Starlight and Ashes (six)

tagging: @runesandfaes @acourtofredqueens @havilliardandgalathynius@fiery-feyre @starzablaze @tog-trash @evyfox @rhysands-highladyame233 @high-lady-of-rochambeau @musicmaam @empress-ofbloodshed@illyrianbeauty @literarynonsense @thisisvelaris @wolffrising @rhysand-darling @throne-of-wingspans @hail-and-farewell @lady-katkatdestiny14444 @the-dream-team-of-prythian @avocadobubbbletea @lorcanswife @hxylady @abillionlittlepieces @my-life-is-a-drama-book@akranick-author @lottie289 @mariamuses @leulivy @booklover242@heyme231 @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @rhysisdaddyaf @highladyjel @halcyon-havoc @alexisnm95 @a-canadian-fae @abimomeopectore @herondalesaremycupofale @hxghladyweaver-of-the-wood @rowaelinsmut @booklover41802 **please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters**

**Sorry, I know it’s been like ten years. I expected to have more writing time in the summer, but if anything I have less! I’ll try to have chapter seven out as soon as possible. Thanks for sticking with me!

Masterlist

chapter six

Milena

I once asked my parents what life in the Spring Court was like.

I was young, maybe ten years old, but the memory is etched in my mind like an engraving on a stone.

I remember my mother’s expression falling, contentedness merging into distant sorrow. She quickly covered it up, but I still saw and I still remember. She was quick to brush the question away, distracting me with something like candy or a game. I caught Papa’s eye, searching for some sort of explanation. Looking to my mother, he too avoided the question. Alright, I could take a hint. The Spring Court was off-limits, for some unknown reason.

I probably would have forgotten about the incident, but later that night, as Papa was tucking me in, he whispered me a story.

Kneeling next to my bed, the blue faelight casting shadows across his face in an eerie, ghost-like manner, he told me about a male and female–mates–who lived in the Spring Court.

They lived in a cozy little cottage covered in crawling purple clematis, and surrounded on all sides by hedges of sweet wild roses. They had a garden where they grew all the best vegetables, and great big fruit trees. Forget-me-nots lined the path to the front door, which was painted green to match the evergreens. White lace curtains hung in the windows, which were always open to let in the perfume of the flowers.

When it rained, the two would take a stroll down the lane, faces raised to the sky to feel the drops on their cheeks. When it was sunny, they sat together on the porch swing and read each other poetry.

They spent their days tending to the cottage and the garden, sometimes selling their flowers, vegetables, and fruit in the nearby town. They spent their nights whispering plans for the future–what colour to paint the fence, what new flower to grow, what to name their children.

They had neighbours, too. On the left, just a short walk down the road, was a sweet old lady. She baked them all sorts of cookies and squares, and invited them for tea at least once a week. They always obliged.

On the right, quite a bit further down the road, maybe an hour’s walk away, was a male who lived alone. He was kind to the couple, but kept his distance. He always did promise to keep an eye on the female whenever her mate had to go away, though.

The couple lived in their peaceful little cottage for many years. They were happy with their quaint lives, and they were happy with each other.

My papa left after saying those words. He didn’t stick around to answer any of the many questions I had about the story.

Was it a true story? Who were the couple? Are they still alive?

These questions plagued me for nearly a century.

Well, at least I know the answers now.

The letter Mr. Hobkins gave me turned out to be more telling than I could have expected. Addressed to my mother, it was a letter from a woman named Rhiannon Moss. In her letter, Rhiannon reminisced about the years she knew my mother and her mate. How they lived down the road, how they came over for tea once a week. Rhiannon expressed her sorrow that she never got to meet mum’s child–me, I should hope. I don’t know what I’d do if I found out my mother had kept a sibling from me.

It all lines up with the little I know of my parents’ past. They left the Spring Court when Mum found out she was pregnant, so this Rhiannon lady of course never would have met me.

The more I read of Rhiannon’s letter, the more confused I became, although I was finally getting some answers. Why did my parents keep this from me?

Even more confusing, is what Rhiannon says about the male who lives down the road (the single male from Papa’s story, I presume). Apparently, he went crazed with anger shortly after my parents left. His sister had to come live with him because he could hardly look after himself. But two weeks ago (since the letter was sent, four weeks ago from now), his sister passed away, and he disappeared.

That’s why Rhiannon wrote the letter, she says. To warn Mum about him, in case he came to find her for whatever reason.

All this new information is making my head swim.

Rean, who has sat with me the whole time, letting me read and process, silently hands me a cup of sweetened tea.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” it comes out as a sigh, “I just can’t make sense of it all.”

Luna, who had been pacing the room since Rean and I arrived with the letter, sits next to me on the sofa and takes the letter from my hand. The parchment is crumpled where I had clutched it so tightly. “Can I read it?”

I nod, bringing the cup of tea to my lips and taking a cautious sip of the hot drink.

Luna reads, I sip, Rean puts his hand on my knee. Corin comes back with a tray of food, which he places on the low round table before sitting on the sofa opposite the one the rest of us are on. Rean goes right for the food, but eating is the last thing on my mind right now.

I knew I didn’t know much about my parents’ pasts, but now I wonder if I ever knew them at all.

“I wonder what happened to their neighbour.” Luna looks up from the letter.

“Rhiannon?”

“No, the other one. Emrick Maddox.”

I drop my cup.

“Say that name again.”

“Mila, are you alright?” Rean kneels in front of me, at first to clean up the mess I made, and now to worriedly search my face for answers.

“The other neighbour’s name was Emrick Maddox.”

“Have you heard that name before?” Luna puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“It’s the last thing my father said before– before he died. I had no idea what it meant. I guess I had forgotten until now, or didn’t notice when I was reading the letter. How could I have missed it?”

“Do you think he’s the one who did this?” Luna’s face suddenly becomes focused, her dark brows narrowing in anger and protectiveness. My friend, always ready to seek revenge for me.

“Wait, did what?” Rean looks lost. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t told him that Luna and I don’t believe what the authorities told us about the fire. I see the exact moment he understands. “You don’t think the fire was an accident.”

“It all matches up, Rean. Why else would my father say his name? It had to have been a warning.” My mind is reeling. I finally have some answers, a theory that makes sense. I have to pace the room to try and keep up with my thoughts. “And now we know from Rhiannon’s letter that Emrick has been missing, so it’s entirely possible that he set my house on fire and killed my parents.”

