feyre, fingers opening in a silent offer.

The action had her throat tightening, relief and grief battling against one another. Resolutely, she grasped her sister’s fingers, careful of the healing bones.

“You’re safe,” Feyre promised. “Sleep as long as you need to, big sister.” 

And as Nesta drifted back off, unable to fight her body’s need for rest, Feyre closed her eyes too, clinging to these first moments of peace.

---

Cassian didn’t feel the least bit sorry as his fist connected harshly with Rhys’ cheek.

His brother took the hit gracefully, stumbling back several paces, without much comment.

But then Azriel was on him, lashing out in quick strikes, and he barely had enough focus to counter them, trying and failing to sweep the shadowsinger under the leg.

It was a cheap shot, one that rarely worked, but he wanted to try anyway.

“Have you gotten a grip yet?” Azriel asked him, lip curled in fury.

Cassian snarled back, fist flying.

He didn’t know when his brothers had agreed on two on one, only that they’d barely given him a chance to warm up before they were both at him, coming from all angles.

It was a deep satisfaction to know he could hold them both for as long as he had. Over half an hour, to be exact.

Rhys appeared behind him, yanking him backwards, but he kept his footing, whirling to face his other opponent. The skin on his brother’s cheek had split, just barely, bleeding sluggishly.

“Are you tired yet?” He asked, moving before Rhys could reply, his knee shoving upwards into his stomach.

His brother wheezed, going down on a knee before he held up a hand, in silent request to cease.

But Azriel wasn’t finished, and soon he was refocused, ducking under his shadow-covered left hand and jerking around to hit him in the back, his foot lodging into the back of his knees.

Azriel growled, reaching back, and the two of them went down in a tangle of limbs, neither willing to yield.

“It’s about time you stop being a fucking idiot,” Azriel snapped, pushing against him.

Cassian didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly his brother’s boot had stomped down on his healing hand, and he cried out, rolling over onto his back, chest heaving.

A low blow in kind, to the cruel words he’d used days earlier, no doubt.

His brother plopped himself down between Cassian and Rhys, running a rough hand through his hair. For several seconds, Cassian stared up at the sky, his chest burning in exertion, his hand throbbing.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long, tense silence.

Because he knew he had been an idiot. From the moment Nesta was brought home, he’d been an idiot.

Azriel scoffed, falling to lay on his back, his own breaths coming quickly.

“I mean it,” Cassian pressed, turning his head to look at him. “I shouldn’t have been so bullheaded.”

“You’re acting just as any newly mated male would,” Rhys offered, unable to hide the tension from his voice – likely still sore. “Though, Amren was right. You’ve been rather horrible, just like the rest of us.”

“I know,” Cassian said. “I know.”

“Still, you’re the one who found her,” Rhys continued. “She’s in shock, no doubt. She probably associates you with safety, and nothing else. If not consciously, then subconsciously. It’s your job, after all, to protect her.”

“It’s not a job,” Cassian countered, roughly. “It’s a privilege.”

“One you better earn,” Azriel said. “I promised the lady Sofia and her grandson that we’d do better for her. I intend to keep that promise.”

Cassian sighed, reaching up to pinch his brow.

“I just… we can’t fuck this up. We have one chance to make this right,” he said. “I told her she would have the chance to tell us what she wanted, once she was well. It may very well be that what she wants is to have nothing to do with us ever again.”

“Don’t say that” Rhys murmured. “It would destroy Feyre.”

“It would be Nesta’s choice,” Cassian replied. “But I mean it, Rhys. Whatever apologies you and everyone else are creating need to be genuine. It can’t be self-righteous. Nesta isn’t the easiest person to get along with, I know that. But we didn’t give her the chance to be anything else. This isn’t going to be fixed in one conversation.”

“You think we would be anything but genuine?” Rhys asked. “After this? It shouldn’t have taken a near-death experience for us to get our acts together, but now there’s no other option but to be genuinely remorseful.”

Cassian nodded. “I don’t know how to go about it. I want to keep her safe, want to let her heal. I don’t want her to be overwhelmed with all the things we need to say. But I also want to apologize until she doesn’t doubt it.”

“Actions often speak louder than words,” Azriel said from beside him. “Elain knew that well enough. Have you considered just taking it one day at a time?”

“Listen to him, so emotionally intelligent,” Rhys mused, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. “He’s right though. Take the pressure off, Cassian. It won’t help any of us. Least of all Nesta. She’s tired and going to be tired for a long time. Putting a timeline on when to do or say what will only make that worse.”

He let out a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to calm the raging need in his chest to be by her side again. He knew fully well who was with her now and didn’t doubt that he’d have the full wrath of the Archerons, should he interrupt.

“It will be alright, Cass.” Azriel said, quietly. “You have to believe that. We all do. Believe it, so Nesta can believe it too.”

Fluttering his lashes open to look back up at the clouds, the rich blues and oranges and yellows, Cassian took the words to heart. He repeated them, over and over, like a prayer.

It would be alright.

It would be alright.

It would be alright.

Chapter Text

Her scalp burned; her hair wrapped tightly around coarse fingers.

‘Stay quiet.’ That voice whispered in her ear as she fought to stay conscious, her body pushing weakly at groping hands.

‘Keep her still.’

There were flashes of the world around her – Velaris’ cobble streets, thick woods, the rocking of a boat churning her stomach.

An endless cold seeped into her bones, permanent, aching her joints. The scratchy, sharp straw of hay cutting into her legs.

Then, there was pain. Screaming, wailing, and blood. So much blood.

Disfigured faces, the smell of smoke.

The sight of a dagger, buried in her stomach.

‘Let’s see how far you get now, kingslayer.’

Nesta woke with a sharp gasp, sending a stab of pain down her body. Sunlight streamed into the room, making her squint, and there was a weight over her waist – too heavy.

She jerked, desperate for freedom, causing that pressure to cease, and the weight on the mattress to shift.

“Hey,” Feyre said tiredly, lifting her head. “Hey, it’s okay, Nesta.”

But Nesta couldn’t breathe. She had to get out. Or she would die-

“Nesta,” her sister said more firmly, sitting up and moving away just enough to give her space. “Nesta, breathe. You’re home. You’re in the House of Wind.”

Everything was too hot, too tense, and as she tried to force herself upwards, to free herself of the sheets, she felt her power clawing up her throat, prepared to defend her.

“Get away from me,” She gasped. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay,” Feyre replied, gently. “You’re okay. Nesta, you’re okay.”

Nesta squeezed her eyes shut, unable to get the smell of blood out of her nose, the taste of it from her mouth. She couldn’t stay here, she needed to escape, to get free, to-

There was a creaking of a door, heavy footsteps, and a deep, familiar scent that fell over her in a shroud – giving her pause.

“Let me try,” he asserted, his voice sounding far away.

But then, the mattress dipped, and he was closer.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said. “It’s all over now, you’re okay.”

‘You’re safe, sweetheart. It’s over.’

She saw his face in her mind, the devastation in his eyes that battled with his resolve, the way his body language demonstrated he wasn’t a threat as he threw his blade to the forest floor.

His hand settled over hers, and she was struck by the warmth of it. It made her remember the feeling of his arms as he held her against his chest, his strength as he cupped her face, encouraging her to focus.

If Cassian was here, it meant she was safe. That it was over.

“You’re home, Nes,” he soothed. “No one can hurt you here. I promise.”

Nesta opened her eyes and was met with the golden hues of his own, which were soft.

“I promise,” he repeated, and his other hand lifted, brushing tears off her cheeks that she hadn’t realized were falling.

He let the palm of his hand rest there, thumb stroking over the skin. The bandages were rough, but his touch was gentle. 

“Just breathe,” he said. “Take your time.”

Nesta breathed in through her nose, a sound of discomfort slipping past her lips before she could help it.

“I know,” he murmured. “It hurts, yeah?”

It did, and she was abruptly reminded of her current situation – mates. Could he feel her pain as acutely as she did?

“I’ll get Madja,” Feyre offered, and Nesta turned her head, to take in her sister.

Feyre smiled softly at her, and if she was offended by how violently Nesta had reacted, she didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered anyway, guilty for waking her.

Feyre shook her head. “That’s twice now,” she said. “No apologies Nesta, remember? You’re allowed to take your time.”

Reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, Feyre pushed off the mattress and walked out into the hallway, leaving her alone with him.

With her mate.

---

The next few hours that ensued were… hellish.

Madja had recommended a bath – something that made her feel more like a child than she already was as healers undressed her and awkwardly positioned her in the water. She still wasn’t allowed to stand on her own, and so it was a chaotic endeavor – multiple hands touching and scrubbing and rebandaging.

By the time they were finished, her ears rung with oversensitivity.  

Then, they’d wanted to take more tonics. But the tonics made her sleepy, and now that she was properly awake, sleep was the last thing she wanted.

Sleep was how she was taken. Sleep meant the nightmares. Anything could happen to her while she slept. And today of all days, she needed to be on her guard.

Because today was her execution day.

They claimed she was safe here, in the House of Wind. But Hybern’s ravens had successfully attacked the Library, had they not? If her death was truly as important for their people’s vengeance as the king claimed, how did they know she wasn’t at a risk?

She thought to ask, but the healers moved so quickly, and before she could form her words or force her bruised throat to work, Madja was saying something about a moment’s peace, and leaving her alone.

Which led her to now, sitting once more, in the damned bed.

Her hair was damp, and she was dressed in yet another nightgown – fresh bandages down her legs, around her torso. It was an ugly thing – the wound on her stomach – and she’d barely been able to look at it without feeling nauseous.

Her wrist was still frustratingly braced, and the whole thing left her feeling, quite frankly, helpless.

Sitting here in the silence, she was faced with the reality that there was nothing she could do to defend herself like this, not really. Other than relying on a power that was as unpredictable as it was horrifically destructive.

If she destroyed this House in an attempt to protect herself, where would that get her?

What she wanted was a weapon. What she needed was a weapon.

But there was nothing at her bedside other than heavy lamps, a soft book, and a glass of water.

She could break the glass, she supposed, but the thought of using the shards as a weapon had her seeing Jamis’ face in her mind, and worse, what was left of it when she was finished with him.

She had a feeling that if her sisters knew she wanted a weapon, they would assert she was perfectly safe here, and deny her request. They simply didn’t understand. The threat could be anywhere, even under their noses.

Scanning her eyes around the room, Nesta contemplated her options. There had to be something here, in this House that was the dwelling place of so many warriors.

Her eyes snagged on the desk in the corner, with countless drawers, a stationary set sitting delicately on top.

It was a suitable target.

She grimaced as she threw back the blankets, assessing her legs that had been largely useless.

Such a mission would hurt, but it would be worth it.

Taking in a deep breath, she forced herself up, gritting her teeth through the pain in her abdomen. She commanded her legs to move, to turn, until they bent over the side, and her feet brushed the floor.

She hadn’t looked at the soles of her feet, she only knew they’d been bleeding when Cassian found her in the woods. But as she gingerly put pressure on them, she realized the damage must have been more than minor, for no sooner did sharp pain radiate up her legs, making them tremble.

Still, she was determined.

Reaching out, Nesta gripped tightly onto the bedside table as she slowly, painstakingly, forced herself onto her feet.

For several seconds, the world spun, and white stars danced in front of her eyes. But she didn’t fall.

Breathing out, she took one slow step, then two, grimacing at the way her legs protested, her body throbbed.

Suddenly, the desk seemed quite far away indeed.

She stumbled, reaching out for the windowsill, then the armoire, fingers clasping onto the wood so hard she wondered faintly if she’d leave a mark.

Slowly, so slowly, her feet shuffled across the carpet.

Nesta fought a whimper as her body moved forward, but she pushed forward, harder and harder, until she caught the edge of the desk, her chest heaving.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently commanded the ringing in her ears to cease, and for her mind to focus. When she opened them, she was resolute, and made as swift work as she was able sorting through the desk’s contents, opening the large drawer and rummaging through.

There was nothing but pens, vials of ink, parchment, and—there.

Nesta’s fingers curled around the metal hilt of a letter opener – duller than a blade but better than nothing.

It glinted in the sunlight, looking practically brand new.

Would it be sharp enough if she had to use it?

She contemplated it, flipping it over in her hand, and still fighting to catch her breath from her trek across the bedroom, when suddenly the door creaked open.

Head snapping up, she gripped the handle of the letter opener tightly, freezing in place.

Instead of a threat, though, she was simply met with the beautiful face of the shadowsinger, who was assessing her back with slightly raised brows.

Fuck.

His eyes flicked down to what she was holding, and she did the same, before they met each other’s gazes again. Nesta prepared herself for chastisement, for being out of bed, for pathetically wanting something to protect herself with, in a house full of some of Prythian’s most powerful.

Silently, Azriel stepped inside, letting the door shut behind him. Without a word, he reached for his waist, fingers wrapping around something behind his back. Pulling it free, Nesta took in the small dagger that was distinctly Illyrian steel, its grip wrapped in fine leather.

It wasn’t as large as his beloved Truthteller, but it was, without a doubt, far more formidable a weapon than a letter opener.

Tentatively, he approached, his movements soft – softer than she’d ever seen. Once he was a few feet from her, he flipped the blade towards himself and reached out his hand, offering her the hilt.

“This might be better,” he said quietly. “Trade you?”

Nesta blinked, looking briefly down to the device she held, which now seemed rather pathetic.

Lifting her chin, she assessed his offering, and slowly lifted her hand, to give hers in return. He took it easily, sliding in into a pocket, before allowing her fingers to wrap around the dagger he offered her. As he released it, she set her hand around the hilt the way she vaguely remembered Cassian doing – the way she’d done when she’d fled Hybern’s keep.

“I was supposed to die today,” she said, a bit dumbly, as if that would explain her situation suitably enough to justify it.

Azriel nodded in understanding. “Well, it’s just too bad for them that you didn’t.”

He let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, as he watched the way she held the dagger, before he offered, “You hold it like Cass does. But he prefers his other hand, and he’s larger than you, so his movements are different.”

Reaching forward, he stopped just before he brushed over her grip, and asked, “May I?”

Nesta nodded stiffly, and forced her fingers to relax as he adjusted them.

“You are smaller,” he offered. “Presumably faster. Swing the blade this way and you’ll have more success.”

She committed the grip to memory. Azriel took a step back, reaching behind him again to unbuckle the sheath that he’d been wearing somewhere on his person. Holding it up for her, he moved easily to her bedside, where he placed it on the table.

“I don’t recommend sleeping with it under your pillow unsheathed. I promise the blade exits its pouch easily enough for it not to be a hindrance.”

He returned to her side in another breath, waiting patiently for her to process what he was giving her.

“If you want another,” he added, “just let me know.”

Another? She could have two?

Nesta shifted her eyes to his face, trying to assess whether this was a joke of some kind. But he looked entirely serious, just as he did before a battle. He was offering protection, something to keep her alive in the event of a threat.

There was nothing funny about that.

“Thank you,” she rasped, throat suddenly tight at the idea he’d sacrifice one of his own weapons for her comfort.

Azriel dipped his chin in silent acknowledgement, before he looked down at her feet, nostrils flaring in a way that prompted her to do the same. Copper met her nose, just enough for her to ascertain that she was bleeding through the bandages wrapped around her soles.

Madja was going to have a fit, surely.

“Can I help?” He asked softly, though made no move to enter her space.

For reasons she couldn’t quite understand, she realized abruptly that she trusted him inherently. Azriel, she knew, wouldn’t hurt her.

So, she nodded.

---

Cassian sat quietly at Nesta’s side, watching as she took slow sips of a cup of tea.

It still hurt her to swallow, and after she’d woken screaming this morning, she had been quiet, using few words.

But she hadn’t kicked him out yet, seemingly more content with his presence than without it.

At least, according to Feyre.

‘She’s so nervous,’ she’d said in the hall, while they let Madja wash her. ‘I’m worried everything sets her off. She seems to trust you, though.’

Cassian didn’t know if trust was the right word, more than it was the basest parts of her mind associating him with safety, after he’d been the one to find her in that forest. Trust wasn’t something he felt he’d earned. At least, not yet.

Still, he felt her anxiety through the bond, which set him on edge, and his desire to be near her wasn’t able to be ignored for long.

So, he sat comfortably in a chair beside her, content in the knowledge that she’d eased upon seeing him, even if she hadn’t said it aloud. Unwrapping the bandages around his hands, they sat in comfortable silence – something he wagered she desperately needed.

They were mostly healed, though he had a feeling Madja would insist on bandages for another day or two.

He felt her eyes on him as he worked, but he didn’t lift his head to meet them until his hands were free, and he could flex them.

Nesta’s brows were furrowed slightly as he met her gaze, and she held out a hand, in silent request.

Cassian offered her a small smile as he set his palm over hers, allowing her to run her fingers over the healing skin. She was quiet for a long time, seemingly content to conduct her assessment, until she said,

“I heard what you did.” Her voice was a quiet rasp, barely above a whisper, but he hung on every word.

“They deserved worse,” He replied, easily.

He splayed his fingers, allowing her own to lace through.

“You shouldn’t have risked it,” Nesta said. “It was reckless.”

Cassian snorted. “Did Azriel tell you that?”

Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction.

“Madja told me.” She answered. “She said it was to be expected, given our situation.”

Ah.

Cassian let out a long, careful breath. Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, reverent, before he said, gently,  

“I would have done it for you regardless.”

She didn’t respond to that, seemingly fixated on her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes watching the way their fingers linked together, how his thumb stroked over her skin. “For embarrassing you, before. I understand why you were angry. If I had known that we were-”

“Stop.” He interrupted, shaking his head. “Stop, that has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. That was my fault, not yours. I had no right to treat you that way. You don’t owe me a single thing, Nesta. I mean that.”

Nesta lifted her eyes to his and assessed him as if he’d just spewed nonsense at her.

“I didn’t come for you because you are my mate,” he asserted, desperate to rid her of the expression. “I came for you because you are important to me. Because you are a part of this family, and I promised you things that you deserve to have but I failed to give you.”

She took a long moment to process his words, and Cassian squeezed her hand gently.

“As far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t have to be anything. You don’t owe me anything, and you aren’t obligated to give me anything. I will be here as long as you want me to. I want to help you in whatever way I can, or whatever way you need. I want you to feel safe, Nes, and I know you don’t feel safe right now.”

Letting out a long breath, she answered,

“I don’t know how to feel safe.”

Cassian offered her a small smile in understanding. “Did that blade Azriel gave you help?”

Her brows rose in answer, surprised he knew about it.

“I saw it missing from him, earlier,” he offered. “He’s quite meticulous about his weapons, you know. And I know a thing or two about wanting something sharp as a comfort. Does it help?”

She blinked, and he wondered if what he said was unexpected to her, for she certainly seemed caught off guard. But then, she nodded.

Cassian pressed another kiss to her knuckles. “Then that’s all that matters.”

“Do they hurt?” She asked after a moment. “Your hands?”

“No,” he replied, honestly. “Do you hurt?”

He knew the answer, he could feel it in his chest. But he waited for her affirmation anyway. And when she nodded again, he reached for her bedside, where Madja had left tonics behind.

Nesta hesitated as he lifted one, uneasiness in her eyes.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Your body needs rest,” Cassian tried, gently.

But she shook her head, brows knitting together.

“It’s not…” She let out a huff, as if irritated with herself. “It’s dangerous to sleep.”

Cassian blinked, processing. And when the understanding finally dawned on him, he could only empathize. He would be the same way, in her position.

“What if I sit with you? I’ll be awake the whole time.”

In truth, it’s practically what he’d done for the days they were waiting for her to wake. But this felt more meaningful somehow, declaring his commitment to her now that she could hear it.

Nesta shook her head. “I won’t keep you.”

“There’s nowhere else for me to be, sweetheart. Unless you wish me to go.”

Her fingers flexed against his, and he squeezed again, in reassurance.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Don’t go.”

Cassian nodded, relief and satisfaction filling his chest at the words, even though he knew the reasoning for them was based in such horrors. That he would blame on the bond.  

“Then I’ll be right here.”

---

Cassian kept his word, staying right by Nesta’s bedside through the rest of the day.

But eventually, her sisters came back to call, though she didn’t know if it was out of concern or their own guilt.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised her, as Elain appeared with tea and soup. “If you need me, I’ll come right back.”

It was a reassurance she didn’t quite understand why she needed, but it was enough to settle her mind enough for her sister’s next request.

“Let me brush your hair, Nesta,” Elain said, with a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Nesta didn’t deny her the opportunity, particularly because it allowed her to sit in a plush chair, rather than her bed.

But that was where her relief ended.