“But what’s his motive?” Corin, who has been silent until now, speaks up. “Why would Emrick even want to kill your parents?”

I stop in my tracks. The high from seconds ago has all but disappeared, replaced with the empty hopeless feeling of not knowing.

“Rhiannon wrote the letter as a warning, Corin. Emrick went crazy when Mila’s parents left the Spring Court.” Luna hands him the letter.

I’m having trouble keeping all of this straight. What would I do if I didn’t have some level-headed people with me?

“It has to be Emrick. I’m sure of it. And he’s still out there. Who knows what else he’ll do?”

Rean, looking determined, stands from the couch. He joins, taking my hand in his. He squeezes once. “We’ll find him.”

Luna comes and takes my other hand. Corin stands behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

This is my family. Fierce, protective, loving.

My parents would have loved Rean and Corin too, as they loved Luna.

I feel their presence in the room. A ghost of Papa’s hand on my shoulder, Mum’s on my cheek.

I can’t help the tears that fall, but I feel no sadness. All I can feel is the immense love of my friends, my parents, and my mate.

We can do this. We can track down Emrick and avenge the deaths of my Mum and Papa. This is why Papa warned me, why the letter was brought to us.

“I think we need to pay Rhiannon a visit. If we are going to find Emrick, we need to know more about him and my parents.”

HMMMMMMMMM….. the first prompt idea that came to my mind was something I wrote in TMOAS but I don’t want to do that one hehe oops um.. elucien maybe something like they go to the beach and one of them gets super sunburned? Maybe Lucien bc he refused to wear a sun hat like hers, or put on sunscreen

foxboylucien:

Funny that you request this as I’m currently nursing my poor sunburned chest

anyway, here it is! Short and sweet and totally fun to write

Elain sat straddling Lucien, but not for the reason she wanted.

If he had listened to her, they could be doing something far more than spreading aloe vera on a sunburn.

“I told you to use that raspberry oil to prevent a burn, my love.” She scooped more gel from the succulent plant and spread it across his red and abused shoulders. The skin underneath her fingers was still hot from the day in the sun.

“I forgot,” Lucien murmured. He had leaned his head back and now his eyes were half lidded. “We were having too much fun.”

Indeed, Elain’s first beach day had been fun. Her and Lucien’s vacation to the Summer Court had been nothing but fun, until she caught sight of Lucien’s red shoulders, chest, and nose.

“Not so much fun now, is it?”

“It’s not all that bad.”

“Lucien, you look like a strawberry.”

“Ah, but I get to have your hands all over me now,” he winked.

Elain slapped his chest as hard as she dared. “You’re a scoundrel, you know that?”

“You may have told me once or twice. But you’ve also called me and angel, and a god, and what was that thing you said about my fingers?”

“I may have told you again tonight if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself a sunburn.” Elain put her hands on Lucien’s cheeks and angled his head to be facing her. His eyes opened fully, the metal one whirring. Almost absently, he leaned in closer. With a smirk, Elain pulled away. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait.” She slathered aloe on his nose.

Lucien would not doubt remember to protect his skin from now on.

edit: forgot the tags, oops: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @highlady-of-night @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233 @rosehallshadowsinger

HMMMMMMMMM….. the first prompt idea that came to my mind was something I wrote in TMOAS but I don’t want to do that one hehe oops um.. elucien maybe something like they go to the beach and one of them gets super sunburned? Maybe Lucien bc he refused to wear a sun hat like hers, or put on sunscreen

Funny that you request this as I’m currently nursing my poor sunburned chest

anyway, here it is! Short and sweet and totally fun to write

Elain sat straddling Lucien, but not for the reason she wanted.

If he had listened to her, they could be doing something far more than spreading aloe vera on a sunburn.

“I told you to use that raspberry oil to prevent a burn, my love.” She scooped more gel from the succulent plant and spread it across his red and abused shoulders. The skin underneath her fingers was still hot from the day in the sun.

“I forgot,” Lucien murmured. He had leaned his head back and now his eyes were half lidded. “We were having too much fun.”

Indeed, Elain’s first beach day had been fun. Her and Lucien’s vacation to the Summer Court had been nothing but fun, until she caught sight of Lucien’s red shoulders, chest, and nose.

“Not so much fun now, is it?”

“It’s not all that bad.”

“Lucien, you look like a strawberry.”

“Ah, but I get to have your hands all over me now,” he winked.

Elain slapped his chest as hard as she dared. “You’re a scoundrel, you know that?”

“You may have told me once or twice. But you’ve also called me and angel, and a god, and what was that thing you said about my fingers?”

“I may have told you again tonight if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself a sunburn.” Elain put her hands on Lucien’s cheeks and angled his head to be facing her. His eyes opened fully, the metal one whirring. Almost absently, he leaned in closer. With a smirk, Elain pulled away. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait.” She slathered aloe on his nose.

Lucien would not doubt remember to protect his skin from now on.

edit: forgot the tags, oops: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @highlady-of-night @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233 @rosehallshadowsinger

marci’s writing masterlist

multi-chapter fics

Starlight and Ashes (next gen ACOTAR) *WIP*

Masterlist * Summary * Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five

Feyre, Lucien, and the Great Comet of the Spring Court (ACOTAR Great Comet AU)

Prologue * Act I * Act II

ficlets

Mother’s Protection (Elain)

Bitter Pill (Nessian)

Beautiful (Elucien *could also be Elriel. I don’t think I used names*)

Love Me For My Bread (Elriel)

Sunblock (Elucien)

*please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in my writing

Love Me For My Bread (Elriel)

breccia-domain said:

I’m about to challenge you/break your heart as you write. Elriel fluff, pls?

“Is it supposed to look like that?” I frown at the mass of dough in front of me. I’m the cauldron-damned spymaster of the Night Court and I can’t make a single loaf of bread without messing it up. Elain looks up from her own dough–which looks perfect–to inspect my catastrophe on the counter. She tries to restrain it, I can see, but Elain giggles all the same.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying my best.”

“It’ll still taste the same,” she offers. “Here, let me help you”

“I don’t need your help. I can shape my own bread.”

“Oh, hush now. It just needs a little rounding, a bit of a tug… there.” I don’t know how she does it, but Elain reshapes the dough with no effort at all. She makes it look so easy. Is it normal to be jealous of someone’s bread-making skills?

“Put that in the pan, and we’ll get these beauties cooking.”

“Maybe you should do it.”

Elain levels me with a look that tells me what she’s thinking without a word. Illyrian baby. Sighing, and avoiding the female’s eyes, I carefully place the dough in the pan. I only mess it up a little bit.

As Elain said, It’ll still taste the same.

“It’s really not as bad as you think, Az. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“What, I’m not allowed to want to make a nice loaf of bread for you?”

“Right, because what I want most from you is bread. It’s the entire reason we’re together.” She washes the flour of her hands in the sink as she speaks. “‘Why did you marry Azriel, Elain?’ ‘Oh, I just wanted someone to make bread for me’” She moves aside, and I wash the flour off my own hands.

“Alright, I get it. But here I was, all this time, thinking you married me for my bread.” I close the remaining space between us, resting my hands on her hips.

“Trust me, I married you for so much more than your bread.”

“Like what?”

She taps a finger on my forehead. “Your brain.” Her hands travel down to my chest. “Your heart.” She presses her lips to mine, slow and sweet. “Your lips.” She smiles, that mischievous glint in her eye. “I could go on, but we might be here a while.”

“I’ve got time.”

The bread in the oven becomes forgotten in the time that follows. It comes out burnt, but that’s okay. She didn’t marry me for my bread, anyway. I know that for certain.

tags: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @highlady-of-night @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233 (let me know if you would like to be tagged in my writing)

btw, @queen-archeron, this is what I told you I was writing like months ago… better late than never!

Starlight and Ashes (five)

tagging: @runesandfaes @acourtofredqueens @havilliardandgalathynius @fiery-feyre @starzablaze @tog-trash @evyfox @rhysands-highlady @ame233 @high-lady-of-rochambeau @musicmaam @empress-ofbloodshed @illyrianbeauty @literarynonsense @thisisvelaris @wolffrising @rhysand-darling @throne-of-wingspans @hail-and-farewell @lady-katkat @destiny14444 @the-dream-team-of-prythian @avocadobubbbletea @lorcanswife @hxylady @abillionlittlepieces @my-life-is-a-drama-book @akranick-author @lottie289 @mariamuses @leulivy @booklover242 @heyme231 @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @rhysisdaddyaf @highladyjel @halcyon-havoc @alexisnm95 @a-canadian-fae @abimomeopectore @herondalesaremycupofale @hxghlady @weaver-of-the-wood **please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters**

Masterlist

Chapter Five

Milena

I can’t say it’s the worst meal I’ve ever had. Everyone is welcoming enough, and the conversation is good, but I can’t help but feel out of place. It almost doesn’t feel real that I’m even here. I keep thinking that any moment I’ll snap out of some daydream and be back in my home above the bakery, sitting down to supper with my parents. But the focus of the dinner talk comes back to me, and I know that this is real.

“I hear that you’ve been reading all the books in the library, Mila,” Christine, Rean’s cousin comments as she passes her father the green beans. Cassian is as much the legendary warrior I expected him to be–based on stories every child in Velaris has heard a dozen times over–and I can see it in his daughter as well. I know my every move is being analyzed by her stormy blue eyes, every word turned over for hints and clues. When Rean and I had first arrived in the House dining room, admittedly a few minutes late, she was the first to rush up and greet me. I could only be grateful that she shook my hand rather than hugging me, as both Feyre and Cassian had done.

“Rean’s been showing me all his favourites.” I take a sip of wine, hoping to ease my tension. I wish that Luna could have made it to the meal, just so I could have something familiar to anchor me. Though she seemed excited about the invitation, she sent a message saying that something came up and she couldn’t make it. Rean’s twin, Corin, also was regretful to miss the meal, but had somewhere important to be, or something. “I haven’t seen any of you around while I’ve been here. Who all lives in the House of Wind?”

“At the moment,” Hana, another of Rean’s cousins, speaks up, “just Corin, Rean, Christine, and I. Valeria and Julian are back at the Illyrian camps for another few months.”

“Valeria and Julian are friends from Illyria,” Rean explains when he notices my confusion. “They’re younger by a couple years and still have to finish their training. Corin and I officially finished a decade ago, and Christine did last year. We all still spend a lot of time in Illyria, though.”

“Well, except me.” Hana throws a golden red braid over her shoulder and smiles. I like Hana right away. She is a stark contrast to Christine, all smiles and jokes and bright eyes. I don’t dislike Christine or anything, I just feel like prey under her all-seeing gaze. Hana feels… safer. But first impressions aren’t everything, I remind myself.

I’m more intimidated by the older males and females at the table than anyone else, but not because they’re trying to be intimidating. Quite the opposite, really. I am sitting in the presence of legends and warriors, yet it doesn’t feel like it at all as they make jokes and tease each other like school children.

“I’m just saying, Rhysie,” Cassian drawls to the High Lord, “you’re not the young male you used to be.” I hadn’t been paying attention to the exchange that led up to this particular statement, but I don’t think I have to have been in order to understand the dynamic. It is certainly not what I ever would have imagined from the most powerful fae in the Night Court, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.

“We’re the same age, Cassie,” Rhysand retorts. I have a feeling this is a common exchange based on the expressions of everyone around me that say not this again. I feel a certain level of pity for Feyre and Nesta, who have been dealing with this for centuries. I send a silent prayer to the Mother to give me as much patience as them as Cassian and Rhysand continue in their squabble.

Rean told me to call everyone by their first names, but it still feels wrong. My mother would have made sure I called everyone by their proper title. Surely she would have scolded me for being so laid back with the leaders of our Court.

Movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention from the meal. On a gust of cool wind, a winged male enters from the open balcony, another form in his arms. Not just any form, I realize with relief, but Luna. And the male I recognize as Corin, since he looks almost exactly like Rean. The only difference I can tell is that Corin’s hair is purposely unruly, while Rean’s is always smoothed out as much as he can manage (to little avail, but he tries).

Next to me, Rean rises from his seat. I stand as well, rushing to embrace my friend. Something in her eyes makes me worry, but her returned embrace tells me that she’s fine.

“I thought you couldn’t come.”

“I was freed up at the last minute,” she shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad.” Everyone shifts around the table to make room for the two late-comers. Luna on my other side, and Corin next to Rean. Having Luna here instantly calms me down, and the rest of the meal seems to fly by in enjoyable banter. Somehow, we got on the topic of chocolate. There seems to be a danger of me being kicked out of the Court now, given everyone’s reactions to the discovery that I don’t have much of a taste for the stuff. Rean looked as if I had slapped him across the face. Noted: never bring up a distaste for chocolate to the leaders of the Night Court.