Her sister was always gentle in her touches, but each time the brush ripped over her scalp, Jamis’ hands flashed before her eyes, then Alistair’s. Her nerve endings felt as though they were on fire, and her breath felt as though it was trapped in her chest.

Elain took her time, brushing and brushing and brushing, until Nesta could do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut and bear it.

It felt too heavy, her hair long and thick over her shoulders, and when her sister left it down, declaring her job finished, she was desperate for some kind of relief.

When Elain left her be, she stumbled on tender feet into the bathroom, all but collapsing onto the edge of the bathtub, tugging her hair off her neck and freeing the dagger she’d been keeping clutched in the pocket of her robe.

Before she could properly process it, she was hacking off the ends of her hair like her life depended on it.

Because, in that moment, it did.

She didn’t care about appearances, didn’t care about anything except making sure that no one could grab her that way again. Her scalp tingled too much, her entire body was on edge, unable to separate her current reality with the memories.

It only occurred to her after the first chunk of hair hit the floor that she’d never actually cut her own hair before.

The sight of it brought tears to her eyes, and for a horrifying second, she could only stare dumbly down at what she’d done, wondering how she’d gotten here.

But such a thing couldn’t be undone, and so she kept hacking away, sawing the blade through her hair viciously, even as her vision blurred through her tears.

Her mother would be rolling in her grave, to see her like this. So unhinged.

Still, the more hair that hit the floor, the less overwhelmed she felt.

The consequences of it seemed irrelevant, with a relief so profound.

“Hey, Nes?”

The voice made her jump, and her head snapped up, suddenly meeting Cassian’s eyes in the bathroom mirror.

He stood in the doorway, hand raised as if he were about to knock, and she could only watch as his eyes roved over the damage, moving from the floor up to her head.

Impressively, his face remained perfectly neutral.

“You shouldn’t be on those feet,” he said, softly.

Nesta pursed her lips, looking down at them. They didn’t hurt quite as badly as before, but she’d honestly forgotten about them all together in her desperation to rid herself of the memories, the phantom hands she could feel all over her.

She didn’t have any words to offer him in explanation, suddenly realizing how absurd she looked.

“I… just needed-”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he interrupted, with a small smile. “But, if you like, I might be able to help.”

Nesta blinked. “Help?”

Cassian nodded. “I can make it even, at least.”

Lifting her head, she assessed herself in the mirror, and grimaced.

It was the very definition of a hack job.

All of Elain’s hard work, wasted.

A wretched sight.

“Alright,” she said quietly, at a loss.

“Stay here a second,” he said, and promptly disappeared, walking back into the bedroom.

She listened as he moved things around, sitting awkwardly in the bathroom, her blade limp in her hands. When he returned, he held out a hand, in offering.

“Let me help you?”

Nesta accepted, allowing him to scoop her up, and then carry her out onto the balcony, where he’d placed a chair.

“I figured the sun might do you some good,” he explained, easing her down onto the cushions. “It’s warm out today.”

Breathing in, she took in the fresh air, the soft breeze. It was soothing in a way she didn’t think she would feel again.

“I’m going to touch your hair now, alright?”

She tensed, despite herself, but nodded her head, bringing her hands together nervously.

But Cassian’s touch was gentle – somehow far more so than her sister’s – as he pulled her hair back around her shoulders.

“Elain is going to kill me,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

“Fae hair grows quite quickly,” Cassian offered. “It will likely be back to where it was before in a few months.”

Nesta quirked a brow, surprised. Her hair had gotten longer since becoming fae, but in truth she hadn’t paid much attention.

“How often do you cut your hair then?”

Cassian laughed, softly. “Less often than Rhys and Azriel. Every few weeks, usually. Just a trim.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll even this out to just below your shoulders, alright?” He asked. “If it’s still too long, I can make it shorter.”

Closing her eyes, she mentally prepared herself for the feeling.

His touch was strangely soothing, somehow easing the anxiety in her chest. He avoided her scalp as he worked, and for several long minutes, the only sound between them was the steady ‘snip’ of the scissors that the House had apparently conjured for him.

She wondered how absurd her life had become, to find more peace in Cassian’s ministrations than Elain’s.

Did such a thing make her selfish?

“I know your scalp is sensitive, after what they did to you,” He finally murmured, his voice quiet, tentative. “Is that what triggered you?”

Nesta sucked in a breath, her fingers running anxiously over the handle of the dagger that now sat in her lap.

“How did you know that?”

No one else seemed to notice, anyway.

“I saw the irritation, when I found you,” he said. “But I can also…feel your discomfort.”

Oh.

Pursing her lips, she focused on the sound of the scissors for a few moments, processing. Eventually, she settled on,

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be,” He countered, placing the scissors down and beginning to run a comb through her hair. “I’d rather know. If I had to bet, you wouldn’t say anything otherwise.”

Nesta frowned, unsure how she felt about his assessment.

“It’s not worth the attention.”

“Everything about you is worth attention,” Cassian said. “I’m only sorry you didn’t know that sooner.”

She couldn’t stop the sigh that slipped from her lips, exhausted at the prospect of all this talking that was going to happen. Apologies, and explanations, and promises.

It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been ripped from her bed in the middle of the night. Any of it.

“You don’t have to,” he continued, “but you can talk to me. About what happened. I won’t say anything to anyone else.”

“If I’m not obligated to you, you’re not obligated to me, Cassian.” She said. “Once this is done, it can go back to the way it was.”

“No.” He replied, his voice so sharp she flinched. Softer, he tried, “No, sweetheart. You can… you can do whatever you need, as long as you’re safe. But it will not be the same as before. I will not treat you the way I did. And before you say it, it wasn’t because you were taken. It was the people I met while you were gone. Sofia, and her grandson. Your…friends at the Wolf’s Den.”

Nesta’s brows shot up, and she straightened.

“You met them?"

“Sofia told us you were missing,” Cassian said. “Then, we looked all over for you. I met the bartender, and he told me the way of things. When I gathered your things, I met Sofia’s grandson. There are letters for you from him, when you’re ready to read them. I meant to tell you.”

Something warmed in her chest at that – at the young boy who’d looked at her with wonder in his eyes as she taught him his letters. It was a ray of light amongst the darkness.

“You… spoke to Andreas.”

“Assuming that’s the barkeep, yes, I did. He assumed we’d locked you up somewhere. It was an ego check if I’ve ever gotten one.”

“I see.”

There wasn’t jealousy in his voice, like she expected. Just… acceptance. As if he had already processed that he’d been wrong and was ready to move forward. Except she hadn’t even known he was going through such a thing, instead locked up in Hybern’s keep.

It was… strange. To be here only for the aftermath.

But still, it made her feel safer than she had before. It made her want to tell him things. To be cared for by him.

“They used my hair to control me,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “To force things down my throat.”

Cassian went still behind her, the comb stopping halfway through her locks. Nesta took in long, even breaths, her nails digging into her palms, in an effort to fight the anxiety that coursed through her veins at sharing such a thing.

Suddenly, she felt his lips on the crown of her hair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. It was soft, barely there, but flooded her with warmth anyway.

“No one will ever touch you like that again,” he vowed. “I promise.”

He pulled away, just enough to retrieve a mirror. Holding it in front of her face, he let her assess the length of her hair. It felt…better. Not perfect, but better.

Lighter.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Cassian smiled, his free hand coming back down to stroke over her shoulder and upper arms. As it moved upwards, her own lifted, catching his fingers. He accepted them easily, holding her steady.

“Anytime,” he replied. “I mean it, Nes.”

Nesta closed her eyes as he said the words, letting the breeze blow over her, feeling the sunshine on her face. In the silence that followed, she realized that she believed him.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Nesta, your hair!”

Cassian couldn’t suppress the grimace that overtook him at Elain’s voice, high-pitched with concern and, if he was being blatantly honest, some degree of horror.

Nesta blinked at her sister from her spot upright in bed, a book in her lap. Until now, they’d been sitting in peaceful quiet – her with a romance and him with whatever he could find to keep himself occupied so it didn’t look like he was simply keeping vigil at her side (which, of course, he was).

“It’s more manageable this way,” she said simply, her face schooled into a perfect mask of neutrality.

To Elain’s right, Feyre offered a weak smile, doing slightly better than her sister at hiding her worry at Nesta’s latest behavior that could be perceived as erratic.

“It looks nice,” she said, strained. “It… suits you.”

Cassian fought the urge to snort as Nesta quirked up an unimpressed brow, clearly able to see right through her sisters’ efforts to appear normal.

“It will grow back,” she said with a shrug. “Apparently, fae hair grows quickly.”

He did smile at that, their conversation earlier ringing back in his ears.

Feyre’s eyes met his, briefly, and he saw the questions there – the unspoken interrogation.

Did you do this?

Did you enable her?

Did she tell you anything about her time over there?

All answers he’d keep to himself, unless Nesta specifically told him to share.

“Mother always loved your hair long, though,” Elain said, genuine remorse in her voice. “I never thought you’d cut it.”

That, he knew immediately, was the wrong thing to say.

This bond between them may still be new – may still be something that neither of them fully understood – but suddenly his chest tightened so severely that it hurt to breathe, and it felt a little bit like he’d been slapped in the face.

Nesta blinked once, twice, and her lips pursed into a thin line. It was the only sign of her distress.

How strong she was, to hide such agony so easily. 

“Well, she’s not here to know about it.”

Her voice came out flat, a finality to the tone that made it clear they were done having this conversation.

“Still,” Elain kept pushing, and Cassian fought the urge to step in. “We’re just-”

“Worried,” Feyre finished. “We’re worried, Nesta. It’s only been a few days since you got back, and we just want to make sure-”

“I’m fine,” Nesta interrupted. At Feyre’s arched eyebrow, she added, “relatively speaking, anyway.”

Cassian disagreed vehemently but was still trying to catch his breath from the distress thrumming through his veins.

Your mate is hurting, a voice seemed to shout at him. What are you going to do about it?

“Madja says you can get out of bed tomorrow,” Feyre eventually said. “That may perk you up a bit, at least. I know you hate to be bedridden." 

Nesta hummed, though it was unclear if it was in agreement. Elain fidgeted awkwardly beside her youngest sister, as if unsure what to do with her. Both of them, Cassian thought, were looking at her like she was more a wounded animal than a person.

He wondered if Rhys had shown them the destruction, she’d caused in Hybern, while he’d been here with Nesta. The blood and the charred remains. None of them had talked about it. There'd been no group meeting, no formal recap of what had happened. The focus had almost solely been on Nesta's recovery. On ensuring she pulled through. But they'd have to discus it eventually, if Rhys hadn't had those conversations already, without him. 

At least his brother hadn’t been there for the wild, feral look in her eyes when she stumbled upon him in the forest. At least he couldn't show her sisters that. 

They’d all left her alone – Rhys, Mor, Amren – even Azriel, after offering her the blade that he knew rested in her lap underneath the blankets, hadn’t been back to visit. It was to give her time to heal, they said, to feel presentable before they asked their questions and offered their sympathy.

But he was beginning to wonder if it was that fear – that uncertainty about her power and what she was capable of – that kept them away.

It seemed Nesta was thinking the same thing, for no sooner than her sisters made their awkward departure from her room did she utter,

“They’re terrified of me.”

Cassian blinked, scooting closer to her bedside now that there weren’t any prying eyes.

“They aren’t,” he replied. “They just-”

“You’re a shit liar.”

Nesta’s eyes were downcast, her fingers flipping her blade absently. He couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face – whether she was hurt by the notion or angry or simply uncaring.

He knew better now than to make assumptions.

“Well,” he started, then stopped, pondering. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Her head lifted, and in her eyes were those silver flames, dancing, as if they’d been delighted at the discomfort they caused. But Nesta’s expression was full of pain, a jarring juxtaposition between herself and whatever she’d taken.

“Maybe you should be,” she said quietly.

Cassian lifted a hand without thinking, moving to tuck her shorter hair behind her ear. It really did suit her, he thought. Even if he loved the way her long hair looked down around her shoulders. He didn’t realize he’d been so casual with the touch until her head tilted, just marginally, into the palm of his hand.

“No,” he countered, resolutely. “Nothing could make me afraid of you, sweetheart.”

Her breath stuttered, just a little.

“Not even after what you’ve seen?”

The tightness in his chest returned, the feeling of her discomfort overruling his own feelings.

“And what have I seen other than a courageous female who got herself out of a situation that should have never happened?”

Nesta frowned. She said nothing, but her reply was so blatant on her face that she was practically shouting it.

A monster.

---

Nesta didn’t know how many days she’d been in this bed, her mind spiraling in different directions, but the moment Madja said she could leave it, she’d never been more anxious to do anything in her life.

“Take it slow, Nesta,” the healer warned, gently. “Your feet are healed, mostly, but your body is still…”

Weak.

Broken.

Wrong.

Any of the words would do, but the healer trailed off all the same.

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

Her side twinged as she pushed herself up, the wound in her stomach the most stubborn of all of them. The bones in her wrist were still healing, as were the lashes on her legs, but it was better. At least a little bit.

To her left, Cassian hovered like an anxious mother hen, ready to catch her, should she fall.

It was confusing. Confusing and irritating.

She was so angry at him. Angry for everything that had happened until now. But she also… she also wanted him close. She wanted him to care for her.

She didn’t know what to do about it.

Spinning to the side, she bit back a grimace as her feet settled on the cold floor. Looking up, she saw Cassian repress a similar expression and remembered abruptly that he could feel her discomfort, at least to some degree.

“Good,” Madja said, with a small smile. “Nice and slow now.”

Nesta took a breath and pushed herself up, waiting for the pain to hit her.

It did, but not as severely as the first time she tried this – when she was desperate for a way to protect herself.

For a moment, she felt balanced – steady – but then she took a step, and the world tilted, just enough for her arm to fly out, seeking balance.

Cassian moved so quickly she didn’t even have time to register it.

His palm was warm as it slid under hers, fingers gripping just tight enough to convey a sense of security.

Nesta froze in her spot, taking in a sharp breath as she reoriented herself. Madja’s own hand settled on her other forearm, balancing her.

Slowly, her eyes lifted to her mate’s, who was watching her back intently, as if calculating every single detail about how she was feeling.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, with a small smile, though there was a kind of pain in his eyes – a guilt, almost.

It made something within her want to assure him that she was fine. That he didn’t need to worry.

But then those ugly feelings of betrayal and loneliness reared their heads, and she thought better of it.

“Just a couple of steps,” Madja said. “To the chair.”

It was slow. Embarrassingly slow. She felt like a child – helpless and pathetic.

But she made it.

On shaking legs that grew a bit stronger with each step.

When she eased down into the cushions of the armchair that was on the other side of the room, she felt lighter than she had before.

Even if, in the shadows, she saw evil eyes peaking out at her, and more often than not could smell copper in the air – could taste the blood in her mouth.

Every time she’d slept thus far, it had been with a tonic in her system. A dreamless sleep. It was the waking that was disorienting. But the more she healed, the less she would need such things. And the more her mind would be able to remind her of the horrors.

She would be just as unhinged as before her abduction – never quite knowing what was real and what wasn’t – always seeking that haze of alcohol to take away the pain of it all.

It made her all the more anxious to leave this place. To be far away from these people so that they did not have to bear witness to such a mess.

“Feel free to get comfortable there,” Madja said. “Maybe later, you can take a walk to the library next door, for a change of scenery.”

Nesta nodded her head absently, not particularly interested in potentially crossing paths with anyone. The healer said something else – probably about healing ointments and when to rest and eat and so on. There was some kind of schedule they were all strictly adhering to, when it came to that.

And then, just like Feyre and Elain earlier, Madja was gone. Leaving her alone with Cassian.

She shivered, her feet cold and the thin robe around her doing little to keep out the chill from the breeze coming in through the windows.

Her mate moved silently, and she watched as he procured a pair of wool stockings, and a blanket. As he approached her again, she furrowed her brows, and asked,

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“No,” He replied simply, and then – oh gods – he was sinking to his knees, reaching out for her foot. “Can I?”

Nesta swallowed. “I should be able to put my own stockings on.”

“You can’t bend over,” he countered. “Please?”

A shaky sigh left her, and she dipped her chin once in affirmation.

His hand was still so damn warm as he lifted her leg, mindful of the lashes there. But even with how soft his touch was, her mind seized, and she was suddenly back there, trying desperately to keep track of the number of lashes assaulting her skin.

She felt the sting, the ice cold of the table beneath her, the fear that they wouldn’t stop there, that they’d take her flimsy nightgown and-

“Nes.”

Nesta blinked, and there was Cassian’s face again, looking up at her from his place on his knees. Both her feet were covered now, and he was holding the blanket open, as if he’d been about to drape it over her.

“Where did you just go?” He asked quietly, moving slowly as he dropped the soft fabric over her.

“What?” She asked – a rasp.

“You left, for a moment,” he replied. “Did I trigger you?”

“I-” She started, then stopped, unsure how to answer. It was becoming clear she couldn’t lie to him, with this bond. So, she settled on, “I don’t know.”

Cassian nodded, accepting the answer far easier than she expected.

“I have those letters,” he said. “From little Yuri. They might make you feel better. Remind you what’s here.”

That sounded… good. She adored that boy, despite probably being less than an ideal neighbor to have. He was bright, and curious, and absorbed everything she told him like a sponge.

It was a small, fulfilling thing. But most days it kept her afloat.

“Alright,” she replied.

His answering smile was bright, and soon there was a small pile of parchment in her lap, a child’s scribbled handwriting all over the pages.

Picking up the first page, Nesta felt something ease in her chest.

The sound of screams may still be in her ears, but this, at least, she knew was real.

---

It was another day and a half before anyone other than Cassian and her sisters dared approach Nesta.

She was walking along the expansive balcony that spanned multiple rooms, albeit while holding on to her mate’s arm. It was slow, her legs already aching, but the sun was bright, and she’d actually been able to wear a proper dress.

But no sooner did Cassian ease her into a wicker chair did someone else join them.

Rhysand was dressed casually, an exhaustion hanging over his features. Her fault, most likely.

“It’s good to see you up,” he said by way of greeting, far too soft for the relationship that existed between them.

“Thank you,” she said, stiffly, easing only when Cassian settled beside her, clearly intent on staying for whatever conversation was about to happen.

“Can I-?” Rhysand asked, gesturing to the chair across from her.

“It’s your house,” she replied dryly, but nodded her head all the same.

He didn’t retort, something that surprised her. Usually, they’d be halfway to blows by now.

She supposed guilt did wonders.

“I- well, I wanted to speak to you, before you were well enough to decide if you wanted to leave us again.”

If. How presumptuous.

“I would like to return to my apartment, yes,” She said, a bit crisply. “Unless a threat remains.”

“So far, no,” Rhys answered, and it relieved her more than she realized to hear those words. “There… isn’t much left of Hybern’s leadership to make another move, I don’t think.”

Cassian shifted beside her, his fingers flexing. He refused to tell her whether they bothered him still or not – and with how much pain she was in, she couldn’t tell herself.

“I wanted you to know, though,” the High Lord continued. “That we will never allow something like this to happen again. It should never have happened, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t chastising me for leaving,” Nesta replied.

She couldn’t help herself, wretch that she was.

“I understand your reasons,” Rhys said, carefully. “And I didn’t come here to argue while you’re healing. I want you to know that, despite our differences, you are family, and we will always protect you. We failed at it, and that is something I will bear for the rest of my days.”

“Don’t prostrate yourself on my account,” Nesta countered. “I don’t need your guilt. They were always coming for me, whether you were there or not.”

Cassian breathed in deeply, and suddenly she felt flush with irritation – his.

She was wondering when she’d start to get under his skin again.

“We should have been prepared for that,” He said. “They shouldn’t have gotten within three feet of you, no matter where you were.”

Nesta didn’t reply. She didn’t have the energy to argue about it.

“Nevertheless,” Rhys added, flicking a speck of lint off his sleeve. “I am sorry for it. I…  looked into the mind of Alistair, when we found him. I know they wanted to rip your power from you. Do you have any idea how they wanted to do that?”

Nesta shook her head. “They said something about Priestesses, about making it a public spectacle. But I never learned any details.”

“We didn’t find the Priestesses,” he replied. “But Azriel is still looking. We want to make sure we can defend against whatever they wanted to try. Or, at the very least, track their movements.”

“He does not need to sacrifice his resources,” Nesta answered. “You said yourself there isn’t much of Hybern left.”

“We aren’t taking chances,” Cassian cut in, a bit sharply. “It’s not a sacrifice, Nesta.”

Rhysand was watching her far too cryptically for her liking, perhaps trying to figure out the puzzle that was her mind.

“It’s already done,” he said. “You couldn’t convince Azriel to stop no matter how hard you tried. He takes violence against his family quite personally.”