Bellies and hearts full by the end of the night, the number of diners at the table dwindles to just four: Corin, Luna, Rean, and I. Draining the last sip of wine from his glass, Rean stands and offers to fly Luna back to her apartment. But Corin, to my surprise but not disappointment, suggests she spend the night at the House of Wind, claiming that it’s getting late anyway. Luna of course doesn’t protest to spending another few hours in the luxurious House. I can’t say I would turn down the soft bed topped with a down duvet and feather pillow, the courtyard blooming with every type of flower, and certainly not the seemingly endless library, all at my fingertips.

All the things I never had before, and yet I feel it will never be enough.

____________

Rean

Mila clutches my arm. She holds tight wherever we go, and the streets of Velaris are no exception. Even when we enter shops to browse, she stays close at my side. I don’t mind, but I worry about her. She hasn’t spoken much at all about Starfall, not that I’ve asked much anyway. I just don’t want her to bottle everything up, for the fear that she might overflow.

We walk aimlessly through the streets, taking the day away from the House of Wind to go wherever we are taken. We each hold bags on our free arms, filled with candy and trinkets we’ve bought along the way. We have no final destination or goal to worry about.

I lead Milena left at the next street, admiring the trees that line the path in front of the shops and houses.

Mila lets go of my arm, stopping suddenly.

I realize the mistake I have made.

Across the tree-lined street, like a blot of ink on a letter, are the grey, ashy ruins of Mila’s home.

She stares, but her expression reveals no emotion.

Slowly, she sits on the stone curb, pulling her legs under her. Slowly, I sit next to her.

We stare.

We don’t speak for a long while. What can I say?

“When I was a child,” Mila starts, “I was convinced my mother was a healer. The greatest healer in Prythian, even.” She pulls a ring from her finger and fiddles with it as she speaks. “I thought this because every time I got hurt–a splinter in my finger, a scrape on my knee–my mother could instantly make me feel better. She would sit me down on the kitchen table, wipe the tears from my eyes, and tell me to sit very still so she could make the hurt go away.

“Hold still, buttercup, or the magic won’t work,” was what she would always say. Then she would take the injured finger or knee or elbow in her hand and bring it to her lips, leaving the softest of kisses. And it worked every time. I would hop off the table and run back outside to play, the injury forgotten.

“When I got a little older and emotional hurt was more common than physical, she would do the same little healing ritual to cheer me up. Sitting me down on my bed or hers, she would place that same soft kiss on my forehead, and whisper, “I love you, buttercup.” And while it didn’t always work instantly, as some hurts were very deep, I would always feel even just a little bit better than before.

“Of course I know now that she wasn’t a healer, and actually carried very little magic in her blood. I know that it was all in my head. But to a child, a comforting mother is the most powerful healer in Prythian. There was nothing she couldn’t fix.

I long for one of my mother’s healing kisses now more than ever. I need her to make me feel better. But I know that I’ll have to find another way. My mother isn’t here to kiss away my hurt, and it’s that feeling of… finality that makes me hurt the most.” Tears threaten to fall from her green eyes, but she blinks them away. She sniffs once.

It’s my turn to talk. I take a deep breath.

“There used to be another member of our group–our ‘Inner Circle 2.0’. He trained with Corin, Christine, and I at the Illyrian camps. His name was Isaias, and the four of us were inseparable.” Isaias’s laughing face is forever burned into my memory, and I see him now. The deep dimples, the nearly closed hazel eyes, the crooked teeth. I hear his laugh.

“He… struggled a bit with the training. When it came time for the Rite, he insisted on participating with the rest of us. We weren’t about to keep him from doing it, though we all wanted to, and in the end…”

His laugh. His smile. His face.

“In the end he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not telling you this to turn this into some sort of pity-party. I’m telling you because I know some of what you’re feeling right now. I want you to know that it will get easier. The hurt will fade. It may never go away, but eventually you might go a day without noticing the pain. A week. It will always be a part of you, but with time, you’ll be able to live with it.”

Mila meets my eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers thickly.

“Milena!”

Mila and I both turn to the direction of the voice, coming from the house next to what is now the ruins of Mila’s home. A white-haired male in a blue apron is walking across the street to where Mila and I sit. I assume Mila knows who he is, as she stands up and hugs him in greeting. In a tight-knit community like this one, neighbours are as close as family. Evident by the sign I now notice above his building, this neighbour is a florist. The sign reads El and Al’s Floral Arrangements.

“Mr. Hobkins, I’m glad to see you again.” Mila pulls back from her embrace of the florist, and takes a step closer to me. “This is Rean. I’ve been staying with him in the House of Wind.”

Mr. Hobkins extends a hand for me to shake. “Well I’ll be! We all wondered where you’d gone off to. How’d you end up there, of all places?”

She chuckles nervously, running a hand through her golden hair. “It’s a bit of a long story. I think I’ll stay there for a while though, til things get sorted out.”

Mr. Hobkins looks me in the eye, his brown eyes less warm than they had been a moment ago. “You make sure she’s alright, boy. You look after her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, leave him be, Mr. Hobkins. Rean’s been nothing but kind. He’s, uh… he’s my mate.” The word coming from her makes my heart skip a beat. Mr Hobkins, on the other hand, looks ready to cry for joy. He pulls Mila in for another hug. Then, to my surprise, pulls me into a warm embrace as well.

“I almost forgot,” he says, dabbing a tear from the corner of his eye, “in all this excitement it slipped my mind entirely. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know. My memory’s not quite so good.”

“What is it?”

He reaches into the pocket of his apron, producing from it a letter marked with a green seal. “This letter was meant for your house, but ended up at mine. I thought you’d like to have it, so as soon as I saw you sitting out here, I ran and got it. I’ve had it since the day of the accident.” The florist tears up again, but I know this time it’s not for joy. He must have been very close with Mila’s parents.

Mila inspects the letter. I’m not sure if it’s the letter or Mr. Hobkins, but there is a faint scent of roses in the air. I have a feeling it’s the former, since I didn’t notice the scent before he took the letter out.

“It’s addressed to my mother, but I don’t recognize the sender. Do you know who Rhiannon Moss is?”