The snort left Nesta’s nose before she could help it.

She wasn’t Azriel’s family. She wasn’t any of their family. She was Elain and Feyre’s family, and that was it.

Neither of the males before her said anything in response, and an awkward silence stretched between them. 

“Is there anything else?” She eventually asked, searching for an escape, unable to bear the two sets of eyes on her, trying to see all the cracks in her armor.

“No,” Rhysand said after a moment. “No, so long as you know how sorry we are. How determined we are to never let this happen again.”

Pushing to his feet, he added, almost as an afterthought, “and, once Madja clears you, you’re free to return to wherever you like. Our doors are always open to you, but if it’s your own lodgings you desire, we will make sure you have them.”

Nesta’s lips parted in surprise, and she watched in mild shock as the High Lord disappeared back into the House.

It was the most civil conversation they’d ever had. Did they all feel so terrible?

“Why are you so surprised?” Cassian asked, as if reading her thoughts.

Nesta turned her head, to assess him. His eyes were stormy, even if he kept his demeanor gentle, for her sake.

“I expected a little lecture, at least,” She said. “For causing so much damage.”

He let out a long, long breath.

“I think we’re all in agreement,” he replied, averting his gaze to look out over the Velaris skyline, “that you didn’t cause enough.”

---

Amren was the next person to try and ease her guilty conscience.

Nesta was in the library next to her room, tucked under a blanket and buried deep within the couch cushions, her feet outstretched. A warm cup of tea was steaming beside her, and there was a stack of books Cassian had pulled off the shelves at random.

She was almost content, but he could still feel the perpetual fear and tension down the bond.

“It seems that power of yours is not so dormant as we thought.”

Amren’s voice was soft, though maintained its usual cold edge. Cassian watched in mild fascination as Nesta’s eyes lifted to the female’s and hardened, as if she’d just donned armor to do battle.

“No, it is not.”

The tiny ancient one’s eyes flicked to him, a silent command he leave, to give her the solitude to say whatever it was she wanted to his mate. But Cassian wouldn’t be swayed.

Instead, he leaned back in his own armchair, crossing his legs at the ankles, and quirked a silent brow up at her, in question.

Amren’s expression sharpened into a glare. He held her gaze, unintimidated.

“Is that all you came to say?” Nesta asked, dryly, breaking them apart.

“No,” Amren replied. “I came to say that I was proud of you, for your escape.”

Nesta’s lips thinned in the way he noticed they always did, when someone tried to tell her this.

“I did what I had to do.”

“Yes, you did,” Amren agreed. “Not that those foolish Priestesses would ever have been able to rip that power from you. Something Cauldron-given is permanent.”

Nesta didn’t answer her, and instead seemed far away for a moment, as if reliving something.

“Are you here to apologize too?” She eventually asked, and Cassian couldn’t help his grimace.

His family was never any good about handling their own guilt.

Amren tilted her head, assessing.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

Nesta contemplated her for a long moment.

“Not if it’s just to make yourself feel better.”

The tension in the room could be cut like a knife, and Cassian fought the urge to intervene – to make Amren get the hell out and leave his mate to her damn peace and healing.

But the Second simply straightened and crossed her arms, her expression softening. He was reminded then, of her own warning to all of them, while Nesta had been sleeping. Not to apologize if it was just for their own benefit.

“I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you, for what you did. That you shouldn’t feel bad about it. And that you should have been protected better. That it won’t happen again.”

Nesta blinked once, twice.

“Thank you.”

It was… a better response than he expected.

But Amren seemed to accept it. With a simple nod, she left them, as quickly as she came.

Cassian watched his mate carefully, trying to learn what she needed without invading her space. For several seconds, Nesta stared off into the distance, still caught up in her own memories, he’d bet. It went on long enough that he leaned forward, intent on touching her, before she suddenly said,

“I’m tired of this, Cassian.”

Cassian pursed his lips, understanding that sentiment inherently.

“Tired of what, sweetheart?”

Nesta sighed, closing her eyes.

“Are they all going to come in here one after the other to apologize?”

“They feel bad, Nes. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did happen. Should haves don’t matter now.”

He nodded, unable to dispute that.

“I can tell them to back off.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “That will only make it worse. I just… I didn’t leave to spite all of you, despite what you may believe.”

“I know that” Cassian replied. “I do, Nesta.  You left because you needed to. Or you wanted to. You’re allowed to be angry. But we could have given you that space while also making sure you were safe. And if that bothers you, then we should have made sure our defenses were strong enough that no one from Hybern could have gotten into Velaris in general.”

“They want me to come back now,” Nesta said. “They want to coddle me.”

That much was… true. He knew that. He knew Feyre didn’t want her sister out of her sight and while he couldn’t exactly blame her, he knew just as well that what Nesta needed was… different.

“You get to choose what to do next,” he replied. “It’s your life, Nes. I promised you things would be different, and they will. This is… what that means.”

She was quiet for a long time, contemplating. He let her, having learned to become comfortable with her long silences over the time he’d spent here, by her side. He was loud, but quiet when it mattered, and she was the opposite.

Eventually, Nesta lifted her head and met his gaze.

“I want to see my apartment.”

That Cassian hadn’t been expecting. But looking at her now, he knew what this was. A test. And he wouldn’t let her down again.

---

He made her wait three days.

Three days, until she could walk the length of the House’s longest balcony and back without needing to hold onto him, until she didn’t grimace every single time she bent at the waist – be it sitting down or pushing herself up.

Until Madja said that she was able to resume some of her normal life – so long as she was careful, and eating, and continuing to take the replenishing tonics that the healer seemed to constantly be conjuring.

He made her wait until, physically, she seemed on the mend.

(Mentally, he knew, was another battle entirely.)

It was mid afternoon when he finally agreed to bundle her up in his arms, wrapped in a thick coat and comfortable clothing, and fly her into Velaris.

He didn’t tell anyone, though he knew it would cause a shitstorm of grief when Feyre or Elain found out their sister wasn’t in her bed. But Nesta seemed more relaxed that way, and that’s all that mattered to him.

She’d had nightmares every night since she'd ask to come here, waking up in various stages of disorientation, unable to tell what was real from what wasn’t. She flinched whenever someone tried to bring something near her lips, instinctively reaching out to grab their wrists, and she always, always had that blade Azriel gave her close by, a vital comfort item.

It was strapped to her waist now, he’d tied the belt himself, ensuring it sat low enough not to chafe the healing wound in her stomach.

Nesta clung to him tightly as he touched down on the stone streets in front of her apartment, her body trembling lightly as he released her from his hold. He forgot, among all the other trauma, that she hated to fly.

But she was stone-faced, perfectly reserved, and only waited a moment before she walked inside the old building and up the stairs towards her apartment.

He was quick to follow after her, anxious and desperate to ensure she didn’t overexert herself. That he could bring her back to the House of Wind in one piece.

By the time they got to her door, her breaths were coming a bit heavily, but she didn’t let any pain show, and instead she said,

“I’m surprised there is still a door.”

Cassian couldn’t help himself in the way his hand settled on the small of her back, as if to steady her.

“I did break it down, but it was replaced the next morning. Your seven locks, though…”

She pursed her lips into a thin line but nodded in understanding. Pulling out the key that he had presented her with before they left, she let out a shuddering breath and turned the lock.

The musty smell greeted him instantly, even though they’d left the windows open, in hopes to air the place out. His chest tightened uncomfortably as he followed her inside, and he dutifully closed the door behind them as she barely spared a glance to the living room and instead walked straight into the bedroom – where most of the damage had occurred.

Looking around now, though, he imagined she spent most of her time there anyway. There was hardly anything in the living room to begin with.

He kept his steps light as he approached where she stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes scanning over every corner. He contemplated reaching out to touch her – to tell her she was safe now, and that no one would ever touch her again.

But Nesta’s expression was stormy, haunted, clearly once again caught up in the memories of what had happened here. At least – what she could remember.

She was unnaturally still for a long time, silent.

Cassian was resilient in his attempt at patience, not so much content to stand quietly beside her and wait as he was desperate to prove to her that he would be what she needed.

It was a strange sort of relief, almost, when a heavy, shaking breath released from her chest – a quiet sob, for it allowed him to move, to touch.

“Come here,” he said softly, his hands gentle as they slid up her back, to pull her into him.

Nesta went willingly, allowing her face to be tucked into his shoulder. She trembled, fiercely, but didn’t break down. Instead, she merely whispered,

“I can’t stay here.”

Cassian pressed his cheek to the top of her head, closing his eyes. He understood the layers of her words – that she couldn’t stay here, but she didn’t want to stay up there either. She was at a loss, without a home, and it devastated her perhaps more than the attack itself.

He felt as though someone had reached in and yanked his heart from his chest – the knowledge that his mate felt helpless settling over him like a wet blanket.

“Where would you like to go?” He asked, carefully.

He wanted her to know that whatever happened was on her terms – he wanted to prove her existing perceptions wrong. Or, at least, change them.

Nesta was quiet again, her fingers flexing against the material of his shirt. She had an answer, it was obvious, but was afraid to voice it.

“I’ll take you anywhere,” Cassian tried, lifting a hand to stroke over the back of her head. “Anywhere, Nes, if it would make you feel better.”

She huffed, softly. Lifting her head, she met his eyes, her own cloudy and unsure. He her gaze, hoping to convey that he was speaking the truth, that he meant every word.

“Alright,” she said eventually. “There is someone I'd like to see.”

---

Nesta was waiting for the moment Cassian cracked.

It was cruel, perhaps, to test him this way, not in the least when she could feel his disapproval the moment she told him where she wanted to go. He seemed to forget that she could, or perhaps he was just unable to hide it.

“You scared us to death, Nes.”

Andreas’ warm eyes were shining with concern, his brows furrowed, but the familiarity of his touch was strangely soothing as he cupped her cheeks, assessing the damage.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta replied. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” he interrupted, frowning. “I won’t hear it. I only care that you're safe.”

Behind her, she could acutely feel Cassian’s presence. He stood back, closer to the door of the tavern, but his eyes were glued to her, tracing every breath, every flinch of discomfort. She had a feeling that, if she looked, she’d find his fists clenched, his jaw tight.

She could understand his feeling well enough.

Another male was touching what was his, and he was valiantly trying to act as though it didn’t bother him.

“Everyone took turns, checking your apartment once we knew you were missing. Sofia eventually told us she’d send word, once you returned. I was waiting for you to come to us.”

Nesta nodded, grateful for the space. Not that her family would have allowed their visitation anyway.

“Are they here?” She asked, anxious about the idea of Cassian interacting with this small band of misfits that had kept her company these last months.

“Not yet. Soon, I expect.”

Andreas released her from his hold, stepping back behind the bar, wordlessly producing a cup of tea for her. His eyes flicked up to Cassian behind her, a silent question. He must have shaken his head, for he only retrieved another cup for himself.

Nesta turned her eyes back towards her mate’s, assessing the damage she was causing, by asking to come here.

He hadn’t protested, even if she saw the surprise and subconscious rejection flutter across his face. Instead, he’d simply taken her hand, and obeyed her wishes.

Now though, he wasn’t able to hide his discomfort quick enough.

It made her anxiety spike, and her throat tighten.

As soon as she felt it though, it seemed he did, too. Almost as if he’d been struck, Cassian straightened, his expression softening, and he approached her side, smiling slightly when her friend placed another cup in front of him.

Still, his tension was evident.

“Your apartment,” Andreas began, pouring her a cup of the herbal tea she desperately craved every time she came here, if she wasn’t drinking. “Can you go back to it?”

“No,” Nesta replied. “I’m currently…”

Saying she was homeless felt wrong. Because she knew, rationally, that she had a home with Feyre and her family. With Cassian.

But it wasn’t hers. There were conditions and subtle pressures and expectations. It was safe, generally, but it wasn’t… comfortable.

“There’s always room in my home for you; you know that. Whenever your family is done keeping you.”

Cassian was unable to cover his flinch. Still, he didn’t protest. Nesta fought the urge to justify her decisions.

“That… would be nice, thank you.”

Andreas smiled, always most fulfilled when helping those he cared for. He was soft that way, and safe. It was a friendship she cherished, that she didn’t deserve, but clung to all the same. Especially with the voices creeping in, the phantom hands that she hadn't been able to shake off her skin from the moment she'd seen what was left of her bedroom. 

It hurt to breathe, but it was a little easier here. 

And as kind as he was, the barkeep was also deeply perceptive. Sometimes to an uncomfortable degree. So, when his eyes shifted to Cassian, Nesta sucked in a breath, in preparation.

“The guest room bed is likely not large enough for the two of you, with those wings of yours. But you’re welcome to try your best.”

The air whooshed out of her lungs a second later, her cheeks burning.

---

He could do this. He could do this.

He would be kind, friendly, and supportive.

He would not punch Nesta’s seemingly best friend in the face. Not even when he pressed kisses to her cheeks or touched her back or squeezed her hands.

And he would absolutely not make a scene at the idea of her staying here. With him. Alone.

Because she wasn’t his. The Mother may think so, but he hadn’t earned that right by half. He would never be the one to uphold such a notion.

It was no less than what he deserved, to be faced with this reality.

But then Andreas was speaking, cutting through the ringing in his ears, and he could feel the flush spread over Nesta’s skin.

“Oh,” Nesta replied, voice tight. “We’re not- that is-”

Andreas smiled slowly, like a kind of older brother figure who knew exactly what the situation was, regardless of whatever antics they tried to pull.

Except this male had almost certainly made his mate see stars, in one way or another, and it was a concerted effort not to vomit.

“Your mating bond is new, but it’s very, very apparent. I’m not one to hold much weight to such things, but I know better than to expect the same from others.”

Nesta pursed her lips, at a loss, and then, gods, then she was looking at him, for an answer.

Cassian took in a breath, praying for patience. For strength, and humility, and an open fucking mind.

“She’s-… Nesta’s right,” he said, voice cracking despite his best efforts. “I have no right to claim her as mine, and I’ll never do anything she doesn’t consent to. I’m here because she’s asked, that’s all. And if this is what she wants, then… Then I have no right to an opinion.”

Her lips parted, surprise shooting through the discomfort he was feeling. He shifted his eyes, holding her gaze, a silent promise.

He could do this. 

“Well,” Andreas replied carefully, though his lips were tilted upwards. “Either way. You’re welcome, General. If Nes allows it.”

Cassian fought the urge to close his eyes in sheer irritation at the continued use of that nickname. This might kill him. It might be the hardest thing he’s ever done. But-

“I do.”

Her voice was soft, the words distinctly for him, even though she was replying to her friend. There was a need in her eyes, a quiet request.

She might be angry with him, might want to get out of the House of Wind as soon as possible, but she still wanted his protection. The reminder that she was safe, that she was out.

Suddenly, everything else seemed easy as breathing.

If his breath shook, he refused to acknowledge it as he nodded his head.

“You look tired, love,” Andreas said suddenly, and Cassian blinked, as if to refresh his view of her.

It was true. Nesta’s shoulders had started to droop, and she was clutching that cup of tea like her life depended on it. His guilt hit him like a boulder, at his lack of notice. They’d been out for a while, so soon after she was cleared from simply getting out of bed.

She was probably sore at the very least.

“Shall I let you be off?” The male asked, smiling kindly.

Nesta seemed to think about it for a long moment, conflicted. Her eyes spared Cassian a glance, but nothing more than that, before she pushed herself back upright.

“If your offer stands, perhaps I could settle in now?”

Cassian did close his eyes then.

He should have seen this coming.

“Of course. You know the way. Need help on the stairs?”

Nesta turned her head back to assess him, and he fought valiantly to maintain his composure.

“Cassian can help me.”

He offered her a tight smile, determined not to mess this up.

“Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course.”

She knew how hard this was for him. It was plain on her face. But he wouldn’t fail her. If this was her test, he would pass it.

Even though, as he took her arm, and guided her behind the bar, through the hall, and towards the back stairs, he could only think one thing.

Feyre was going to fucking kill him.

Chapter Text

“You did what?!”

Cassian grimaced at the sharp tone of Feyre’s voice.

He knew this was going to be a screaming match.

“I did what she asked me to do.”

“But Nesta isn’t in her right mind,” Elain argued from beside her sister, hands wringing together nervously. “She’s been… off ever since she woke up. Why would you think taking her back there would help things?”

“Just because she cut her hair doesn’t mean she’s not in her right mind,” Cassian shot back, crossing his arms, a strange sense of satisfaction settling in his chest at the flinch that rippled across the middle Archeron’s face, confirming that Nesta’s new appearance was exactly what she was insinuating by ‘off.’

“Besides,” he added, with a shrug. “She’s not alone. She’s with a friend.”

“A friend,” Rhys repeated, frowning. “You mean a male she’s shared a bed with?”

It was a low blow – one meant to get under his skin. It did, but Cassian wouldn’t let it show. Instead, he thought back to a few hours prior, when he’d left Nesta in Andreas’ apartment above his tavern.

“I’m surprised you’re so calm about this,” She’d said, seated on a soft bed in the guest bedroom as Cassian pulled back the sheets.

“If this is what will make you feel safest, Nesta, then there’s nothing to be upset about.”

It was a bold-faced lie, and he knew she’d be able to feel it down the bond. But that didn’t change the objective truth of it. If Nesta wanted to be here, she deserved the opportunity.

Nesta crossed her arms and averted her gaze, looking out the window. “I was expecting you to accuse me of planning this all along, when I asked you to take me here.”

“Was it your plan all along?” He asked, standing up straight to assess her.

Nesta breathed out slowly and he held his breath as he awaited the answer.

“No,” she finally said. “No, it wasn’t. But stepping in here… Andreas has always been safe. There’s no… expectation.”

Cassian understood her meaning implicitly. Even now, Elain and Feyre’s horrified expressions at the sight of her shorn locks remained in the forefront of his mind.

“I care about your comfort,” he asserted, reaching out to tuck some of the shorter strands behind her ear. “If it’s easier here, then I’ll take care of the rest.”

It took a moment, but tension eased from her shoulders, and when she met his eyes, there was blatant relief – if not pleasant surprise. It made his stomach churn.

“Thank you, Cassian.”

“Cassian are you even listening?! You had no right to kidnap my sister and whisk her off to a random male’s house. Above some seedy tavern, no less!”

Letting out a long sigh, Cassian silently ordered his irritation to stay checked. But Feyre could be as harsh with her sharp tongue as her sister, and his patience was wearing thin. Not in the least at the term ‘kidnapped.’

“I think that’s a poor fucking choice of words, don’t you?” He growled lowly, wings flaring at the insinuation.

“What else would you call it?” Mor asked from the side, brows furrowed. “I’d have thought you of all people would want her kept up here, safe from the rest of the world.”

“Nesta shouldn’t be kept anywhere.” Cassian replied. “She asked to see her apartment, which she has every right to do, and Madja cleared her. I took her there, and she asked to check in with her friends – people who have been worried sick at her disappearance, mind you – and I went with her. But she didn’t need my permission to do it, and I’d bet she’d have gone anyway.”

“This is exactly how we ended up in this mess the last time,” Feyre said, exasperated. “She went off on her own, there was no one to protect her, and she was taken literally out from under our noses.”

“Except she’s not alone,” Cassian shot back. “I’ll be with her, and it’s not as though any of us intend to let things go back to how they were before. And in case you forgot, there’s not much of Hybern left to try again.”

“I just wished you’d said something first,” Elain said, a sadness laced in her tone. “We’re worried about her, Cassian, can you blame us?”

He couldn’t, but he had a feeling those concerns were still more heavily based on the things Nesta might do, versus how the horror of it all was impacting her. He wondered if they properly realized, when she was staring off into space with a blank expression, that she was seeing everything again, waiting for the next blow.

“You’ve inserted yourself as if you had the right to from the moment, we brought her back,” Feyre snapped. “As if she trusts you to help her over me. Over Elain.”

“She does!” Cassian bellowed, throwing up his arms. “Blame it on the bond if you want, but have you considered that you could actually talk to her for longer than a few seconds to hash this all out yourself? Gods, Feyre, she woke up screaming in your arms and you told me to intervene. You can’t be angry that I’ve worked to earn her trust during that time. You can’t look at her like she’s some kind of problem to be fixed and then be angry when she doesn’t want to feel scrutinized.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, and he was only mildly surprised that Rhys hadn’t threatened to wring his neck for such harsh words. But looking at his brother now, all he saw was conflict in his eyes, as if he didn’t quite know where to land on the whole thing.

“You didn’t see her, over there,” Cassian said softly, attempting to soothe despite his irritation.  “She freed herself, Feyre, she wasn’t helpless.”

“Maybe I’d understand more if you showed me,” Feyre countered, crossing her arms.

Cassian’s brows rose and he looked at Rhys in silent question. His brother’s response was immediate.

Not everyone wants their darkest moments to be broadcast to their entire family. I told them the destruction was absolute, but I’ve held back on any… visuals.

He was unable to hide his surprise, despite himself. Acutely, he felt Rhys’ guilt.

I think Nesta’s trauma has been on display enough, don’t you?

Yes, Cassian replied. But I didn’t think that included Feyre.

It was clear Rhys was still conflicted about it by the look in his eyes. But for now, it was enough.

“If Nesta agreed to let you see, then you could,” Cassian replied. “But she hasn’t. And in most cases, that would have to be enough. Not everyone has daemati at their disposal. You really think you’ll do yourself any favors by insisting on seeing her in that hell hole without her approval?”

Feyre scowled, and he had an inkling this had been an argument before, between her and her mate. Cassian found himself weirdly surprised by Rhys’ restraint.

“You saw her when she was brought back,” Cassian added. “And we told you what happened. That should be more than enough for you to know your sister didn’t take this sitting down. She is strong, Feyre. Strong enough to make her own decisions, at the very least.”

Feyre bit her lip, contemplative.

“If the girl wants to go somewhere else, let her,” Amren said, her first contribution to this latest round of arguing. “Honestly, if listening to you all argue over her is insufferable for me, she’s probably been at her whit’s end for days now. You say she walked out of that keep like death incarnate? Then I’d say she can do what she wants.”

“But if what she wants is to drink and whore herself out, we can’t allow that,” Mor countered.

“Careful,” Cassian warned, eyes narrowed.

The blonde shrugged, not particularly apologetic.

“I want to see her,” Feyre finally declared, standing up straight. “I will come to her, but I want to see her. I want to talk this through.”

“Fine,” Cassian replied. “I’ll ask her.”

His High Lady’s nostrils flared. “You’ll ask her?”

“Yes,” he said. “If she agrees, I’ll let you know. If you show up before then, the fallout is on you.”

He left the conversation there, turning on his heel and moving towards the balcony, to return to her.

As he took off into the sky, Feyre’s eyes burned into his back.

---

Nesta had been staring at the corner of the guest bedroom for well over half an hour.

She didn’t know if it had been the way the light fell through the window as the sun set, or the shadows cast by the furniture, but suddenly she was absolutely sure that there was someone waiting for her there, in the space between the dresser and the wall.

Someone who would take her back. Who would finish what Jamis and Alistair had started.

In her chest, her power throbbed, her fingers tingling with the urge to clear out the entire space, if only to be sure it was empty.

There was a metallic taste in her mouth – the scent of blood filling her nose.

And she was certain that they were lurking around the next corner, waiting to drag her back down to the depths – to chain her in that cell.

She hadn’t heard Andreas in hours – knowing full well the tavern was in full operation downstairs. Which meant no one would hear if she was stolen.

The wooden stairs in the hall creaked, and her head snapped to the right, to assess the threat, her fingers wrapping around Azriel’s blade, her flames licking up her throat.

Tension settled heavy around her shoulders, oppressive, every muscle in her body tight with anticipation. Far too quickly, she pushed herself out of bed, wobbling as her legs protested. Propelling herself forward, she settled against the wall beside the door, waiting for the intruder to reveal themselves.

Maybe they hadn’t gotten all of them. Maybe there was someone still here, in case Hybern’s first attempt to take her failed.

She listened to the footsteps as they reached the top of the stairs, just outside the door. She caught the whiff of leather, of steel, and breathed in slowly, trying to settle her mind.

When the door swung open, she felt herself fall into that otherness – that strange, macabre state that had allowed her to eviscerate, and take her vengeance.

Her eyes tracked the shadow of the male as he took in the room before him, and as he turned, as if inherently knowing where she was, she moved quickly.

Hand shooting out, she vaguely recognized it was aflame, her long fingers barely visible beneath the silver and blue inferno. She barely felt it as the intruder reached out instinctively, his fingers engulfing her own as he squeezed.

She wondered, faintly, why he didn’t cry out.

“Hey Nes,”  he said softly. “It’s just me, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinked, tilting her head, trying to rationalize the words.

It was a trick. It couldn’t be-

“Nesta,” the male said. “Nesta, you’re in Velaris. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

With a strange amount of confidence, he shifted, moving their joined hands until he could press her palm into his chest, flames and all.

Why wasn’t he screaming?

“Feel for it,” he ordered. “Feel for me, sweetheart. In your chest.”

Furrowing her brows, she found herself obeying, if only because it sounded so absurd. She could feel his heartbeat, could feel her power making her entire body tingle. She could feel –

Warmth.

Warmth, in the well of her chest. A sense of calm that wasn’t hers. A link, drawing her in, closer.

“Feel it?” He asked, voice just above a whisper.

Nesta focused, eyes locked on the way, her silver fire glinted off the red stone in the center of his chest. It was almost as if that link flowed directly through her into him, something far deeper than the simple touch of skin.

“I killed them,” She said, absently.

“You did,” he affirmed, and it almost sounded like pride in his voice. “They’re gone now, mate.”

Mate.

She blinked, suddenly becoming aware of the steady stroke of his thumb against the back of her hand.

“I won’t go back.” She continued, somehow feeling as though she needed to say it.

“Never. You never have to go back.”

Nesta squeezed her eyes shut for several long seconds, commanding her mind to obey her. To push all the horrors away and focus.

She wasn’t there. She killed them. She would never go back.

When she opened her eyes again, she met his gaze, which was gentle. Calm.

“Cassian.”

His expression shifted, lips lifting into a small smile.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “Right here, Nes.”

Sucking in a ragged breath, Nesta’s eyes shifted downwards, where her flames were still against his skin—

“Cassian-!”

“It doesn’t hurt,” He interrupted as she jerked backwards, his grip tightening on her hand. “Just feels like you. And you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she countered, pulling hard until he let her go, her flames evaporating as she fell back against the wall.

Nesta prepared herself for the horror of seeing his charred skin, of smelling it, just like in the keep.

Only there was nothing.

His leathers were perfectly intact, his skin unblemished.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Cassian repeated, stepping closer to reach out again, cupping her cheek. “Your power knows what we are to each other.”

Lifting her eyes, she scanned the room behind him, confirming for herself that it was empty. In the background, she could hear the patrons of the tavern, the music. The relief felt like ice water, and she sagged, letting out another long breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Cassian shook his head, as if it were nothing.

“How long have you been losing yourself like this, sweetheart?”

Nesta frowned. “What do you mean?”

His expression was serious, but still so, so caring.

“I know you’ve gotten caught up in your memories since you woke, but how often have you lost yourself completely?”

“I-… I don’t know.” She stuttered, closing her eyes again. “It’s not… It’s more frequent now, but before I would… sometimes.”

“This happened before you were taken?” He clarified, lifting his other hand to cup her face properly, to hold her attention.

Nesta nodded, perplexed by how deeply troubled he looked at the notion.

“And now?” He pressed, though not harshly.

“The last few days,” she admitted. “Not all the time, but…”

Cassian nodded, then let out a shaky breath of his own. Without another word, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Despite herself, she melted into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I can’t take it from you. But I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Nesta pulled away, suddenly feeling anxious, and walked back into the center of the room. Frustrated. Now that she had reconnected with reality, she remembered where he’d come from.

“Talk to me,” He urged from behind her, though made no move to enter her personal space again. “What’s got you so keyed up?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Nesta asked, a bit harshly. “I’m just waiting for your marching orders.”

Cassian furrowed his brow, in confusion, so she continued,

“You’re going to tell me that I have to go back up there, right? That they’re insisting upon it?”

Cassian turned, waving a hand to illuminate the fae lights, to compensate for the setting sun.

“No,” he replied. “You said you wanted me here, so I’m here. That’s all.”   

She shuddered, despite herself.

“Because you’re my mate.”

“No, because I care about you.”

“It only took me getting kidnapped for that to be true, right?”

Cassian didn’t reply right away, instead letting out another breath.

“No,” he said finally. “But I can understand why you feel that way.”

Nesta scoffed, turning around to face him. There was such pain in his eyes, as if she really had burned him.

“I just don’t know what to do about all this,” she muttered. “How all of a sudden you want to be here, how you insist on caring for me. You never came to be after the war. You made it perfectly clear how disappointed you were with my decisions. But then I get taken, and it all changes. Suddenly, I’m worthy of it all.”

“Yes, it changes,” He countered, straightening. “It changes because now my ignorance is blatantly in my face. My wrongs are blatantly in my face. I took your safety for granted, and I was caught up in my own righteousness. I wanted you to come to me, and was offended at the notion that you didn’t. I was a fool, Nesta.”

He looked so earnest as he said the words. Earnest and heartbroken.

“You were always worthy,” he said softly. “Always. It should not have taken more pain for me to tell you that. But it did, and I’m sorry. I should have told you the moment we left that battlefield. The moment I knew you weren’t okay. Instead, I convinced myself that you would come around. I know better now, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

Nesta sniffed, looking down at the floor.

“Because we’re mates so you’re obligated either way.”

“Nesta, my feelings for you aren’t obligatory. If you wanted to sever the bond, I wouldn’t stop you.”

Head snapping up, Nesta stared at him in shock. She didn’t know what happened, exactly, when a bond was severed. She only knew that Feyre had taken great pains to talk Elain out of it – that the consequences were dire.

“What?”

Cassian kept his distance, wings tucking in tightly, but even from afar she could see the tears in his eyes.

“If you truly wanted nothing to do with me, I wouldn’t stop you. I know what you’ve suffered, and I can’t fault you for needing a fresh start. But if you’ll have me, if you’ll let me, I will always be here for you. I will help you when you don’t know what’s real, and I will support you in wherever you want to go.”

Shaking her head, Nesta averted her gaze again.

“I don’t know how to believe you.”

“I know,” he whispered, hoarsely. “That’s why I’m here. To prove it.”

“I won’t go back there. To the House.”

“Then you won’t.”

“I won’t abandon Andreas, and my friends. Or Sofia and her boy.”

“Of course not, sweetheart.”

Nesta reached up to pinch her brow, a pain settling behind her eyes, throbbing.

“And I don’t know if I can give you what… what mates give each other. Not right now.”

“I don't need anything from you.”

She could feel his anguish in her chest now – the idea that she’d never let him touch her, kiss her, love her, seeming to break his heart far deeper than the words they’d exchanged before. But he didn’t say anything.

“I think you’re lying.”

For the first time, irritation that wasn’t hers flushed her chest. Cassian did take a step forward then, wings flaring ever so slightly.

“If you want me to stand here and tell you that I love you, I will. It would be the honor of my life to love you the way you deserve, Nesta. I would fall to my knees right now and proclaim it if you asked. But I don’t think you want that. I don’t think that’s what you need right now. I think you need to be angry at me for a while, at all of us. Or at least, take the time to feel the hurt that I know is heavy on you.”

Nesta’s lips parted, to protest, maybe, but he continued,

“You want me here because I make you feel safe. I remind you that you’re out. That’s all, right? So, I will be right here. Because whatever you want to call it, that’s what I do for the people I love, and if that’s what you need from me, I’ll give it. I’ll call it friendship, because it is that too, but what it isn’t is obligation because of a mating bond. It helps, sure, in that I know how you’re feeling. But that’s it.”

She stared at him for a long time, unable to find any words. The declaration had hit her like a blow, and it was too much, too soon. He seemed to know that – it was in his eyes and in her chest – but perhaps it needed to be said.

Tentatively, her gaze wavering just slightly, she opted to deflect. “Are they angry with me?”

Cassian let out a mirthless huff of a laugh and shrugged.

“Feyre wants my head, I’m sure. But I handled it.”

“You handled it.”

“Yes, Nes. I handled it. They will respect your wishes.”

Nesta frowned. “I… don’t believe that for a second.”

Cassian couldn’t hide his grimace, despite his best efforts, chafed by the slight against his family. She couldn’t blame him for that.

“Well, Feyre does want to see you. They’re worried about you.”

“I’m not going to embarrass her any further, if that is her concern,” Nesta replied. “I don’t think I’ll be taking a male to my bed for… for a while.”

She hadn’t even begun to contemplate what to make of taking Jamis to her bed only for him to drug and kidnap her right after.

“That’s not it.” He argued. “Nesta, I know it feels ingenuine, but you were brutally taken and tortured for two weeks. You were on death’s door for days afterwards. Madja was serious when she said we almost lost you. Regardless of the animosity between you and the rest of us, that put a lot of things into perspective. For me, for Feyre, for everyone. Things will be different.”

“Different,” she repeated.

“Better.”

“I don’t know what better means.”

Cassian shrugged. “We can figure it out together, if you like.”

Nesta furrowed her brows again, confused and at a loss.

“I… I need time,” she declared, lifting her arms to hug herself loosely. “All this… it’s too much.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

Of course, he did. He could probably feel it.

“I don’t mean to use you,” she said, unsure why she felt the need to explain. “You can go if this is too painful. But for now...”

 “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

Nesta scowled. “Of course, but-”

“But nothing, Nesta. You thought I was an intruder minutes ago and were prepared to burn me alive. I see it, when that fear grasps you. I can feel it when you’re in pain. You deserve to feel safe. You deserve to have someone be there, to tell you what is real and what isn’t. And while I’m sure Andreas and your friends will do a fine job, they weren’t there. They don’t know like I do.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“I will stay here as long as you need because I want to. Because I want to give you the things you deserve. Because the sight of you in that forest will haunt me for the rest of my life. And if the only thing you can accept is that you feel safest with me because I was there, then that’s fine. I will be here regardless.”  

It was still too much. Too… intimate, almost. For perhaps the first time, Nesta could see his own trauma – how nearly losing her had destroyed a part of him, either from guilt or from fear.

In an instant, she heard his voice again in her head, promising her it was over. She felt the pine needles under her feet as she tried to stagger towards him, not entirely believing he was real. She felt his lips on her hair, her skin, saw the way they were tinged with blood when he pulled back to assess her.

She blinked, trying to reconcile that image with the male before her now – dressed casually, his expression open, his demeanor soft.

This version of him, she’d almost killed just now. Just like before, when she’d been prepared to go through him to secure her freedom.

She was violent. She had killed them all. And she hadn’t regretted it.

Perhaps she needed to insist he stay as far away from her as possible, for his own safety. Perhaps she should run – leave, where no one could find her again.

Maybe she should let them take her back-

“Stay with me, sweetheart.”

When she blinked a second time, he had moved, seemingly so quickly that she’d missed it.

The warmth of his palm startled her, and she flinched, before the scent of him made her feet feel firmer on the ground.

Cassian dipped his head, to hold her gaze.

“That’s it,” he urged. “With me. It’s alright.”

She hated this. Hated not knowing. Hated the weakness of her own mind.

The only constant, it seemed, was him, the beating of his heart, the pull of the bond in her chest.

She needed him. She hated it, but she did. But he did not fault her for it.

“With me, Nes?” He repeated, drawing a small nod from her.

When his lips brushed her hairline, she closed her eyes, letting out a long breath.

“You’re safe,” he promised, pulling her in close. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

Despite herself, she clung to him with all the strength she could muster, unable to do anything but believe him.

---

The hour was late when Cassian made his way downstairs.

Nesta slept deeply – finally – after hours of coaxing, of reassurances.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that he’d pushed her too far with his declarations, when she’d clearly still been rattled by whatever horrors her memories had unleashed upon her.

It had only resulted in losing her again.

The knowledge that it was something that had happened before her kidnapping only made him feel worse.

The tavern was empty as he stepped into it, aside from its keeper, who was wiping down his bar.

“I was wondering when you’d show your face,” Andreas commented, offering him a small smile. “You both missed dinner, there’s some saved for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cassian replied, absentmindedly plucking used glasses from around the space and placing them neatly together by the sink.

“Call me a mother hen,” the male replied, picking up one of the glasses and beginning to rinse it.

When Cassian set the last one down, Andreas chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“What?”

“If you’d told me a week ago that our illustrious General would stoop so low as to clean up after my patrons, I’d have laughed for the next decade.”

Cassian couldn’t hide his grimace.

“You know, I wasn’t born into the same riches that the High Lord was. I know…”

“How the other half lives?” Andreas supplied, amusement in his eyes. “I know, Cassian. I’m simply teasing you.”

Despite himself, some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he watched the male turn back towards the bar and retrieve two clean glasses. Without a word, he poured what looked to be an expensive whiskey into each, before sliding one towards him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But you look like you’ve had a rough night.”

Cassian smiled gratefully, taking a small sip.

“All things considered; my night hasn’t been as bad as…”

Andreas nodded. “She sleeps now, though.”

“She does.”

Cassian hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should express his concern about Nesta’s episodes. She hadn’t hurt him, true, but if it was anyone else…

“Spit it out, my friend. You’ll feel better.”

Letting out a long sigh, Cassian took another sip of his drink.

“She’s been… dissociating. Thinking they’re around the next corner, waiting to grab her. Or forgetting where she is.”

Andreas nodded, as if this was old news.

“I don’t know what she’s told you, but… Her abilities, they can…”

“I know about Nesta’s flames,” Andreas supplied. “Is that what you mean?”

Cassian blinked, straightened.

“You know about the flames?”

Andreas shrugged and took a sip of his own whiskey. “Our nightmares don’t end just because someone is sleeping beside us. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

Jealousy pierced through his gut, despite himself. To make matters worse, the male simply winked at him, as if he knew just that.

A test, maybe.

“She… wielded them, earlier.” Cassian offered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “They didn’t burn me, but I don’t know if that applies to…”

“Nesta’s flames do not harm those with pure intentions,” Andreas said. “I’ve lost a few sheets, maybe, but she’s never left a mark on my skin. Or any of the others. It never happened when she was awake before, only coming out of sleep.”

Cassian breathed in slowly, then let it out.

“Right.”

Andreas tilted his head. “You’re making a valiant effort, to keep that jealously in check.”

“It’s not jealously,” Cassian replied, flexing his jaw. “It’s-”

“Guilt. Regret. Yearning. It’s very obvious, General. You care about her, but you fucked it up and now you’re trying to make up for it and hearing about those of us who had the honor before chafes despite your best efforts. There’s no fault in that. You are her mate.”

Maybe this was why Nesta liked him so much. He said what he was thinking without any filter. And he was, apparently, often spot on in his observations.

“She needs time,” Cassian offered. “I can’t fault her for that. I’m just… trying not to mess it up.”

Andreas nodded. “Well for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing fine. She loves you, and she’ll still love you when she’s had the time to heal.”

Cassian snorted. He could only hope Nesta loved him. “She tell you that?”

The male before him downed the rest of his drink before moving away to finish cleaning up, only turning his head back to offer,

“You know, actually, she did.”

Chapter Text

Andreas’ words haunted Cassian for the rest of the night.

‘You know, actually, she did.’

What the hell did that mean?

The barkeep hadn’t offered anything, of course. It was for Nesta to share, he’d said. Apparently, he’d just wanted to get Cassian out of his head enough to stop moping all over his tavern.

But even as confident as the male seemed to be, Cassian felt differently.

She probably said those words before things had gotten so ugly. Before he’d come and embarrassed her in front of all her friends, calling her pathetically lazy and a drunk. Before his negligence had resulted in Hybern being able to successfully infiltrate the city and steal her away.

He’d let her down so spectacularly that if she told him she loved him now, he would be half inclined to tell her to rethink her feelings, if only because she deserved better.

And he deserved to have his heartbroken, for once.

The sheer angst of it all kept him wide awake in bed beside the female in question.

Andreas hadn’t been joking about the size of it – he was half off the mattress, lying on his side while his wings dropped onto the floor. But Nesta was cozy, so his own discomfort was a small price to pay.

It was a first – to share her bed like this. He’d offered to sleep on the floor, or even in another building all together, but Nesta had simply shaken her head at him before she’d gone to bed earlier that night, and when he’d returned to the room to sleep himself, he’d found her scooted to one side, with space left for him.  

And now, she was comfortably asleep with her back against his chest, enjoying the warmth that always seemed to radiate from him, courtesy of the intensity of Illyrian magic in his veins. So, he’d been content to rest his head on his folded arm and watch the way her breaths came, the steady rhythm of her heart.

Her body was still fragile, so he couldn’t drape his other arm over her waist, as he longed to do. Instead, he brushed his fingers along her arm, up through her hair, over and over and over again.

He’d adjust the blankets, squeeze her shoulder, and press gentle kisses to her head – anything to pass the time.

Anything to keep her rest peaceful, and to occupy his racing mind.