“I haven’t a clue,” the florist shrugs. “I figured you’d want to read whatever was in it though. And I suppose I should leave you to it. Don’t be a stranger, Milena. Come visit me and El anytime.”

Mila pulls her attention from the writing on the envelope. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hobkins.”

“I think I should open this at the House of Wind,” she says once he’s back inside. “I feel like whatever is in this letter might give a clue to what happened to my parents.”

Feyre, Lucien, and the Great Comet of the Spring Court–Act II

tags: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @highlady-of-night @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233 @prxthian @fuzdog

Prologue * Act I * Act II

Act II

Lucien

I write a letter to Tamlin, though I know he won’t answer. He hasn’t answered my letters in months.

Dear old friend,

How is Hybern? Do you make progress with the king? I wish I was there, with death at my heels, making a difference in the world.

I hear that Cassian is recovering. He will be alright, the good man.

And Feyre is in the Spring Court. I have not yet seen her, but I hear your bride-to-be is full of life. I should visit. I hear she has grown more beautiful, more clever. I greatly envy you and your happiness.

This will be my last letter to him if he chooses not to answer again.

____________

Feyre

I can’t stop thinking about Rhysand and our night at the ball. What am I to tell Tamlin? Do I tell him at all?

I must write him a letter, I decide. I sit down at the desk in my room and begin to write.

Dear Tamlin,

What more can I write after what has happened? What do I do if I love him, but also love another? I must be a terrible person to be unfaithful.

Maybe if I look at the candle in the mirror again, it will give me a sign. Elain said it would show me my future, so it’s worth a try.

I arrange my mirrors as Elain did, and holding my candle, peer into my reflection.

I see nothing but the candle. No coffin, no man–standing or lying. No visions of the future. I feel so lost. What am I to do?

I need to take my mind off of it. I notice an unread letter on my desk. A letter, I find, that is from the Lady of Autumn.

I open it and hold it to the candlelight.

Dear Feyre,

I’m in deep despair at the misunderstanding there is between us.

Whatever my husband’s feelings might be, I beg you to believe that I cannot stop thinking about you, and that I want to know you. My husband is a tired old man, and you must forgive him. Please, come see us again.

I take out a fresh piece of parchment, and begin my reply.

My Lady,

What do I write? They were so awful to me, but do they deserve another chance? I would do it for Tamlin, but am I even meant to be with him? So many terrible questions.

A letter from Rhysand appears in front of me. So many letters in a single night, I think I might go crazy. I open his letter anyway.

Feyre darling, I must love you or die.

Feyre darling, if you love me, say yes, and I will come and steal you away, steal you to the dark.

Feyre darling, I want nothing more.

Just say yes.

Yes, I love him. I’ve decided it. How else could I have his letter in my hand? I read it again, savouring each word. I read it twenty times, thirty times, forty times. Each and every word. Yes, I love him.

I fall asleep with his letter in my hand.

____________

“Feyre, tell me isn’t true.” I wake at my sister’s voice. “It can’t be that you love him, it can’t be. Feyre–”

“Elain, you’re back!” I embrace my sister. But noticing the look on her face, I know why she has woken me. “Elain! You’ve read the letter!”

She nods, unable to look me in the eye.

“Oh, I’m glad, I can’t hide it any longer! Now you know we love one another. Oh Elain, he writes and writes! If you only knew how happy I am… you don’t know what love is!”

“And what of Tamlin?”

“I don’t understand…”

“Are you refusing him?”

“Oh, You don’t understand anything, Elain! Don’t talk nonsense, just listen!”

“No, I don’t understand, Feyre! You’ve only known him three days!”

Has it only been three days? It feels like I’ve loved him for a hundred years. It feels like I’ve never loved anyone before–not like this. I have no will, my life is his. I’ll do anything he wants me to. “What can I do, Elain? Why can’t you understand that I love him?”

“I won’t let it come to that, Feyre. I’ll tell Ianthe. I won’t let you ruin everything for us.” She bursts into tears, which only fuels my anger.

“What do you mean, for cauldron’s sake? If you tell her you will be my enemy! Do you want me to be miserable by tearing us apart?” I take her hands in mine. “Please, Elain,” I beg, “don’t tell anyone! I have confided in you, you can’t betray me like this!”

She pulls her hands from mine and reaches for the letters. “What has he said to you?” Her brows furrow as she scans the letters. She looks furious. “Why doesn’t he come here and properly ask for your hand? Why this secrecy? Have you thought of what he may be trying to hide, Feyre?”

“I don’t know his reasons, and I don’t care to. Elain, I can’t doubt him.”

She sighs. “Does he love you?”

“Does he love me? Well, you’ve read his letters! Of course he loves me, you can see it in every word.” I take the letters from her, cradling them against my heart.

“Feyre,” she pleads, “think of this family. Think of Tamlin.”

“Tamlin said I was free to refuse him,” I counter.

“But you haven’t refused him,” she pauses, “or have you?”

“Perhaps I have. Perhaps it’s all over between me and Tamlin.” I sigh and look at her with my best doe eyes. “Would you think so badly of me?”

“I won’t fall for your tone, Feyre,” she snaps, “I don’t trust him! And I’m afraid you’re going to your ruin!”

“Then I’ll go to my ruin!” I shout, “Yes, I will! As soon as possible! It’s not your business, so leave me alone. Just leave me alone!” Elain flinches at my words, but I don’t stop. “I hate you, Elain! I hate you, and you are my enemy forever!” She bursts into sobs and runs from the room, the door left wide open behind her.

Without a moment to reflect, I write the letter to the Lady of Autumn I’d been unable to write all morning.

All our misunderstandings are at an end. Forget everything, and forgive me.

But I can’t be Tamlin’s wife.

____________

Cassian

The plan to take Feyre to the Night Court had all been arranged and the preparations made.

This was how it would go:

Feyre would be on her balcony at sunset, and Rhys, Az, and I would swoop in and take her away. We would fly to the edge of the Night Court, where a priestess will be waiting to make them get wed. Then we fly the rest of the way to Velaris, where Rhys and Feyre will live the rest of their days in happiness.

We are all gathered at the Spring Court Inn, drinking and waiting for sunset. Rhys paces the floor, his shirt unbuttoned and wings out. He walks to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. It’s making me dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.

“Rhys, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Shut up, Cassian, of course it is. I love her and she loves me.”

“Then why are you pacing?”