By the time the sky began to lighten through the windows, his wings ached, and his body itched with the urge to stretch out properly. Naturally, the moment he finally convinced his eyes to close was the moment his mate snapped awake.

Her disorientation and subsequent panic rocketed through him, erasing the miniscule progress he’d made on sleep within an instant. Lifting a hand, he settled it on her hip, over the blanket, in silent reassurance.

Nesta breathed in slowly, then let it out, her body perfectly still, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

Cassian waited, content to keep his eyes closed, to simply feel for what she needed.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

One of his brows lifted, unsurprised by her observation. She could feel it, after all. Just like he could feel her own soreness.

“So are you.”

Nesta shifted then, letting out a soft sound of discomfort as she resettled on the mattress.

“It’s getting better,” she offered. “Sleeping on this side is best. It’s just… residual.”

Cassian hummed, and his fingers lifted, skimming more deliberately over her torso, seeking out the familiar sensation of bandages beneath her nightgown that had been wrapped around her ribs for additional support. Except, he found them absent.

“Residual.”

She let out another sound, as if to tell him to leave it alone. It was something that would be endearing and adorable, if she hadn’t almost been murdered a few weeks ago.

“Right,” he said, pushing himself up. “I brought some fresh ones.”

Nesta huffed in irritation, her eyes following him as he moved over to his pack and pulled them out. Turning to assess her in the dim light, he called,

“I don’t remember you being this prickly for Madja.”

Those eyes narrowed, silver glinting within them, and she pushed herself up, with a grimace.

“I don’t want to be your patient.”

Cassian softened, just a little, and allowed a small smile to tug at his lips.

“You aren’t my patient, sweetheart. You’re my mate. I can’t ignore your pain even if I wanted to.”

If the logic of the mating bond was the only thing that would allow her to accept his care, he’d rely on it, for now. Even if it was so much more than that.

“I thought fae were supposed to heal quickly.”

“Nesta, if you were a human, you would have been dead before you made it out of that keep from blood loss alone. You’re up and walking, and that’s more than enough. You’re allowed to still be sore.”

Too harsh a truth, perhaps, for this early in the morning. He’d blame it on the lack of sleep.

She seemed to take it in stride, at any rate, settling herself up against the headboard.

It occurred to him, then, that they were at an impasse.

He had never been the one to wrap the bandages around her chest, instead politely stepping out whenever Madja came to do her evaluations.

And though someone else in this household had seen Nesta in a state of undress that Cassian was not yet privy to, he’d rather die than offer to ask Andreas.

For a moment, he stood frozen, undecisive. Nesta raised a brow at him, and for a heavy second they regarded each other before the situation dawned on her.

Her lips parted, and she averted her gaze for a moment, contemplative.

“I’ll just…” She murmured, and pushed herself to the edge of the bed opposite from him, giving him her back.

“It’s alright, I can-”

“I trust you, Cassian.”

Cassian’s mouth snapped closed, the weight of her words hitting him with a force so intensely he lost his breath.

“Alright,” he murmured, softly.

Fixated, he watched as she reached up to tug the strap of her nightgown down over her shoulder, followed by the other. As the fabric slid down to pool around her waist, his heart may have stopped all together.

Even with the dark green of slowly healing bruises that wrapped around her rib cage, her skin was ethereal. Smooth, and he’d bet, devastatingly soft.

With an arm wrapped around her chest, she turned her head back in question.

“Well?”

Cassian cleared his throat and took a few steps before setting himself down on the mattress behind her. Tilting his head down, he let his eyes scan over each blemish, the pinkening scar he could see when she rotated enough to reach back and grab the roll of linens from him.

Silently, they worked in tandem until the bandages were wrapped low enough that she no longer needed to cover her breasts. Then, she let him take over. He worked quickly, more than well-practiced in this kind of thing, and it felt like it was far too soon when he fastened the strips of linen together and sat back.

“That’s better,” he said, satisfied with his work.

For several seconds, he could only watch the way she breathed, the contrast of the starch-white fabric against her skin, mesmerized.

“You’re staring,” she said quietly, after a while.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied before he could properly think about it.

She huffed, softly, but he felt something warm in his chest as she pulled the straps of her nightgown back up over her shoulders. Tucking a strand of her shorter hair behind her ear, she let out a soft sigh, and asked,

“Now that you’re happy, can we go back to sleep? The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet.”

Cassian laughed softly; half tempted to tell her that he’d never been asleep in the first place. That, normally, he’d be up by now anyway, for training.

But she was looking at him, her eyes open and inquisitive, and she’d reached over to pull the blankets back down, in what was distinctly a silent invitation.

Maybe he could convince his body to rest, after all.

“Whatever you like, sweetheart.”

The soft smile that graced her face made any discomfort from that damn mattress worth it.

---

The soreness that had woken Nesta earlier subsided enough for a few hours more of sleep.

Cassian wasn’t beside her when she finally pushed herself out of bed, but he was close. Or at least, she thought so.

The intricacies of the bond were still a mystery, most of the time.

With practiced movements, she dressed, careful of her healing wrist, dawning a simple blue dress and a belt, for the dagger she prized so much.

She’d have to thank Azriel properly, once all of this was over.

Brushing her hair with one hand, she made her way down to the tavern below, smiling faintly as she took in the sight of her mate in conversation with Andreas over what appeared to be a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, darling,” the barkeeper said with a grin. “We thought you might sleep through the afternoon.”

“I’ve done enough sleeping, I think.” Nesta replied, allowing him to press a kiss to her cheek in greeting as she passed around the bar to slide next to Cassian, whose wing had pulled back, as if to welcome her to his side.

It settled behind her with an ease that suggested it had always been this way between them, so soft and caring.

As it was, the newness of it all left her feeling on her toes, anxious for whatever direction their relationship took next.

Andreas slid her a cup of her own, humming.

“I hope that bed isn’t too uncomfortable.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Nesta replied. “Thank you, again.”

“Have you considered where you might look for a new apartment?” He asked, following his offer of coffee with a plate of bread and cheese.

Nesta slid her eyes to glance at Cassian, who offered her a small dip of his chin, as if to encourage her to express her thoughts.

“No,” she answered honestly. “I’m not sure what happens now.”

“Whatever you like,” Cassian replied. “There are a few buildings near here with units on the top floor, similar to what you had before.”

What he didn’t say, she assumed, was that they were likely much nicer than her broom closet.

“A friend of mine owns the building up the block,” Andreas said. “I could introduce you.”

Nesta hummed, actually open to the idea.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian asked then, turning so he could face her, assessing her face, her posture, searching for signs of discomfort.

“Better than earlier,” Nesta replied. “The ache is mostly in my ribs, and when I try to breathe deeply. Otherwise, an occasional headache. My wrist is stiff, Madja said it would be.”

“When are you free of those splints?” Andreas asked, looking pointedly down at where her wrapped hand rested on the bar top.

“Madja said another few days, last we spoke.”

“You’ll still need to keep it wrapped, for a little while,” Andreas offered.

Beside her, Cassian had a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes, as if he was pleased to not be the only mother hen.

If it meant they weren’t going to kill each other, she would accept it.

As she took in the quiet of the morning, the ease with which she could sit and breathe in this space, the certainty that she’d made the right choice settled comfortably in her bones.

That contentment must have been felt down the bond, for beside her, Cassian’s own shoulders sagged in relaxation, the breath loosing from his chest one of relief.

It made her feel warm, to know he was happy. That he was supportive.

“Excuse me?”

It was an all too familiar voice that disrupted their peace.

Nesta lifted her head and met the eyes of her sister, who had opened the door halfway and peeked in.

“Feyre,” she greeted, anxiety pinching her chest enough for Cassian to straighten beside her.

Feyre held Cassian’s gaze for a long moment, seemingly having a heated conversation mind to mind.

It was Andreas, thankfully, who intervened.

“High Lady,” he said. “I must say I never expected to see you grace my hall.”

“Oh,” Feyre replied, still occasionally awkward when being addressed by her title. “Well, I was just hoping to speak to Nesta.”

“She would have called” Cassian muttered, and Nesta found herself reaching out to place a hand on his arm, to soothe him.

“It’s alright.” Nesta said. For she knew, without a doubt, that Feyre would never have waited. She was too impatient. “Let’s take a walk, Feyre.”

She pushed up from the bar, with the intention of approaching her sister in the doorway. Behind her, she heard Andreas shift, then murmur something to Cassian as she went, and then her mate’s hands were draping a shawl over her shoulders.

“It’s chilly,” he offered. “If you get tired, I’ll come get you.”

Nesta looked down at the fabric – something one of her friends had left at the bar at one time or another that Andreas had kept for situations like this.

“I can winnow her back,” Feyre said, a bit sharply. “It would be faster.”

“I’ll be fine,” Nesta cut in, unwilling to entertain a battle between her mate and her sister. “Shall we?”

Feyre nodded and took a step back to allow her to exit through the front door.

“A pleasure,” Andreas called, with a small smile.

Nesta watched as Feyre nodded back, her smile not quite as comfortable, but still genuine all the same.

Then, they were stepping out onto the street and walking slowly towards the Sidra.

“Cassian is pissed,” Feyre said quietly. “He told me to wait for your word.”

“Cassian doesn’t know you like I do.”

Feyre snorted softly. “So, you aren’t angry?”

Nesta kept her gaze forward, more frustrated with the fact that she couldn’t walk at her usual gate than anything else.

“No,” she answered honestly. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Feyre said. “I just… I just want to help you. I thought that's what we were doing, up there.”

“Have you considered that this is how I’d like to be helped?”

“You were kidnapped right out form under my nose, Nesta. I can’t apologize for wanting you close. To make sure nothing happens to you.”

At once, the scent of blood filled her nose, and the back of her legs tingled with the phantom sensation of that switch. Alistair’s cruel laugh echoed in her ears, then the rasp of his breath as she drove that blade into him.

Nesta blinked, and the memories faded.

“I’m not faulting you for that,” Nesta replied. “And it’s not my intention to shut you out. I know you want things to change.”

“What do you want?” Feyre asked, as they approached the riverbank.

“I don’t know,” Nesta replied. “But this… This feels safe. For now.”

"Why?" Feyre asked softly. "Why this over your own family?"

Nesta shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders as a gust of wind blew off the Sidra. The walk from the tavern had tired her a little, but it felt good to get fresh air.

"Those months when you were in Spring," Nesta replied. "Elain and I were trapped up there. People visited, sure, but no one offered to take us anywhere. No one gave us any choice. Or, frankly, any information about how to live as a fae. We were tucked away, for whenever you came back to deal with us. I couldn't live like that anymore. I wanted to be free."

Feyre sucked in a breath. "I didn't realize..."

"I know." Nesta said. "And I don't blame you. I'd want me out of the way too. Which is why I left. And now... It just felt too much like things were expected to suddenly be different, because of everything that happened. With the apologies and promises. As if I wasn't just as broken, if not more so. As if I still didn't feel like I was suffocating."

Feyre reached out, tentatively, to set her hand over hers.

"And now?"

Nesta shuddered, closing her eyes.

"Now I'm just trying to remember how to breathe."

“I want to learn how to help you the way you need,” Feyre said. “Will you let me?”

Nesta hummed.

“I think I can.”

---

Cassian fought like hell to resist the urge to go after his mate.

He didn’t like that she was out of sight, nor that he couldn’t be there if things between her and Feyre devolved.

But it was another test. He wouldn’t smother her; he would honor her and her wishes.

Even if it was like chewing on broken glass.

Andreas, at least, had taken pity on him, which was how he’d had the entire tavern set up for operations several hours before it even opened.

“I really should hire you,” the barkeep had said, with an impressed nod.

“At this point, I may take you up on it,” Cassian muttered.

“She’ll be alright. Our girl can stand up for herself.”

The bond in his chest flared at the sound of another male claiming her. He was beginning to think he should call Azriel just to have something to hit.

“And where is she, Andreas? I came all this way to pay my respects.”

Cassian turned his head to assess their newcomer – unsure if he could handle any more surprises. In the doorway stood a gorgeous female – tall, with long dark hair. At her side was a similarly tall and thin male, dressed immaculately in a dark green suit.

Neither of them seemed to be natives of the Night Court.

“I was wondering when you’d make an appearance,” Andreas said, with a grin. “Where are the rest of you?”

“They’re coming, they’re coming.”

“We’re here to shower affection on our darling girl,” the male said. “I’ve got chocolate for days in my bag.”

A third fae appeared in a winnow behind the pair – petite in every sense of the word – and barged in without introduction, moving to Andreas’ side to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Nesta should be back soon, then you can smother her with your affection all you like,” he said with a laugh.

“I must say I was not expecting to see you here,” the fae said, leaning forward on the bar to assess Cassian closely.

To say he was surprised by this eccentric group would be an understatement. How had he never noticed them before?

“Cassian is here to care for his mate, just like the rest of us,” Andreas offered. “He’s even agreed to sleeping in that guest room bed even though it’s certainly too small.”

“Is he now?” the female across the bar said, sauntering over to take a seat next to him. “Well, if she lets you, I hope you know how to please her. We only allow the highest standard for our Nesta."

Cassian felt his cheeks heat, despite himself.

A 500-year-old General, blushing at the insinuation.

"I- Well..."

"Come now, Katya," The male beside her purred, draping his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sure he is... adequate."

Behind him, Andreas coughed to cover a laugh.

"Alright, leave him be. You're here for Nesta's sake, not to tease her mate into oblivion."

"The two are the same," the third fae said, with a frown. "You can't blame me for wanting to make sure our girl eats well."

"Pig. Forgive them, General, they have a one-track mind."

"But I do not," the female --Katya -- declared seriously. "The last time I saw you, you were raging like a bull in a china shop. Why should I stand for your presence now?"

"I've allowed it," Andreas answered, before Cassian could open his mouth. "And, more importantly, so has Nesta."

For a moment, Cassian could only stare at the barkeep in surprise, not expecting the male to come to his defense so easily.

But Andreas simply smiled at him.

“Pierre is not going to like this,” the male said, with a dramatic sigh. “Still, if Nesta has said it’s alright, then I suppose there’s nothing for us to say.” Extending a hand, he said, “my name is Tobias.”

Cassian accepted it slowly, trying to reconcile with the fact that all of these people – attractive and charming as they were – had shared his mate’s bed.

All of them knew what brought her pleasure.

All of them.

This had to be some kind of cruel joke or worst nightmare.

“A pleasure,” he said through gritted teeth, desperate to appear friendly.

Tobias tilted his head back and laughed. “You’re a shit liar. But that’s alright.”

Pushing up from the bar, he settled down at the card table and procured a deck from his coat pocket.

“Shall we entertain ourselves while we wait for her highness to grace us? You play, do you not, General?”

It was a peace offering – or perhaps another test, Cassian had lost track.

With a breath, he felt down the bond, assuring himself that Nesta was content for the time being. Then, he offered (along with a prayer to the Mother),

“I dabble.”

---

Nesta didn’t know what she had been expecting, when she returned from her time with Feyre.

She’d allowed her sister to take her to a late lunch, to feel suitably like they were in a good place before she returned home.

Madja would visit the next day, and she supported her intention to find a new apartment without much fuss—so long as she could visit – and that was enough.

It was a start, anyway.

The walk she'd insisted on back to the tavern was quiet, slow, and she was suitably tired by the time she reached the front door.

Which was why she was half convinced she was dreaming when she stepped inside to take in the sight of her mate at the poker table, surrounded by her friends.

Laughing.

Nesta blinked once, then again, as if to clear her mind. But no – there he was. Laughing as Tobias delt another round of cards.

Reaching for that feeling in her chest, she felt nothing but contentment – a sense of pleasure and satisfaction.

All around her, voices were echoing throughout the hall – an early sign of what would be a busy night. It was overwhelming, too much for her tired mind to sift through, but with Cassian clear in her sight, it felt bearable.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said beside her.

She jumped, despite herself, at the sudden interruption, but Andreas’ eyes were soft as he reached out to take the shawl from her shoulders. Folding it in his arms, he followed her gaze to her group of friends and laughed softly.

“It took them a few moments to warm up, but I’d say he fits right in, more or less.”

Nesta nodded slowly, almost mesmerized. She hadn’t expected Cassian to want to be friendly with these people beyond what he had to be. In truth, she half expected a brawl.

But this was different.

This was good.

“You must be exhausted,” Andreas said, and the hand he placed on her upper back was whisper soft. “Come sit.”

She allowed herself to be escorted over towards where the group was lounging. Three steps in, the table erupted with yelling as one of them – Cassian – seemingly won a hand unexpectedly.

“Of course, Nesta’s mate is also a card shark,” Katya mused next to Ali, who had their arm looped around hers. To Ali's left, Pierre sat quietly, as he usually did, ever the observer. 

“I have my moments,” Cassian said, fighting a grin.

Just as the words left his mouth, the air shifted, as if the bond had just alerted him to her presence. His eyes lifted in answer and met her own as she approached the table.

It made her breath catch, tingles shooting down to her toes.

She hardly had time to process it before she was being swarmed with her friends, who’d all practically launched themselves from the table.

“Thank the gods, Nesta, we thought you were lost!”

“It’s good to see you in one piece, girl.”

“I’m sure you gave them hell.”

The voices all mingled together as one – almost too much for her, amongst the existing cacophony of sound. But then, Cassian was pushing to his feet, and they all parted for him, returning to their seats with such little fuss that he must truly have won them over.

Nesta held his gaze as he approached, allowing him to assess her wellbeing for himself.

“Alright, sweetheart?” He asked her, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded, the anxiety she was feeling receding away as her subconscious registered the safety of his presence.

“Good. Come sit.”

There was a low, rich timbre to his voice, something that ignited the flames that burned beneath her skin. She allowed him to ease her into the chair he’d been occupying at the table, before pulling a stool for himself. The sensation of his wing draping behind her and the brush of his arm against hers helped to ground her to this place, away from the memories.

“Shall I deal you in?” Tobias asked with a small smile. He was more sensitive than the rest of them, almost as much of a mother hen as Andreas.

“I think I’ll watch,” Nesta replied, just as the barkeep himself placed a cup of tea in her hands. “If my mate is a card shark, I’d like to see for myself.”

She didn’t miss the way Cassian’s cheeks seemed to pinken, nor the suddenly bashful look in his eyes, as if her attention was unexpected.

“Excellent news for our wallets, I’d wager,” Ali said, grinning.

She scooted just a smidge closer to Cassian, enough that she could see his hand without having to strain her neck. He obliged her immediately, dropping his shoulder and lowering his arm enough to grant her easier access.

They resumed the game with an ease she didn’t know she could experience – a seamlessness between her two worlds that she didn’t know she longed for.

Several rounds in, it seemed automatic for her head to come to rest on Cassian’s shoulder, her arm looped with his.

She heard the way his breath caught at the action, but then affection flooded her chest so intensely it was like a tidal wave.

Despite sharing a bed with him, it was more intimate than anything she’d felt so far.

With each draw of the cards, each show of hands, comfort and familiarity settled further into her bones, deep down until her breaths came easy, and her mind was quiet.

---

It was later, well into the night, that her demons came to call.

She was foolish, in retrospect, to step out for a breath of air, but the toasty atmosphere of the tavern had always proven too stuffy for her at times. Cassian remained inside, but only because she’d told him she was fine on her own.

Foolish.

The way her chest tightened at the shadows and eerie quiet of the street corner told her as much.

Practicing her breathing, she lifted her head to the sky, focusing in on the stars that glimmered brightly, and the moon that cast a glow.

She couldn’t see either in the darkness of that cell, which meant she was out. She was free.

Inside, she could hear the music, the laughter. She felt the thick sleeves of her dress and the leather of her shoes.

There was no blood, no cold stone under her bare feet.

“It’s you.”

The voice was one she didn’t recognize, and it had her head snapping forward to take in the sight of a male regarding her with shock and awe.

It could be a number of things, she supposed. Kingslayer. High Lady’s Sister. Drunken Whore, even.

“You’re the witch who destroyed Hybern.”

Nesta blinked, and abruptly the smell of smoke wafted through the air. A cigar, she realized absently, smoldering in the fae’s hand.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The whispers have been in Velaris for over a week now,” he said. “About the High Lady’s witch sister who destroyed the keep. About the bodies she left in her wake. The ruin. I never thought I’d see you in the flesh.”

He took a step forward, far too abrupt, and suddenly her dagger was in her hand, pointed at his throat.

“Don’t.” She warned, and she felt that heat at her fingertips, in warning.

To his credit, the male looked suitably stunned, and froze, his hands coming up in surrender.

“Easy,” he countered. “It’s not me who dragged you across the sea, girl. No need to add me to your ash pile.”

Nausea pinched her stomach at the thought. She hadn’t actually stuck around to see the aftermath of her work.

“How do you know the details?”

“There are always communication networks,” he answered. “Gossip. It was no small thing, what you did. After killing the king, you aren’t exactly an average fae. Not with those silver eyes.”

He had a hunger about him – a desire. It was one she recognized too well. If this were another time, she’d be calculating how to utilize it to her advantage.

But that was done now.

“How lucky I am, to see such a beautiful creature on a night like this.”

“Your luck ends here,” Nesta snapped. “You’ve seen me, be on your way.”

She could see that he wanted to press her, that he wouldn’t be easily swayed. But before he could act, she let her fire spark at her fingers, and she took a menacing step forward, warning.

“Alright, alright.” He said, backing up. “A hellcat through and through. I pity the fate of the male who ends up on the wrong side of your bed.”

He threw his cigar down on the street, stamping it out with his foot, before he turned and disappeared up the block, muttering.

For several long moments, Nesta could only stare after him, waiting for the moment he turned and attacked her. For an accomplice to appear from the shadows and snatch her.

Was this how she would be remembered? Would this chase her for the rest of her long life?

When her eyes finally glanced down at the cigar, the sparks remaining sent images of Alistair’s face into her mind – the scream that erupted from him when she’d jammed that torch into his face.

Hellcat. Murderer. Monster.

All she could smell was smoke.

A door opened behind her, and she whirled, prepared to face another foe – to ram her blade into his throat before he could touch her.

Instead, those warm hazel eyes were waiting for her, and a familiar scent of amber musk replaced the ash that clogged her nose and sat heavy on her tongue.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cassian said softly, holding her gaze, entirely unconcerned by the blade in her hand.

Nesta stared at him for a long time, separating the image of him in that forest with him now, outside the tavern.

The forest was in the past.

Tonight, he was here, in the present.

Absently, she sheathed the dagger at her side.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked then, at her silence, brows furrowing in the way they always did, when he was concerned.

Nesta took in a breath, then another, before her feet moved.

It took three steps to get into his space, and without ceremony, she buried her face in his chest.

Cassian’s arms rose automatically but held frozen in the air for a moment before they settled firmly around her, pulling her close.

“Don’t let them take me back,” she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, closing her eyes as she relished in the feeling of his embrace.

If he was surprised by the words, he didn’t show it. Instead, his chin dipped, and his lips pressed to her hairline, reverent.

“Never,” he vowed. “They’ll never take you.”

She listened to the beat of his heart, holding onto the rhythm, until her own could echo it. Until he brought back her peace.

“I promise,” he said softly into her hair. “I promise they’ll never take you.”

And standing there, wrapped tightly in his arms, Nesta began to believe him.

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later

Sofia stared at the female in front of her, taking in all the new details of her appearance.

The short hair suited her – tucked primly behind her ears. Her face was free of bruising, though she still carried tension in her shoulders and her neck, as if the residual pain remained.

On the outside – or at least from what she could see beyond the sleeves and length of her dress – Nesta Archeron seemed mostly healed.

But she wagered the inside was a different story, based on the way the girl’s eyes frequently flitted to the corners of the room, catching every shadow, and how she’d go quiet for a few moments, when someone else was talking, lost in her own thoughts.

The papers had already begun circulating throughout Velaris. The tales of Lady Death taking her revenge against Hybern – how the Kingslayer went back to finish the job. There was even a crude depiction of a female that looked more like a banshee – far exaggerated – that painted the cover of certain gossip serials.

No matter how dramatized though, the story was the same. Nesta Archeron broke out of her prison and eviscerated every single thing in her path, covered in bloodshed by the time she was finished.

A gruesome thought, but only because Sofia knew of the horrors the poor girl had already suffered. She didn’t need anything else to add to that list.

Still, she was alive, and she would thank the Mother for that.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to come see you,” Nesta said quietly, hands folded politely in her lap.

Sofia waved her off. “I prefer you see me only when it doesn’t strain you, my dear.”

Nesta’s lips twitched just a little upwards, and she tilted her head as the familiar sound of a bedroom door creaking echoed throughout the apartment.

“Came I come out now, baba?”

Yuri was a ball of energy on most days – bouncing off the walls every chance he got. She’d figured it was best to let Nesta get comfortable on the couch before unleashing the hellion upon her.

“Yes, child, I think we’re good and settled.”

Sofia watched her grandson as he bound out from his room, stacks of paper in his hands.

“Miss Nesta!” He called, approaching her side. “I missed you!”

For the first time, Nesta’s face brightened, and she offered the boy a true, genuine smile.

“The feeling is very mutual, Yuri.”

Yuri grinned, all bright-eyed innocence and unbridled joy. He stepped closer into the young female’s space, likely intent on an embrace.

“Careful,” Sofia reminded. “Nesta’s still healing, Yuri.”

“I think one hug won’t hurt,” Nesta said, opening her arms to envelop the boy.

He snuggled instantly into her with a kind of familiarity that warmed her heart. Nesta’s long fingers stroked through his unruly hair, and for a long moment she closed her eyes, as if to savor the moment. There was an emotion on her face Sofia couldn’t quite place – grief and relief, all wrapped into one.

It was a nearly a full minute before Nesta pulled back to assess his face. In a voice that was a bit tight, asked,

“What have you brought me?”

Yuri grinned before he presented her his stack of paper.

“I finished all the lessons in the alphabet book you got me!” He said proudly. Then, a bit more sheepish, “And I made you another card.”

Nesta’s smile was soft as she accepted his offerings and made a show of going through each one with keen interest.

“We’ll have to get you a harder lesson book then, won’t we?”

Yuri beamed. “You will still teach me?”

“Of course, sweet boy. If you’d like to learn, I will be happy to teach you.”

Yuri turned his head to assess Sofia, eyes hopeful.

“Remember what I told you,” she said gently. “Nesta doesn’t live next door anymore. You’ll have to visit her at her new home and be very respectful since I won’t be there to keep an eye on you. No running through the halls and causing a ruckus.”

Her grandson huffed, crossing his arms. “Baba I’m very respectful.”

Sofia leveled him with an unconvinced look, though she was unable to hide her amusement.

Nesta, for her part, seemed content to observe her offerings in silence, her fingers still brushing over the sheets of paper in her lap, fixated on the bright colors of crayon.

Yuri turned back to her, and swore, “I promise to be respectful Miss Nesta.”

Nesta nodded, lifting her eyes to assess him. “I trust you. Maybe you can help decorate with some of your pictures.”

The idea sent the boy over the moon, and he loudly voiced his accent, before running off to get started. Sofia took the opportunity to say,

“I’m so glad you were returned safely to us, Nesta.”

Nesta’s face hardened, just a little, back into the stoic expression often saved for adults.

“I should thank you properly,” she replied. “For telling my family I was gone.”

Sofia shook her head, reaching over to pat her hand. “Never thank me for that, dear. Females like us look out for each other. Tell me, how have you been truly?”

The female before her sighed, long and tired.

“I have good days and bad days. It feels like any progress I’d made before about getting over it all feels irrelevant.”

Sofia nodded sagely. They’d never spoken in great length about what happened, but there’d been instances, just before she was taken, when they’d got somewhere. When Sofia had been able to offer her those small pieces of advice on how to heal. And for a moment there, it felt as though Nesta was truly listening.

“I’m always here for you, Nesta. No matter how far away you live.”

Nesta smiled slightly, her gratitude in her eyes.

“How has your family been?”

“They’re… trying. I left their residences pretty quickly. Feyre understands why, and I just needed some space. The apologies and promises were too much.”

Sofia could understand that.

“Give them some time to sort through their guilt,” she offered. “In the meantime, protect your peace.”

Nesta nodded. “I’m trying.”

Sofia’s long fingers found hers and squeezed, reassuringly.

“Trying is all we can do.”

And as the young fae squeezed back, Sofia began to feel confident that, even if it took a while, Nesta Archeron would survive it all.

---

Cassian was waiting for her when Nesta stepped out onto the street after her visit with Sofia.

As she’d walked down the familiar hall of her apartment, visions flashed in her head – blurry fragments of being wrapped in a sheet and dragged out the door – her necklace catching on Jamis’ thick finger and ripping off, clattering to the floor.

The heavy smell of alcohol on the male’s breath as he threw her over his shoulder before winnowing away to the ship docks.

But as she opened the front door, and the sunlight hit her face, she was brought back to the present, brought back to him, standing right outside, leaning against a light post.

She supposed she should have expected it by now, after all these weeks. But it still managed to take her by surprise to see him appear in public, or to have him settle in beside her at night.

The sleeping arrangement was something they’d decidedly not spoken about in great detail. But ever since she’d been staying with Andreas, he’d curled up beside her on the mattress, a steady, safe presence every single night. 

Nesta didn’t mind it. She figured she could blame the mating bond for that. Or the nightmares that required his patient coaxing, so she didn’t burn the entire place to the ground. Instead, she found herself yearning for it – if only to sleep through the night.

She must have stared at him for several long seconds, taking in his broad shoulders, the unruly curls that had been messily pulled back. Despite the intimidation of his hulking frame, there was such a softness about him that was strangely endearing.

It was his voice that brought her back to reality.

“How did it go?” He asked, pushing off the post to stand up straight.

Clearing her throat, she stepped up to him, and his hand reached out automatically to settle on the small of her back.

“I may have promised Yuri he could decorate whatever apartment I find,” Nesta replied, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

She found she quite liked the shorter length, even if Elain’s face still showed degrees of discomfort every time, they looked at each other.

“What an honor,” Cassian said with a grin. “I’m sure he’s excited.”

“Sure, except I haven’t actually found a place to live yet.”

That had been the primary challenge of the last two weeks. When Nesta had the energy, they looked, but so far, the units were either too grand for her to stomach, too small to function, or reminded her too much of her old place.

It was beginning to feel like no matter where she settled, it would never be quite right.

“We have two on the list left,” he reminded. “We can see them today if you’re feeling up to it.”

Nesta nodded, falling into step beside him as they walked up the street, back towards the tavern.

Cassian pulled out a piece of parchment from his shirt pocket and assessed the two addresses listed on them. She recognized his handwriting – which was surprisingly neat.

“The first one is two blocks on the other side of the tavern,” he said. “Five or so blocks from here. Is that alright?”

“Fine.”

He smiled, just as his wing spread behind her enough for a claiming. He always did so in public, whether he realized it or not. Nesta let him.

“As long as we’re back for dinner,” Cassian said. “I think I promised Ali a rematch at cards last night.”

A smile tugged at her lips at the memory. Against all the odds, her mate had settled easily into her group of friends – though they were still quite skeptical of his romantic intentions. Katya and Pierre remained the most aloof, but Ali and Tobias had been swayed by Andreas enough to welcome him in.

“You did,” Nesta affirmed. “Though whether they remember after all that ale remains to be seen.”

“They don’t seem to forget an opportunity to free me of my coin, sweetheart.”

Well, that much was true.

Nesta shrugged. “At least you have plenty of it.”

His laugh was loud but not jarring. Instead, there was a familiarity to it that soothed her. It gave her something to focus on as they navigated the crowds of downtown Velaris.

“While we’re on the subject, I did want to ask you about something,” Cassian began slowly after a moment of comfortable silence, just as they passed the tavern itself.

Nesta held her breath in nervous anticipation.

He took her silence as affirmation to continue.

“They seem to pair off as usual, for the night. Yesterday, Katya, Ali, and Tobias left together, and Pierre had a partner he found earlier that evening. Andreas I think is only holding off for our sakes.”

“That usually is how it goes.” Nesta replied, keeping her head forward.

“I just… well, that is to say…”

“What, Cassian?” she asked, turning to assess him.

She watched as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

“If you wanted to go with them, for any reason, that… That would be okay. We don’t owe each other anything just because we’re…”

Oh.

Nesta’s cheeks warmed, and she quickly looked away.

“You would really be okay with that?”

Cassian shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter if I am, does it? Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean I own you or get a say in who you spend your time with. At least, so long as we haven’t decided to be together.”

“I see.”

In all honesty, Nesta had kind of… assumed they were all but together. At least, considering they’d been sharing a bed. To know he didn’t think the same way was… confusing.

“All I’m saying is that if you’ve been holding back, don’t. Not for me, anyway.”

“We’re sharing a bed, Cassian.”

He nodded, though only seemed to grow more flustered.

“We are. But if that’s all you want it to be – sharing – then… well, that’s fine.”

In her chest, she could feel his discomfort at the idea. The sadness, even.

Luckily, she would be able to grant him mercy.

“It’s not… that.” Nesta commented.

This time, Cassian regarded her quietly, urging her to continue.

Nesta sighed, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. “I haven’t felt comfortable with the idea of it since… well, since I got back.”

“That’s very understandable, sweetheart.”

“Is it?” Nesta asked. “It wasn’t like I was raped. I consented to taking Jamis home. It wasn’t until after that he…”

Cassian paused in his step, his touch on her arm stopping her. His hand settled gently on her chin, tilting her face so she’d meet his eyes.

“That beast deliberately manipulated you to get you at your most vulnerable. That’s still an assault, Nesta. His intentions were vile from the start. You’re allowed to feel violated. Being averse to that kind of intimacy would be expected, even.”

Nesta swallowed, unprepared for the intensity of his words.

“You sound like Madja,” was all she could think of to say in reply, her voice a rasp.

Cassian’s lips twitched, just a little.

“Good. Means I’m right.”

Pulling away, Nesta began walking again, anxious for distraction. She pondered his words for a long time, until they were approaching the address he’d written.

“I think I won’t feel comfortable unless it’s with the right person,” she said as she looked up to assess the building, for some reason wanting to make a final point.

As the words left her mouth, she turned her head and gave him what she hoped to be a pointed look.

Complicated feelings aside, she knew in her bones that if he offered, she would say yes.

Maybe it was the mating bond. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been making a concerted effort to preserve her peace the last few weeks. Or maybe it was just the fact that there was an outlet now, for her to express those feelings that had dominated her thoughts since before the Cauldron.

Cassian blinked once, processing. Then, his cheeks pinkened dark enough that it stood out against his bronze skin.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “That person… Well, they would hold a high honor.”

She could feel the tension – an electric current that seemed to shoot from her chest into his.

“They would,” she affirmed. “If they were willing.”

He swallowed, yet he never once averted his gaze.

“They are,” he said, a bit quickly. Then, he stammered, clearing his throat. “A-At least, I’m sure they would be.”

This time, it was her cheeks that warmed.

“Good.”

There was another beat of silence – of intensity that stole her breath – and then he was stepping forward, into the building.

“I’ll um, I’ll fetch the keys.”

Nesta breathed out as she watched him go, taking a moment to recollect herself.

What had just happened, she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t deny that, at her basest level, she wanted it to happen again.

---

Cassian watched Nesta’s reactions closely as they stepped into the top floor unit.

It was spacious, but not grandiose. The windows allowed for a bright warmth, emphasized by the clean white walls. Two bedrooms, a spacious bath, and a proper living room and kitchen, complete with a sizeable fireplace. More notably, there were rows of built in shelves along one of the walls – plenty of space for a collection of books.

The keys were heavy in his hand, and his body still hummed with a sense of overprotectiveness after the owner had laid eyes on her, and his expression morphed in recognition. It was something that happened a bit too often these days.

‘You,’ he’d breathed, as if awestruck. ‘I saw you in the-‘

‘The keys,’ Cassian had interrupted – his voice firm, yet not unkind.

Beside him, Nesta had remained quiet, but her eyes had grown stormy – the first sign of her upset.

Thankfully, the old male had acquiesced without another word, easily distracted

In the weeks since Nesta had been home, Cassian had made it his mission to keep the various gossip magazines and newspapers out of her sight – not wanting her to see the ridiculous bullshit they’d come up with when news of her abduction and subsequent escape spread.

Already, he felt the eyes of fae in the streets as they walked. And if he felt them, Nesta certainly did too.

But she was healing, and it was his job as her mate to make sure that happened as best it could.

That also meant helping her find the right home. And this one was the perfect size for her, in his opinion.

But his opinion wasn’t what mattered.

He had learned, in the few instances in which he had toured potential homes with her before, not to push. She had to process it all herself. If she had an opinion, she would voice it.

Instead, he was content to hang back by the door, watching as she took several steps into the main room – her eyes scanning over every detail.

It was nothing like her old place. It was altogether happier. But it was still in the same part of Velaris, still close to her friends and to Sofia and her grandson.

She made her way slowly into the largest bedroom, and he trailed after her, waiting for her to decide how she felt about it. There was another apartment a little further up the street, should she hate this one. And he had Azriel scoping out units for a backup list, if they needed it.

Besides, the silence also gave him time to ruminate on the fact that she had all but propositioned him on the street. ‘The right person,’ she’d said, a jolt of electricity striking him in the chest as the words left her mouth.

He’d learned not to assume with her, but he’d seen her blush, had noted the intensity in her eyes, and felt the heat between them.

And, as she’d pointed out, they were sharing a bed.

Still, he wanted to be respectful. Wanted to make sure she knew that just because they were mated, he would never force her. Males had done that enough to Nesta Archeron, he thought. He was loathe to be one of them. Not after doing so much to preserve her peace while she healed.

But the idea of it… of getting to undress her and worship her like she deserved… It was enough to make his pants uncomfortably tight and his knees tremble.

In the end, he missed the moment when she stopped her inspections and asked,

“How much is the rent?”

Cassian blinked at her, distracted all over again by just how pretty she looked. How pretty and safe and healed—

“Cassian?”

“What?” He said, with a jolt. “Oh,” tucking his hands into his pockets, he answered, “actually, it’s for sale outright. It would be yours.”

Nesta’s brows lifted. “Where am I supposed to get the coin?”

“Well, we promised you a home, didn’t we?” Cassian asked. “I think you deserve it, after everything.”

She pursed her lips, her eyes hardening. “More Night Court charity. Something to hold over my head when I don’t come to dinner.”

This was the underlying tension that had dominated much of their discussions over the last few weeks. It was the first inkling of a true argument, if he let himself lean into the offense of her caution.

He was trying to be better, so he wouldn’t.

“No,” Cassian said. “You’re entitled to your own funds, for your services during the war. Even with your spending before, you barely put a dent in it. Besides…” at this, he scuffed his feet, a bit nervous.

“Besides what?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, despite agonizing over this particular justification for hours. “Regardless of what we do with this bond, it’s traditional for mates to give each other presents to commemorate it.”

Of course, it usually was because the bond had been accepted, but he didn’t feel the need to apply that stipulation. Nesta deserved gifts just because, and he had centuries of unspent coin to spare.

Her brows rose.

“You want to gift me a home.”

“Yes. I mean… I would. If you didn’t want to buy it yourself.”

“Even though we haven’t officially…?”

Cassian shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter to me. I want to honor you regardless.”

Nesta breathed in slowly. “If this is a way to ease your guilt…”

Her words didn’t surprise him. Stepping forward, he reached out, to grab her hand. She let him.

“It’s not just because of guilt that I want to be here for you,” he said. “You mean more than that.”

He knew he’d done a shit job of showing it before. But dammit, he was trying now.

Nesta stared into his eyes for a long time, likely picking apart every detail of his expression and assessing whether he was genuine.

As she did, he began to prepare argument after argument to convince her of this. Lists of justifications, counter points, and outright pleas. If she liked this place, he’d buy her the whole fucking building.

But eventually, she yielded.

“I’ll accept a contribution from you. Not the whole price. If that’s acceptable, then… I think I’ll take it.”

He could live with that.

He told her as much, trying desperately to reign in his excitement. His relief.

All of his effort to reign in his emotions went by the wayside, though, when she pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek in silent thanks.

Pushing past him, Nesta made a comment about the bathroom having a shower in addition to a tub, but he could only stare after her, the heaviness of yearning and desire pressing down on his chest.

---

Nesta knew, absently, that word had spread about what happened in Hybern.

She knew that more than one publication had picked up the story – had painted bizarre portraits of her escaping the keep in various forms of dramatics.

She also knew that Cassian had been trying to keep it from her.

More than once, she caught him redirecting their movements away from newsstands. She’d even seen him throw the papers away all together.

What she didn’t know, exactly, was how far he was willing to go until the following evening, when she came down for dinner only to see Katya with one of the latest renditions on the bar top.

When her friend’s eyes lifted at her arrival, she moved to hide the papers – a grimace crossing her face. Instead, Nesta held up a hand.

“It’s alright,” she said quietly. “Can I see it?”

Katya pursed her lips, but offered it to her silently, eyes carefully assessing for any crack in her armor.

Nesta looked down at the first page and let out a long breath.