The door to the inn opens, Rhys’ attention going to whoever walks in. When I see the look on his face, I turn to see who it is too.

Lucien Vanserra. I roll my eyes and go back to my drink.

“Rhysand,” he says. Then, noticing the luggage and papers strewn about, “leaving Spring so soon? Where are you off to?”

“Ah, Fox-boy,” Rhysand drawls, and I chuckle at the nickname. “Tonight, I go away on an adventure. I doubt we will be seeing each other for a while. I have found a new love, and I’m taking her away with me. I’ll send you a letter from Velaris.”

“Ha!” Lucien laughs. “But Rhysand, are you not already married?”

“You watch your tongue,” I snap.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re married to Amarantha.”

“What would you know of marriages, Vanserra?”

Lucien doesn’t answer.

“And it doesn’t matter, anyway,” Rhys, continues, “because I will make sure that no one else knows about my past. I trust that you will keep this to yourself.”

“It’s time to go, Rhys,” I say, standing up. It is nearly sunset, and Azriel will be waiting outside.

“Goodbye, Fox-boy! Raise a glass for me!” Rhys calls back as we leave the inn.

As I expected Azriel is outside the inn, waiting at the nearby treeline. He is cloaked in shadow, his wings looming behind him.

“Let’s go,” Rhys says before summoning his wings and taking off. Azriel and I follow.

When we reached the gate of the Manor, I whistled. The whistle was heard by a servant, who, after being bribed, agreed to open the gate for us. Az and I stayed by the gate, Rhysand followed the servant into the courtyard and up to the house.

“You will not enter this house, scoundrel!” Ianthe appears in the doorway.

“Rhysand,” I call, “come back! We’ve been betrayed!”

Azriel, Rhysand, and I flee, back to the safety of the inn.

____________

Feyre

“You shameless, good-for-nothing girl,” Ianthe spits. She paces my room, furious with me. Elain stands in the doorway, unable to look at me. “Have you lost your mind? Running away with the High Lord of the Night Court from the house of your betrothed… you vile, shameless girl!”

I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off. “Don’t you say one word! There is nothing you could say to save yourself from what you have done.”

My body begins to shake with noiseless, convulsive sobs. Everything is ruined. Ianthe brings her hand to my arm, but I jerk away. “Don’t touch me! Just let me be!”

She is growing more agitated with every moment. “What are we to tell your father? The other High Lords? Tamlin? What do we tell your betrothed?”

“I have no betrothed,” I declare, “I have refused him.”

“Feyre,” Elain cries, “just stop!” She reaches out to me as Ianthe did, and I give her the same treatment.

“Don’t touch me!”

“If he had succeeded in carrying you off, don’t you think Tamlin would have found him?” Elain asks. ”Rhysand is a monster!”

“He is better than any of you!” I say. “Why did you have to interfere, Elain?” She tries to speak, but I don’t want to hear it. “Just go away! Everyone go away.” Ianthe too tries to speak again, but I cry out. “Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and I throw myself down on my bed.

“Feyre!” Ianthe shouts, but I do not respond. She finally gives in and leaves, Elain following behind her.

I do not sleep that night. I sit at the window, waiting for Rhysand, but he never comes.

____________

Lucien

I knock hesitantly on the door of the manor. Ianthe did not sound happy in the letter she sent, asking me to come see her immediately. I have a feeling something terrible has happened, but I can’t figure out what. Perhaps Tamlin is being delayed again, and won’t be coming home as soon as we had hoped.

A servant opens the door and directs me to the drawing room, where Ianthe is waiting. She paces the floor, wringing her hands, her eyebrows drawn. She notices I’ve arrived, and walk toward me, pulling me into a quick embrace. “Lucien,” she says, “I’m sorry it’s late. I haven’t seen you around in many days, where have you been?”

“I have been… studying.”

“Lucien, we need your help–Tamlin and the entire Court need your help. There is ruin at the door.”

“Ianthe, what is–”

“Feyre has broken with Tamlin.”

“What?”

“Feyre has tried to run away.”

“It can’t be! She would never–”

“She has tried to run away with Rhysand.”

I sit down, unable to believe my ears. Rhysand, that prick, wasn’t joking when he said he was in love with Feyre. Ianthe sits next to me.

“Tamlin will kill him, and surely start a war. We must get Rhysand to return to the Night Court before Tamlin comes home.”

“I’ll go talk to him at once.”

But where would I find Rhysand? I check the inn, but it is empty. Perhaps at the bar.

All is going on as usual when I arrive. Everyone is gossiping in small groups, and in my search, I hear snippets of what they are saying. “Have you heard of Rhysand’s abduction?” “Is it true?” “Feyre is ruined!”

“Nonsense,” I snap, “nothing has happened! Everything is fine.” They do nothing but lower their voices when I pass closely by.

I find Rhysand at the end of the bar, muttering Feyre’s name under his breath. He looks like death. “Rhysand,” I clap him on the shoulder. “Come, I must speak to you.” I lead him to a private room. He follows with his usual confident step, but his face betrays anxiety. I close the door and address him without looking at him. “You prepared to take Feyre away to the Night Court, is that so?”

“I don’t consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone,” he says indignantly. Classic Rhysand, ever the arrogant fool. I don’t have the time to deal with him like this. The well-being of my friend is in serious jeopardy because of his selfish, stupid actions.

My face, already pale, becomes distorted by fury. I seize him by the collar and push him against the wall. “Listen to me, Rhysand! When I tell you I must talk to you–”

“Come now, fox-boy, this is stupid!” I only push him harder. We both know he could stop me in an instant without so much as a thought.

“You’re a scoundrel and a blackguard, and I don’t know what deprives me of the pleasure of smashing your head in right now.”

“We both know you couldn’t if you tried.” He pushes me away now, but doesn’t make an attempt to leave. I recompose myself, but I’m still seething. He is not going off the hook for this, not on my watch.

“First, do you have any letters of hers?” He reluctantly pulls a package of letters out of his pocket and hands them over. His name is scrawled across the top of each one in the neat handwriting of a rich merchant’s daughter, the stack tied together neatly with a black ribbon. “Second, tonight, you must leave the Spring Court.” He nods. “Third, you must never breathe a word of what has happened between you and Feyre.” He sits down now, and sighs deeply.

“Lucien, she’s my mate.”

I pace the room several times in silence. He watches me.

“You must understand, Rhysand, that there is such a thing as other people, and their happiness and peace. And that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of… amusing yourself.”