‘All Hail Lady Death: Kingslayer Fells Hybern Not Once, but Twice’

Below the headline, Nesta saw a crude black and white portrait – a castle up in flames, and the black silhouette of a woman with what was absolutely a severed head in her hand as she walked away from the destruction.

There were no details, but it was effective, nonetheless.

“The gossip mills will run with anything,” Katya offered. “I doubt any of it is actually true.”

“I did escape,” Nesta said simply. “And I did kill to do it.”

Her friend nodded. “As they deserved.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, assessing the female for any judgement or fear. Granted, none of them had witnessed the grip her power had on her now, after this incident, but more than once, she’d woken beside one of her friends with the flames at her fingertips.

Andreas always handled it best, caring soul that he was.

Still, none of the rest of them had ever seemed unsettled.

She wouldn’t blame them if that had changed now.

“I didn’t mean to bring it to upset you,” Katya said, guilt evident in her voice. “It’s just nearly impossible to get a copy on this street so I grabbed it while I could.”

Nesta furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

At this, her friend raised a brow, with a frown. “You mean you didn’t ask not to see them?”

“I’ve just been ignoring them all together.”

There was a beat of silence, then Katya laughed, sharp and loud.

“I should have known. He didn’t want you to see them.”

Realization began to dawn on her slowly.

“Explain.”

Katya’s eyes shifted around, as if looking for Cassian himself. But, in a rare moment, he was checking in with Rhys and Azriel, and she was alone.

“He bought them all.” Katya explained. “Every single issue on this street and the next. I’m assuming he destroyed them. You have to go almost to the Rainbow proper to find a stand with more than one or two copies.”

Nesta’s lips parted as she processed the information.

“Oh.”

“Mated males,” Katya said with a sigh. “Always think they know what’s best without asking.”

Nesta glanced down at the paper again, at the depiction of her. The very same image was likely printed in Hybern, but with a very different headline.

‘Death Witch Responsible for Vicious Attack, Killing Dozens’

In her mind, she remembered the first thing she’d asked Cassian, when she woke. Wanting to know how many had been caught in her fury and desperation to escape.

She remembered how, just this morning, he’d held her close as she gasped for air, vehemently countering the thoughts in her head, the trembling, muttered ‘monster’ that fell from her lips.

“It wasn’t me who actually destroyed the keep,” Nesta said, deflecting from her friend’s words. “Just like it wasn’t me who actually killed the king.”

Katya shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “You’re one fucking powerful fae, darling. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. The way I see it, you should stop belittling yourself and own it.”

Powerful.

Nesta knew she was powerful. She knew she was different, special, unnatural, even.

What she wasn’t was in control.

She hadn’t been in control before the war or during, hadn’t been against her own thoughts after, and she hadn’t been against her captors when they pushed her to release her magic in a desperate attempt at survival.

And she wasn’t in control now, with this.

“If he’s out of line, say the word, Nesta,” her friend was saying then, suddenly serious. “He doesn’t get to decide things for you just because of some bond.”

Nesta blinked, returning her attention to the dark-haired female across from her. There was such protectiveness there, such resolve. She had no doubt that, if she said, all of her friends here would give Cassian nothing short of hell.

But Cassian was hers, and hers alone. She had to deal with him.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s alright.”

In her mind, everything had gone painfully quiet. For him to take the initiative without asking, when all she wanted was to make those choices herself, well… it made her blood begin to boil.

All this freedom, all this care he’d been offering. Was it a ruse?

Katya seemed skeptical, but before she could voice it, Nesta felt an increasingly familiar humming in her chest – one that indicated her mate was close by.

Reaching out, she squeezed her friend’s arm gently before she moved to the front door and stepped out just as he touched down on the sidewalk.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He greeted, tucking his wings in as he approached. “I was assuming you’d still be resting.”

In greeting, she held up the paper in her hands, silently raising an eyebrow at him, in question.

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy.”

Cassian had the decency to look a little guilty as his eyes scanned over the front page. But, instead of apologies, he simply said,

“I particularly hate this one.”

Nesta glanced back down at the cover. “Why is that?”

“It doesn’t do you justice at all.”

“You mean it depicts me like a monster.”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “The others at least give some detail to you. This one is all gory gossip. I think it insinuates you ripped off the heir’s head like you did his father in some revenge plot. It glosses over the fact that you saved yourself from certain death.”

Reaching out, he took the paper from her, flipping through the pages.

“Their rival’s was better in that regard, at least. ‘Tales of Horror and Turmoil Inside Keep: How Nesta Archeron Escaped the Clutches of Mortal Peril’ was their headline.”

“I suppose a picture of a banshee holding a severed head is less appropriate for that one.”

She was unable to keep the bite out of her tone, the tension rising between them.

Cassian huffed, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Meeting her gaze again, he offered,

“I didn’t… The fae here live off this shit. I didn’t want them to stare at you. Not like you’re their entertainment.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “I suppose if they knew the truth they’d look at me like I was a wild animal.”

“Well, that would make two of us, then. They’ve been looking at me that way for 500 years.”

Irritation simmered beneath her skin, and she pursed her lips tightly together, to try and stop herself from screaming in the middle of the street. It was clear he could sense it down the bond, because he straightened, and more seriously added,

“Every day I watch you look at yourself in the mirror with some level of disgust in your eyes, Nesta. You don’t need anything to fuel that. Especially when it’s not true.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” she hissed. “You aren’t in control of me!”

Cassian held up his hands, placating.

“I never said I was,” he said. “I just wanted-”

“What?” She snapped. “To protect me? You never did before.”

Genuine hurt pierced her chest just as it fluttered across his face, and she immediately felt like an ass. But she was angry. At what, she didn’t know. She just was.

“You think I don’t know that?” He whispered, stepping into her space. “You think that’s not at the center of my thoughts at every single moment? What kind of fool fails to protect his mate, Nesta? It’s literally the one thing the bond demands. Not love, or even friendship. Just an unending need to protect. And I failed at that. You can’t blame me for trying to make up for it.”

Nesta’s lips parted, her own hurt settling heavy on her chest.

So, it wasn’t real then, was it? It was a ruse.

“What?” Cassian sputtered, and she realized she’d said the words out loud.

“Your desire to protect me,” she said, panic beginning to claw up her throat. Gods, had she really been so stupid? “To love and care for me and whatever else. It’s not real.”

Cassian shook his head, brows furrowed. “My feelings for you are very real, sweetheart. They always have been.”

Nesta laughed humorlessly, because it made too much sense. She knew she’d let herself be naïve with him. “Really? Because it didn’t seem that way until the bond appeared. Now, you suddenly care.”

Realization dawned on his face – perhaps recognizing how she construed his words. But she didn’t let him try to explain.

“You think… You think just because you’re my mate you can control these things. You can make these decisions and dictate where I go and what I do. Just like every other man or male or whatever else you’re called. You said things would be on my terms but it’s no different. This is just another way to keep me in line, isn’t it?”

“Nesta, of course not.”

He reached for her, but Nesta stepped away, raising her hands in warning. “You can’t risk me fucking up and getting kidnapped again. Or being too broken to be left alone. The family can’t spare the embarrassment. So, you’re here doing your duty as my mate. Even if we don’t accept it, you’re responsible all the same. Tell me, do you only share my bed to make sure I don’t go on another rampage when I can’t discern dream from reality?! Was that a condition of letting me leave the House of Wind?!”

Cassian was infuriatingly calm, even if she saw the irritation in his eyes, and felt it next to hers. It was like he knew too much about her now, and she couldn’t rile him as easily.

“If that’s what you think, then I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I hurt you so badly.”

Nesta shook her head, trying to regulate her breathing, to keep her body calm so she didn’t burst into flames, as she tended to do these days. That would only prove his point.

“I didn’t want this,” she seethed. “Any of it.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, love.”

“No, you don’t!” She said, her voice raised. Not quite a shout, but her upset was clear. “Nobody knows! Nobody cares. And why should they? You said it yourself all those months ago. You didn’t know how my sisters could love me. So why would anyone else bother to try?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I never should have-”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted. “It’s done. I don’t hold it against you.”

Not for the first time, she thought it would have just been better to die in that keep. To save them all the trouble.

Cassian’s head snapped up as the thought crossed her mind, and he took a step forward, this time placing his hands on her shoulders, to force her attention.

“What were you just thinking?” He asked, face contorted into something painful. “Tell me.”

Nesta glared up at him, even as her eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Whatever it was don’t you ever think it again,” Cassian demanded. “Ever.”

She huffed. “Another order from my exasperated mate?”

“Nesta, I’m serious.”

Gritting her teeth, she remained stubborn.

“I think you should go.”

His brows shot up, and his lips parted, a protest surely on his tongue. But Nesta pulled away.

“If you claim you aren’t controlling me, then you’ll go. Go back to the River House or the House of Wind or wherever it is you actually live.”

“Nes-”

“Go!” She shouted. Then, quieter, “please. I just... I need a moment. Please.”

Cassian’s lips pressed into a hard line, and he swallowed, thickly. But, with a heaving sigh, he obeyed her, his wings spreading as he launched himself into the air.

---

The next morning, Nesta sat rigidly in Rhysand’s study, staring down the High Lord with what her mother once called ‘aloof politeness.’ 

“It is my understanding that I am entitled to funds for my service during the war.”

Rhysand assessed her with a kindness she wasn’t used to – one undoubtedly born from guilt and perhaps even pity, for what she’d become. She wondered if Cassian had told him about her mild breakdown yesterday afternoon.

“Yes,” he answered. “You certainly are.”

“I’d like it deposited into my own account.”

Before this, she’d prepared a significant number of justifications, should he say no. She knew he liked control, and that the idea of the wayward sister being free to do whatever she wished without his supervision may chafe, after everything.

But to her surprise, he simply nodded, and said,

“It’s done. It should have been done sooner, I apologize.”

It was her years of training that allowed her to keep the surprise from her face. In what she decided would be a show of good faith, she offered,

“I am purchasing an apartment. Not too far from where I am staying now.”

A small smile tugged at the High Lord’s lips.

“I’m glad to hear it. If you require any assistance, it is yours. Will Cassian be joining you?”

Nesta straightened.

"No. I intend to live alone, as before. Unless there's a problem...?"

Here it was, she thought. The moment where she was reminded that control was something she was never meant to have.

"It is your choice, Nesta. If you feel safe, then that's all that matters."

Her brows furrowed, skeptical. Still, she nodded, not wanting to push it. 

Rising to her feet, she left the study with a simple goodbye, anxious to keep the conversation short and to the point.

It wasn’t that she hated this male. At least, not as much as she used to. But there was a long way to go between the animosity that defined their relationship and whatever closeness should be expected between a sister and her brother-in-law.

Nesta would call it a thawing, for now. A cautious one.

Walking out into the hallway, she intended to at least say hello to her sisters, to make an effort to be on good terms with them after her abrupt departure from the House of Wind. But as she rounded the corner, she came face to face with a different light-haired female – Morrigan.

“Nesta,” Morrigan said in surprise, before offering what could only be described as an awkward smile. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta blinked, then straightened. “Fine.” She answered. “Relatively speaking, you know.”

The blonde nodded, and reached out, to place what was likely supposed to be a comforting hand on her arm. “You look good,” she said. “Strong.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Nesta replied.

Morrigan smiled a bit more genuinely then. “It is. You gave them hell, you know. Never apologize for that. If the tabloids deem you Lady Death, then so be it. You could put them on their knees any day.”

Nesta’s brows rose, unprepared for the comment as the female squeezed her arm gently then moved passed her into Rhysand’s study.

It was… strange. These changes.

But, despite herself, Morrigan’s words were… helpful.

Every time someone told her something similar, it was helpful. It was hard to believe, still, but she didn’t necessarily regret her vengeance.

It was more a matter of accepting that she allowed herself to lean in to that anger. Perhaps it was the fae way to feel emotions so violently. Perhaps it was a sign she was assimilating.

That would certainly make Feyre happy.

Shaking her head, she walked into the living room, where her sisters were sitting. Feyre was at an easel painting something she could see out the window, while Elain flipped through – fuck.

Just how many papers were running this story?

“Nesta!” Feyre greeted. “Rhysand told me you were coming. I'm sorry I didn't greet you, I've been...” she gestured to her canvas. 

Elain jumped at her arrival, snapping the magazine shut. Nesta waved a hand, exhausted already.

“I’ve already seen it, don’t fret."

"Well, I think it's absurd," her sister said. "You aren't a... a monster."

"I did kill those people," Nesta replied. "They probably thought I was one, in the moment."

As she said the words, flashes of those horrified voices shot through her mind.

'Mercy! Please, have mercy!'

'A witch?! A demon!'

"They shouldn't have kidnapped you, then," Feyre said, simply. "They deserved their fate."

"So you all keep saying."

"Because it's true," Elain added. "I can see you feel guilty about it, but I know, deep down, you know that." 

Nesta pursed her lips, unwilling to argue the matter when she was still processing her own conflicted thoughts. Opting to change the subject, she said,

"Well, either way, I thought I would let you know that I am purchasing an apartment near where I am already staying. I’ll make sure you have the address.”

Feyre’s brows rose, but she offered her an earnest smile. “That’s great,” she said. “I’m glad you found somewhere.”

“Is Cassian going to live with you?” Elain asked bluntly, tilting her head.

“What?” Nesta countered, brows furrowed.

“Well, he’s staying with you now, right? Is he going with you there, too?”

Feyre sent their sister a withering look, and Nesta began to wonder how many times they’d had conversations about this since she left.

“He is not, no,” Nesta replied carefully. “Why?”

“Well,” Elain said, with a shrug. “You seem to have responded best to his care. And you are still healing. Not only from this, but from everything else.”

“Ah,” Nesta answered. Because there it was. The reminder that, before this trauma, there were others. “You think I’m not ready.”

“No,” Feyre cut in. “You're ready if you say you're ready. Besides, we can take care of you too, you know. We want to, Nesta.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “I think it was obvious that when it came down to it, I could take care of myself.”

“Of course,” Elain said softly. “No one is denying that. I was just… curious where your relationship stood.”

“He’s been kind,” Nesta answered, softening. “He’s showing he cares. Where that goes is still up for debate.”

“And that’s just fine,” Feyre added. 

"I didn't... not appreciate your care," Nesta offered, after a moment of silence. "I know you were always there, afterwards. I don't want you two to think that I didn't... appreciate it. Or know. Cassian may be my mate, and thus my mind reacts differently to him, but you are my sisters, you will always come first."

"We know that, Nesta," Elain said, with a smile. 

"Good,” she said with a sigh, relieved. “Anyway...I’d like to have you over more often, when my home furnished. More than before, anyway…”

Elain visibly brightened, and Feyre’s eyes showed an emotion far too deep for her to properly address, at the moment.

“I think we’d like that very much,” Feyre said. "Just say when." 

Nesta decided that was enough.

---

It was early afternoon when Nesta finished packing up her clothing in Andreas’ guest bedroom.

She only had what Cassian had apparently grabbed for her, when he’d picked up her clothing and few sentimentalities while she was in that long sleep. Her new apartment was unfurnished, but she wanted nothing to do with the furniture from her old place.

It felt tainted.

She could buy a new bed and a couch tomorrow, now that her own account had been established.  

“All set? Are you sure you won’t take the extra bedding, at least?”

Nesta turned her head to see her friend leaning in the doorway, watching her with soft eyes.

“I think so. And I’ve already accepted the few things you’ve forced on me, I won’t take anything else. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be happy to have your home to yourself again.”

Andreas shrugged, stepping in to help her lift the suitcase sitting on the bed.

“You’re family, Nesta. You can stay here as long as you like.”

Nesta offered him a tiny smile. “I know, but you deserve to have the freedom to be as you like in your home. You can’t exactly do that when your guest wakes up at odd hours screaming and lighting things on fire.”

“My guest just so happens to be very dear to me, so she can scream as long as she needs to. Besides, this place has insurance.”

Nesta huffed, softly. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

Andreas reached out, squeezing her shoulders. “There will always be a place for you here, Nesta. Always. I’m just happy you’re safe. Even if it still feels like the opposite in your head. Now,” he said, “where’s that mate of yours?”

Her chest tightened, anxiety pinching her chest at the memory of the other day.

“I told him to see to his duties. He’s been putting them off, you know.”

Her friend scoffed. “To be honest, darling, I don’t think he cares at all about his duties when you’re concerned.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I still don’t know what to make of it. Of him.”

Andreas hummed, thoughtful. “I’ve always known he’s been head over heels for you. Even when the best way he knew how to show it was by being a prick. You don’t have to let him off for that right away, but I do think his intentions are pure. It shouldn’t have taken this, but there rarely is a perfect way for someone to learn from their mistakes.”

Nesta nodded. “And you don’t think it’s pathetic of me to accept him so easily?”

Her friend shook his head.

“You deserve happiness, Nes. And you deserve to be able to choose what that looks like. If it’s him, so be it. He is your mate, anyway.”

“He is,” she said softly. “It’s still a strange concept to me.”

“Of course. But his love for you is genuine, not coerced. And even though you think you’ve done some horrible things, you deserve that love.”

Looking into her friend’s eyes, her throat tightened, moved by his declaration.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, clearing her throat, she offered, “I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner?”

Andreas nodded. “Of course.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentle. “Send a note when you get there.”

Pulling back, she offered him a genuine smile.

“I will.”

---

Cassian had been expecting at least one argument, before this was all over.

In all honesty, what happened outside of the tavern wasn’t as bad as he was expecting.

Nesta was entitled to a lot of anger for many, many reasons. And he had overstepped, perhaps, in his desire to keep her peace.

But despite all of that logical justification, he was still half out of his mind with the desire to see her.

Still, he waited for a full three days. Until he knew she’d spoken to Rhys and confirmed her purchase of her new home. Only then did he return to Andreas’ tavern, to ensure she did not require any assistance in moving out.

“There he is,” the bartender greeted with a smile. “You’re a few hours late, though, she’s already gone. Not that she had anything other than her clothes, really, but I was surprised when you weren’t here to help.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said with a wince. “She didn’t tell me the time.”

“Nevertheless,” A voice called – Pierre. “Your absence was noted. Bailing already, now that she isn’t bedridden?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s going to move in too,” Katya answered, leaning on the bar. “Is that right, General?”

Cassian straightened, bringing his wings in tightly against his back. “No, of course not.”

“Because you abandoned her once, and now that there’s a sob story, you’re suddenly back.” The female countered. “I like you, Cassian, but only as far as Nesta is happy. The moment you go back to being an asshole is the moment I have your balls.”

Raising his hands, Cassian tried to appear non-threatening.

“You have my word,” he vowed. “I won’t hurt her again. I can’t. If I do, I’ll deliver them to you myself.”

Pierre snorted, placing a hand on Katya’s back and guiding her away.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Irritation flooded his veins, but he held his tongue, his own guilt crashing down on him. While they had warmed to him, he had a feeling this would hang over his head for a long while. And he couldn’t blame them. Instead, he watched them walk away, letting them have the last word.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Andreas offered from behind him. “Nesta cares about you, Cassian. She needs you, too. And as long as you take care of her, you’re welcome here. They’re feeling just as guilty as you are, for not being there that night. We all feel it, at least a little. That’s why they’re so hard on you.”

Cassian was, in that moment, deeply grateful for the male.

“I’m trying.” He said. “I care most about her peace. If I’m not part of it, then… Well, that’s my problem, not hers.”

Andreas nodded, then reached behind the bar, lifting up a hefty box and placing it on the table top.

“I think you give yourself too little credit. Now, get over there before it gets dark. And take this with you. She moved into an unfurnished apartment and took a suitcase of clothes and barely anything else. This is full of some things to hold her over until tomorrow, when I’m sure you’ll get her at least a couch or a bed.”

Cassian snorted.

“If she’ll let me, I’ll furnish it all before noon.”

Andreas smiled, but his next words had just enough of a threat laced within them that Cassian knew, despite his kindness, that this male might just be first in line if he didn’t follow through with his word.

“If you don’t, I will.”

---  

For several hours, Nesta relished her newfound home. There was no furniture, true, but she had blankets and pillows, her personal effects, and endless possibilities.

It was delightful.

Freedom and power to do whatever she wished with her space. For the first time, she wanted to make it just right. Wanted to make it safe and comfortable.

It was late evening when Nesta’s solitude came to an end.

The knock was soft, tentative, but she knew inherently who it was. She had her own proximity alert, after all.

For a moment, she waffled on her decision to let him in. But she did feel a little guilty for how she’d sent him away days prior. Even if the idea of her mate taking initiative without her permission still irked her.

Slowly, she walked to the door, undoing the lock with precision. (She intended to install several more, before the week was out.) Pulling it open, she met Cassian’s eyes, who were unnaturally bright in the dim light of the hallway.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, shuffling his feet, a large box in his hands. “I, um, brought you some essentials. Towels, more blankets, some dishes, soaps. Just extras.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, brows raising. “Why?”

“Andreas mentioned you didn’t want anything from your old place. That you didn’t have anything here, but refused to let them give you basics. It became my job, I think.”

That… made sense. Except—

“You went to Andreas?”

Cassian shrugged. “I was going to see if you’d settled here yet, figured I’d start there. Everyone, uh… kind of busted my balls, if I’m honest.”

Nesta quirked a brow, both at the crassness of his language and the apparent overprotective nature of her friends. But she hadn’t told them about their argument outside. Only that she was taking things slow.

“Basically, I was told off for potentially moving in with my mate barely a month after the bond snapped. Still a bit cautious after everything, I suppose.”

“Ah,” She said, moving aside to let him in. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian stepped inside, placing down the box and turning to lock the door as if it were automatic. She hadn’t even had the chance to lift a finger.

“No,” he replied, turning to face her. “Actually, I’m sorry. I know why you were upset the other day. I pushed too fast.”

Nesta stared at him blankly for a moment, unsure how to react.

“It wasn’t to control you,” he continued. “It was just… Maybe it was selfish. Maybe I wanted you to have peace so I would feel less…”

“Guilty?” Nesta supplied.

Cassian offered her a tight smile, confirmation enough.

“I don’t blame you for any of it.”

“No, but I think your friends do. And I do. Not just because I failed to stop it but because I never actually spent time with you if it wasn’t to pester you for something. If I had, maybe I’d have known something was wrong sooner. Or maybe you wouldn’t have gone with him at all, because…”

The unspoken was heavy and blatant. But it made something flutter in her stomach.

Because.

“Oh.”

Her mate crossed his arms then dropped them, as if nervous. “I want to tell you that I get it. If you’re cautious, or if your friends are judgmental of me. They’ve been welcoming, but they’re right to be protective. I care about you, and want to be with you, but that doesn’t mean I get a free pass.”

“You want to be with me?”

He straightened, his cheeks pinkening. But without meeting a beat, he nodded.

“Yes. I thought that much was obvious.”

“Because we’re mates?”

Cassian huffed, stepping forward, as if inclined to touch her. Halting before he could, though, he replied,

“No, because you’ve had me from the moment we met, and you didn’t even know it.”

A shuddering breath left her. It was… a significant confession.

“When you said you didn’t mind if I took another to bed, I thought you might mean that you were only here out of obligation.”

His brows rose, and then he shook his head, grimacing.

“I was… trying not to pressure you.”

Nesta gathered as much now. So, she offered him a confession in kind, “when I said I needed the right person, I meant you. You know that don’t you?”

His flush deepened and he ducked his head.

“I’m trying not to assume things, sweetheart. It’s gotten me in trouble before.”

“Well, you don’t need to assume any longer.”

There was a beat of silence where they did nothing but stare at each other, the tension between them so thick she felt as though she could reach out and touch it. There was longing there, a silent proposition, even. A possibility.

One that she was increasingly interested in.

But first…

“I know why you hid the papers,” Nesta finally said. “You weren’t wrong about the headlines making me uncomfortable. But I just… I need control Cassian, do you understand? It has been taken from me too many times. If we’re going to do this…”

He nodded, quiet, his wings tucking in tightly behind him.

“I get it, Nes. I do. If I make you uncomfortable again, give me hell,” he replied. “I don’t intend to, but… you know, bullheaded, and all that.”

Nesta hummed, stepping forward into his space enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“You know I hated it too, when they called me the Lord of Bloodshed for the first time,” Cassian offered, with a tiny smile. “But it’s not really me. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. The same is true for Lady Death. You can be her if you have to, but that’s not all you are.”

This much was true. Or at least, she was trying to believe it.

“Will they call us Lord and Lady Bloodshed, if we accept the mating bond?” Nesta asked, seeking to lighten the mood.

It earned a soft laugh from him. “If they did, I would buy all those copies too, if it upset you.”

It was… noble of him, she thought, to apologize so readily. She’d never had anyone go to such a length for her. Taking a chance, she moved closer, against his chest, until she could practically feel the beating of his heart against hers. As she did, she heard his breath catch and felt the flutter of his nerves beside her own.

She made him nervous.

“I know I had to do it,” she said quietly. “Kill them. I would have done it again. It just confirmed things about myself that I had been denying, is all.”

“Like what?” He asked softly, his hand reaching out to brush her own in a movement that felt automatic.

Nesta let him lace their fingers.

“That I am a wild animal.”

His eyes burned as she said the words, and he didn’t waver from her gaze. Instead, he murmured,

“There’s nothing wrong with that, beautiful. The best of us are.”

She snorted softly, shaking her head. He would say that.

But wild animal she may be, Nesta did not want to be reckless. No, from now on, she wanted her life to be fully her decision.

She wanted choice.

And right now, she wanted this.

Pushing up on her toes, she pressed a single kiss on her mate’s lips without another word.

A sound rumbled from his throat, low and needy, and something within her released, like a long, relieved sigh.

It only made her kiss him again. And again. And again. Until his hand steadied on her waist, and his entire body seemed to lean forward, drawn in by her. Her teeth grazed against his lower lip as she went in again, heat scorching through her veins, warming her down to her toes.

“Nesta,” Cassian murmured, lips chasing her own. “Are you sure?”

Nesta slid her hands up his chest and into his hair before she met his eyes. It was an important question, she knew. She had a feeling once they started, they wouldn’t stop. This had simply been simmering beneath the surface far too long.

But the past was always in the room with her, these days. At any moment, it could reach out and remind her of the horrors she’d rather forget.

Still, with him, she wanted to try.

“Yes,” she said. “Unless you don’t…?”

He silenced her with another kiss.

For what could have been ages, they stood there, in the entry way of her unfurnished apartment, wrapped up in one another, each pass of their lips more heated than the last, with tongues and teeth and the heat of their breath against skin.

She wanted him, she realized. He made another sound as she pressed closer to him, one of pleasure, and his hand slid around to her back tugging her closer, until she was practically suspended on her toes.

The whimper that left her lips in response had him smiling, just a little.

She wanted him, and he knew it.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, breathless. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

Nesta brushed their noses, the sound of her own pulse thrumming in her ears.

“Control.” She answered. “I need control.”

He nodded, just as she reached for him again, her teeth catching his bottom lip.

“You want control, sweetheart?" Cassian repeated, mouth moving against hers.

“Yes,” she murmured, and he smiled, pulling her hands as he walked them backwards into the center of the living room.

Then, before she could remind him that she didn’t even have a bed yet, he was sinking to his knees. "It's all yours."

Nesta stared at him with an unreadable expression, her parted lips the only sign of her surprise as he leaned back until he was lying on the floor, his wings beneath him.

Cassian gave her an encouraging tug, to let her know that she could move. That she could lower herself down until she was straddled over his hips.

She went easily, entranced by the color of his eyes, the reverent expression on his face.

Remaining up on her knees, which rested on either side of his hips, she looked down at him, curious.

"You can do whatever you want to me," he rasped as their other hands linked together. "Anything."

"Anything?” She asked, in a hushed whisper.

Taking her left hand, Cassian placed it over her heart, which beat steadily.

"Feel this? This is yours," he declared. "I'll carve it out for you, if you like."

Her head tilted, and her fingers traced lightly over the buttons of his shirt.

In the depths of her core, she felt his honesty.

Slowly, she sank down, until their hips were flushed together. His breath stuttered out of him in a single gasp. It made her smile.

She knew what she wanted.

"I don't think I require anything so drastic."

---

Cassian could only look up at Nesta in wonder, enthralled by the shimmer in her eyes, the strength.

His pants were unbearably tight, and there was no universe in which she wouldn't know just how desperately he wanted her.

Still, it was all in her hands, now.

"Take your control back, sweetheart." He whispered.

Nesta breathed out slowly, and he felt her muscles relax as she grew more comfortable atop him. In the back of his mind, he supposed he should check in, to make sure they weren’t rushing this. After all, his head was still spinning from her kissing him for the very first time since that battlefield not even ten minutes ago.

But then, she leaned forward, and their noses brushed.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

The scent of her intoxicated him, and made his eyes flutter. He could die here, without a single complaint.

“This is very much the easiest decision I have ever made in my life.”

She huffed, and it elated him to know he amused her. But then, she was pressing her mouth to his again, and all thoughts fled from his mind.

Instead, he was content to immerse himself in the feel of her, the way she dominated kiss after kiss after kiss while he could do nothing but hold lightly to the sides of her thighs, fingers curling in the fabric of her dress. Eventually, he felt his head falling back against the wooden floor with a groan as her lips trailed down his jaw, to his neck, until she could whisper in his ear,

“Take off your clothes.”

Later, Cassian would vehemently deny that his fingers trembled as they flew to the buttons of his shirt. Either way, he undid them with far less tact than usual. As he did, Nesta sat back on his thighs, content to watch through her lashes as his skin became exposed to her.

Once he slid out of it, the fabric landing somewhere in the corner of the empty room, she ran a single finger down his chest, to his navel, her eyes following all the way to the prominent bulge in his pants.

“All of them.”

Cassian swallowed, suddenly nervous. But not in a bad way. More so in a desperate to please kind of way, with how sharply her gaze was assessing him. Almost automatically, his hands dropped to the laces at his pants, untying the strings easily.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been blessed with Rhys’ ability to simply magic away his clothing.

Nesta didn’t move until he had pulled the fastenings completely open, and then a small, feline smirk overtook her features. Slowly, she pushed herself back up onto her knees, allowing him to slide his pants off, roughly toeing off his boots as he went.

He shivered in the cool air as she inspected him, but was ready to obey whatever order would come from her mouth.

“I want to touch you,” she said simply, meeting his eyes. There was a question there, though she didn’t ask directly.

“So, touch me,” Cassian answered, breathless.

For the sake of the Mother please touch me.

It was light at first – that single fingertip tracing each ridge of his muscle, making them jump. She dragged it up back up over his chest, over each of the swirling runes tattooed there, before working up his neck to trace his lips.

Unable to resist, he dipped his chin, catching the pad of her thumb and kissing it gently.

Nesta let out another breath, long and slow, and then was easing over him once more, to kiss him again.

If this was all she wanted tonight – to kiss him on the floor of her new home fully clothed while he was bare beneath her – it would be more than enough.

But he could smell her desire, could feel it in the way her hips rolled just a little against his own, and was more than a little grateful when she offered that friction against what he knew was pressing insistently between her thighs.

For a long while, much like moments ago, when they’d been standing, they simply traded heated kisses. But then, Mother bless him, she trailed them down his neck, finding with far too much ease the places that made his hips jerk and his wings twitch. And when she bit down on one particular spot, he was unable to keep quiet – a sound far too akin to a whine slipping from his throat and echoing into the empty space.

And Nesta – damn her – smirked against his skin.

Then she was moving again, trailing those kisses down his chest, over his heart, further and further until she was almost where he needed her most. Against the floor, his hands fisted, if only because she had not granted him permission to touch her.

Abruptly, Nesta pulled back a little, and her eyes flashed up at him as she ran that same damned finger up the ridge of his length, holding his gaze all the while.

Cassian swore, and his head fell back against the hard floor with a ‘thunk.’

“Fuck.”

On her second pass, she used the tip of her nail, all the way to the head of him, where she granted him mercy and squeezed with her full hand.

He was certain he saw stars.

“Do you want to touch me?” She asked, stroking him lightly – a tease.

It took all of his restraint not to give her a retort – to lean into their usual back and forth. But tonight was about proving to her that she could have him utterly (and willingly) at her mercy.

“Yes,” he said, incapable of more than the single word.

Nesta shifted again, sitting up. Reaching down, she grasped for his hands, letting their fingers lace briefly, before she guided them under the skirt of her dress and up the smooth expanse of her thighs. He wanted desperately to see them, to taste them, but remained patient. Hopefully, he’d have plenty of time for that later.

When his fingertips brushed the fabric of her underwear at her hips, Nesta met his eyes again, and ordered,

“Take them off.”

His breath certainly stuttered as she released his hands. He flexed them, relishing the freedom he’d been granted, and took his time, letting his palms slide up and down her hips, her thighs, before reaching back up to pull at the waistband.

Slowly, he eased the fabric down, letting his fingers brush over the bare skin left behind, until they were low enough that she lifted her leg and assisted in removing them all together.

Then, she pressed herself against him, and he felt the warm, wet heat of her for the first time.

---

The words that came out of Cassian’s mouth were not in the common tongue – though Nesta wasn’t quite sure if it was coherent Illyrian either.

With her dress still on, he couldn’t see, but he could feel, and she granted him another gift when she coaxed his hands back up her thighs to rest on her hips, which she rolled experimentally against his. He could have her naked later – could rake his eyes over her from head to toe. But for now, she wanted – needed – it like this. To not give him everything, all at once.

“I want you this way,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

Cassian nodded, seemingly beyond words all together. But before she could seat herself on him properly, he squeezed her hips, halting her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped. “Can I…” trailing off, he let his fingers slide toward the inside of her thighs, which were already slick.

“You won’t hurt me,” Nesta replied, confident in her answer. Still, she nodded her head anyway, if only because she had a feeling it would devastate him if he thought otherwise.

He offered her a tiny smile, before he slid one finger through her folds, then another, causing her head to fall back and her breath to hitch.

“Gods,” He said, finding her entrance. “You’re perfect.”

She bit her lip as he slid his fingers inside her, working her open until the softest of whines fell from her lips. He could bring her over the edge just like this, despite her meticulous plans to have her way with him.

“You are so fucking gorgeous like this,” he praised, thumb circling the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, and she gasped, nails digging into the skin of his chest.

Before it got to be too much, Nesta reached down to grip him, squeezing lightly. He swore viciously under his breath.

“I’m ready,” she said. “Are you?”

“You’ll tell me if--”

“Yes.”

Cassian huffed a laugh at the impatience in her tone. “Then I’m all yours, Nes.”

She flashed a smirk at him, before she adjusted her hips, and slid slowly down, guiding him inside her. Her head bowed forward, eyes closed as she settled, relishing in the way his fingers gripped the bones of her hips.

There was an inexplicable euphoria to this, she thought, as she began to move. It was different than all the other times, with other people.

Of course, she had never taken charge like this before. Her friends at the tavern affectionately called her their pillow princess, wanting despite her halfhearted protests to spend their nights giving until she was out of her mind and deeply sated. The only person she’d fucked this way was Andreas, and instead of her controlling the pace, it was him, thrusting upwards from beneath her and ordering softly,

‘Rock your hips, darling. That’s a good girl.’

Usually, it was exactly what she wanted. To let go and have someone else make all the decisions. To have it end with someone tucking her in and pulling her close, her body far too sleepy to do it on her own.  

But now, she wanted the control. Needed it.

And she knew she could have it.

Bracing a hand on his chest, she set a steady pace, one that increasingly grew with intensity. Cassian’s fingers splayed along her hips and down to her rear, squeezing in encouragement. He grinned at the moan that it earned him.

“Yes,” he praised, his voice sounding about as wrecked as she felt. “Take what you need, baby. Take it.”

Nesta shuddered, her short hair falling free from behind her ear to hang in front of her face. Her nails dug harshly into the skin of his pecs as she took him deeper, rode him harder, until she gasped,

“Touch me.”

Cassian acted as though he’d never obeyed an order so quickly in his life. Sliding one hand back around her hips, he pressed his thumb back where she wanted it, a low sound releasing from his throat as he did.

He worked her in time to their movements, cataloguing what she liked best. But she could feel somewhere within that bond of theirs that he was quickly losing the race against his own climax, and it was with a curse that he said,

“Fuck, Nesta, I’m-”

“I want you to come, Cassian.”

Her voice was shockingly steady, despite teetering on the edge herself. Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered as she felt herself tighten around him, and that was all it took to send them both over. Nesta watched as Cassian’s eyes fully back into his head, seemingly out of it for a full ten seconds.

Above him, she trembled, something intense and new exploding in her chest, creating a sense of euphoric rightness that didn’t have the proper words to be described.

When his eyes opened, she couldn’t stop the smile on her face as he blinked several times to clear his vision, just in time for her to lean down and kiss him once more – softly.

“Mine,” she whispered, her other hand still resting over his heart, which pounded relentlessly underneath her fingertips.

Cassian laughed, breathless.

“Yours.”

 ---

After, they took their time.

With gentle fingers, Cassian unbuttoned the back of her dress, sliding it over her body before dipping down to press kisses to her shoulder and up her neck as he worked her slip off until she was bare.

Nesta shut her eyes as the cool air of the bathroom hit her skin, but his palms were warm as they slid over her waist and down her back. Then, she heard the sound of his knees hitting the floor. Turning her head, she looked back at him.

“What are you doing?”

Cassian’s eyes were warm, but there was a deep emotion on his face as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the first thin line at the top of her thigh. Nesta’s entire body shuddered at the contact.

“Can I?” He asked, even as his lips brushed the next one.

For several seconds, she stared down at him, at a loss for words. Then, she heard a sound of affirmation come from her throat, and her eyes fluttered shut.

His lips seemed to trail over each one, slow and deliberate, under her eyes burned with tears. These lines were thin and, according to Madja, would fade sooner rather than later. But for now, they crisscrossed in a patchwork down the back of her legs.

Eventually, when his affection grew too overwhelming, she turned and cupped his cheek in her palm. Cassian turned his head, kissing it, before pressing his lips to the larger, more distinct scar on her stomach.

She had considered, in her healing, whether she would feel as attractive, now that she had these permanent marks. Before, they’d been hideously grotesque, whenever she caught a glimpse when her bandages were changed.

But he seemed to treasure them – or at least, honor them.

Another shuddering breath left her as his fingers splayed around her waist, against the skin of her low back above her hips, and dug into the muscles there, soothing.

It made a stray droplet roll down her cheek, at the gentleness of it.

Cassian stopped for a moment, likely able to smell the salt, and looked up at her from his place on his knees. Instead of words, his eyes held his question. In answer, she brushed her fingers over his cheek, in silent thanks for his care.

Rising to his feet, he brushed her hair away from her face and leaned to rest his forehead against hers.

“Beautiful,” he said, and she closed her eyes, nestling against him as the tension eased from her body.

Over the next hour, they washed, trading long and slow kisses (and then some) in the hot water, before drying off with the towels that had been part of the things he’d brought.

In lieu of a bed, which he promised to acquire tomorrow, he laid out the blankets and pillows by the fireplace, and Nesta soon found herself wrapped up beside him, hair still damp.

 Her head was pillowed on his chest, while his fingers traced patterns over the skin of her back, her neck, and her shoulders. His wing was draped loosely over her waist, far more flexible than she realized, and she was delightfully warm. Warm, safe, and, for now, at peace.

Casting her eyes around, she assessed each crevice of her new home, tracking the shadows, waiting for the memories to take her. With no fire lit there were fewer of them, but the doubt always lingered, in the back of her mind.

As if in answer, her mate’s hand smoothed up to her nape, his thumb digging lightly into the base of her skull.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured. “You will be safe here, always.”

Nesta shifted her head up to rest her chin on his collarbone.

“You can’t promise that.”

Dipping his own to look at her, Cassian brushed their noses, his other hand lifting to tuck her hair behind her ear. Tracing the point, he replied,

“Maybe not, but I’ll damn well try.”

Nesta huffed, tilting her head into his lips as he kissed her temple.

“I don’t expect nor desire your constant protection, Cassian.”

Cassian smiled, squeezing her gently.

“I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. I think you’re perfectly capable of protecting yourself, sweetheart. I’m just a bonus.”

She hummed, contemplative.

“Lady Death,” she offered, calling back to the headlines.

Cassian seemed to ponder it, brushing his fingers through her hair.

“It has a nice ring,” he said. “Makes one think twice before threatening you.”

He wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t deny that.

“You know, it doesn’t make you evil,” he continued. “Or bad. It makes you strong, Nesta. Don’t forget that.”

Nesta breathed in, ruminating over his words.

Not evil. Not bad. Strong.

In control.

She could be in control here. Safe.

Cassian tilted her head up to kiss her properly, and the bond in her chest burst back to life, heating her blood.

“It takes time to believe it,” he added, against her lips. “But I’ll tell you as many times as it takes until you do.”

She breathed out.

Pushing up, she kissed him more firmly, cupping his cheek. In answer, he tugged her until she was atop him once more, his desire prominent against her thigh. Leaning over him, she let their lips brush as she answered,

“I’m starting to.”