“I’m not just amusing myself, Lucien. She wanted to come with me. She doesn’t want to stay here”

“Just promise me you’ll leave. You can’t be here when Tamlin returns, and he will return.”

He sighs, but nods. Satisfied, I leave him.

____________

Elain

Dear Tamlin,

Feyre is very ill. The whole house is in a state of alarm and commotion.

I don’t know if Ianthe has written to you yet, but Feyre has been unfaithful. If not for Ianthe, she would be in the Night Court right now with Rhysand, who has attempted to kidnap her. Rhysand and his ‘entourage’ have returned to the Night Court without her, thankfully.

But unfortunately, Feyre, seemingly heartbroken, poisoned herself in the night. She woke me in the middle of the night and told me what she had done. The healers came with the antidote, and now she is out of danger, but still so weak.

Please return to the Spring Court at once.

We wait for Tamlin to return with dread. He will surely challenge Rhysand to a duel, and get himself killed, and all will be ruined.

____________

Lucien

Tamlin is back in the Spring Court, and the first thing he does is not visit Feyre, who is dreadfully ill, but visits me. He appeared in my doorway, stone-faced and emotionless. I brought him into the library to sit.

“Well,” he says after settling, “how are you?”

I don’t answer. He knows how I am. Or at least he would, if he read my letters. “You look grim,” I remark.

“I’ve been away too long, but I am well. It’s good to see you.”

We sit in silence for a few long moments. The ticking clock on the wall is the only sound.

“Forgive me for troubling you, old friend. I received a refusal from Feyre, and I have heard reports of Rhysand having… asked for her hand, or something of that kind. Is this true?”

“Something of that kind.”

He avoids meeting my eyes, and reaches into his coat pocket. “Here are her letters. Please give them to her.” He begins to stand up to leave.

“Feyre is ill. She has been at death’s door.”

“I much regret her illness.” He smiles like my father–coldly, maliciously. “Well,” he continues to the door, “forgive me for bothering you.”

“You told me once,” I call after him, “that all people should be given the chance to be forgiven.”

“But I didn’t say that I could forgive.” He puts his hand on the doorknob. “I can’t. If you wished to remain my friend, you would be on my side, and never speak of that again.”

I know I can’t be on his side in this. I am on nobody’s side.

“Well, goodbye.” He spares me a final glance before closing the door behind him.

I remain seated until I can no longer hear the roaring in my ears.

I decide that I am going to visit Feyre. She must feel so lonely, so despised. She deserves to have someone comfort her. I put on my heavy coat and go to the manor, where she will be staying at just until she gets better. Then she will be returned to her home in the Mortal Lands, or so Ianthe has said.

I find Feyre standing in the middle of the art gallery, with a pale, yet steady face. When I appeared in the doorway, she grew flustered, and I hurried to her. It looked like she was about to give me her hand, but instead she stopped, leaving her too-thin arms hanging at her sides.

“Lucien Vanserra,” she says distantly, her face remaining blank.

“Just Lucien.”

“Tamlin was your friend,” she says, seemingly to herself. “He once told me that I should turn to you.”

I sniff, holding back tears. What has happened to the charming, clever girl I once saw? Until now, I had blamed her for what had happened. Despised her for hurting Tamlin. But now, and especially after my visit with Tam, I can only pity her.

“He is here now, isn’t he?”

I nod.

“Please… tell him to forgive me. For everything.”

“I will tell him,” I assure her. “Just answer me one thing.” She meets my eyes now, and I’m taken aback by how clear and understanding her grey eyes are, considering her demeanor. “Did you love him? Did you love Rhysand?”

“I did… I do.” She begins to cry, and my heart overflows with pity for this poor mortal girl.

“We won’t talk about him anymore. Just promise me something, Feyre. Promise me that you will consider me your friend, and if you ever need help, or just someone to talk to, you’ll think of me.”

She smiles, just a bit, for the first time since I arrived. “Why are you being so kind to me? I’m not worth it. I am an ungrateful, lying piece of–”

“Stop, Feyre. Don’t speak about yourself like that. This isn’t the end of your happiness, you have a whole life in front of you.”

“No, Lucien. All is over for me.”

All over? Is this all it takes for your life to be made meaningless? It is far from fair. Feyre deserves to get to still live a full, happy life, unlike the life I’ve lived.

“If,” I start, then stop myself, then start again. “If I were not… myself, but the brightest, handsomest, best male in Prythian, and if I were free, then I would marry you myself.”

She begins to weep. Not tears of sadness, I can see from her face, but tears of gratitude. Tears of thanks. She nods, and leaves the room smiling. Restraining my own tears that threaten to fall, I too turn and leave the room. I leave the gallery, the hall, the marble floors, the stone steps, all of it, behind me.

Where can I go now? I can’t stay in Spring, I can’t go back to Autumn. All of Prythian, all of life itself, feels pitiful–prude, even–compared the the final, grateful last glance Feyre gave me through her tears.

Night has fallen, and the air outside is cool. A breeze rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying with it a faint perfume of roses from Tamlin’s garden.

I look up at the dark, starry sky.

And there, I see it. In the middle of the sky, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars, a great comet–a brilliant comet, shooting through the dark.

It is said that the comet was followed by a war that brought untold horrors, and the end of the world as we know it. But for me, the comet brings no tears. No, I gaze joyfully at this bright, amazing star, which, tracing its path across the sky, seems to have stopped just for me. Like an arrow piercing my heart.

It seems to me that this comet feels me; feels my softened and uplifted soul, and my newly melted heart, now blossoming into a new and sweeter life.

____________

Dear Feyre,

I hear you have been reunited with the High Lord of the Night Court, and that you are happily mated. I’m glad that you have found happiness with him, and I congratulate you on your position as High Lady.

I have found happiness too. As you know, I left Prythian behind me to travel the world, and I’m now living with some people you may know—Jurian and Vassa. For the first time in many years, I am truly and utterly happy.

I of course have heard news of a brewing war, and I want you to know that I will aid in any way I can. I will support you, Feyre, though I didn’t before when I should have.

I want to ask you to forgive me for trying to keep you and Rhysand apart. I of all people should know what that can do to a person.

Forever your friend,

Lucien

foxboylucien:

Act II of ACOTAR Great Comet will be posted either late evening on Saturday or sometime on Sunday! I’m not quite done with edits/rewrites and I may or may not be going out after work tomorrow. So we’ll see what happens and I’ll keep youse updated.

I ended up not baking today so act II will be posted this afternoon!

Act II of ACOTAR Great Comet will be posted either late evening on Saturday or sometime on Sunday! I’m not quite done with edits/rewrites and I may or may not be going out after work tomorrow. So we’ll see what happens and I’ll keep youse updated.

Feyre, Lucien, and the Great Comet of the Spring Court–Act I

tags: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @rhysands-bitch @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233

Prologue * Act I * Act II

Act I

Feyre

The carriage stops in front of the enormous manor, and I see Ianthe run down the front steps to greet us.

“Feyre, Elain, welcome to the Spring Court!” She holds her arms open to us, pulling us into a quick embrace. “Bring in their things, you dawdling fools,” she snaps at the servants. I exchange a look with Elain. Ianthe seems… less than charming. “Come inside, I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey.” Her golden curls bounce as she leads up the steps to the manor.

The inside of the manor smells strongly of roses, and the white marble floors glisten under my feet. Vases of flowers are spaced along the walls, and rich, velvet curtains hang from the open windows.

Ianthe leads us to the dining room, where the table already has a full spread of fruit and cheese, bread and pastries, platters of meats, and tea and wine. We sit around the table and pile our plates with food. Ianthe fills our cups with tea and a splash of rum.

“Well, now we can talk.” Ianthe claps her hands together. “First, congratulations on your engagement, Feyre. So wonderful to have your family tied to Tamlin’s–it’s really quite advantageous. One of the finest matches in all of Prythian, I should think.”

I blush happily. “But the other High Lords, Beron especially, dislike his marrying me. Because I’m mortal.”

“Oh, don’t listen to old Beron,” she chides. “He won’t be happy with anything.”

“Perhaps if you payed him and the Lady a visit,” Elain chimes in, “he might come to like you.”

“Wonderful idea, Elain,” Ianthe praises my sister. “You’ll take a little trip to Autumn this afternoon, Feyre. My advice is to just be kind to the Lady of Autumn, and once she loves you, so will Beron, and all will be well.”

She sends me off immediately to prepare, and not an hour later, I’m on my way to the Autumn Court. An enchanted carriage carries me, speeding through Prythian in seemingly no time at all.

I arrive around mid afternoon. The colours here are so vibrant–brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. The air is crisp and fresh, though cooler than Spring. I feel the end of my nose getting colder, the tips of my fingers getting stiff. I’m rush to the warmth of the Autumn manor as fast as I can.

The Lady of Autumn greets me at the door, and from the first glance, I do not like her. So stiff and proper, insolent and dry. I know I have to make her like me, but I can’t help but shrink into myself. I feel her and everyone else in the room judging me and my ‘inferior’ human body. Maybe I am inferior in every way compared to them.

Worst of it all, though, is Beron. He comes in for tea late, muttering about getting this meeting over with as quickly as possible. He simply walks in, looks me over from head to toe, and leaves! Not a single word to me. I feel the heat rise on my cheeks, the burning fire in my chest as I fight to restrain my baffled anger.

“I should go,” I say as calmly as possible, not even able to look the Lady in the eye.

“Please, Feyre. Wait a moment.” She reaches for my hand. “I want you to know how glad I am that Tamlin has found happiness.”

I whirl on her, my eyes blazing. “Is that the truth?” I snap. I quickly compose myself, smoothing my skirt and turning towards the door. “I think it best that I go, Lady,” I say with all the dignity and coldness I can muster.

Back out in the cool Autumn air, I suddenly feel regret for what I’ve just said. What have I done? They will never accept me as one of their own now, whether I’m the Lady of Spring or not.

I desperately wish that Tamlin were here to sort things out. Hybern suddenly feels a thousand worlds away, the thought of the distance closing in on me like the cold.

Inside the carriage, I sit by myself on the bench and let the tears fall.

By the time I arrive back at the Spring Court, the moon is high in the sky. I stand out in the open for a moment, admiring its beauty, the light it casts on the budding trees. It looks just the same as it did the night Tamlin and I met. Staring up at the moon and the starry sky, I remember that night.

Tamlin, with his grass-green eyes and his distant smile, pulling me into his arms.

I’ll never be as happy again as I was that night.

I wonder how anyone can sleep when the moon is this beautiful. I feel like sitting in the soft grass, putting my arms around my knees, and squeezing tight as possible. I feel like flying away.

Away to Tamlin.

Maybe he will come home tomorrow. Maybe he’s here already, and I simply forgot.

I hold on to that hope as I go back inside the manor, as I change into my nightgown, as I lie awake in bed. He will come home to me.

____________

On Saturday afternoon, Ianthe suggests we go to a play. “There’s an amazing playgroup passing through,” she says, “and we should go see them.” Elain is enthusiastic about going, and while I would rather sit in my room and wait for Tamlin to return, I agree to come along. We spend the rest of the afternoon trying on dresses, showing off in the mirror. I almost forget about how much I miss him.

Elain and Ianthe put me in a dress that shows off my figure more than the dresses I usually wear. My arms and shoulders, chest and neck are bare. Looking in the mirror, I see that I am pretty. I’ve never felt like this before–I’m not a child anymore in this dress. I look like a Lady of Spring.

We arrive at the theatre and everyone is looking at me. Hundreds of eyes look at my bare arms and shoulders–the females envious, the males calming their jealousy.

Ianthe leads us to our own private box with the best view of the stage. I look around at the crowds of people below me, their clothing and jewelry bright and extravagant. One female in particular catches my eye. She is dressed in a vibrant red, offsetting her sun kissed skin and golden blonde hair. But her clothes aren’t what catch my attention–it’s the way she stands. Such confidence, seeming to be the center of all attention. Next to her is a male with enormous dark wings–a brute if I ever did see one. He looks like he could kill me with nothing but his little finger. They walk arm in arm down the aisle, taking their seats in the front row.

The lights in the theatre dim and the curtain rises. The warm perfumed air is filled with a sense of anticipation as the show begins. Everyone turns their attention, teeming with curiosity, to the stage.

The first act is eerie and dark, the stage flowing with smoke and dim blue light. I sit on the edge of my seat, captivated by the story, the music, the illusion. It is intoxicating. It’s all so false and unnatural–I’m both ashamed and amused. Everyone else seems oblivious, feigning oblivious delight.

And then, a rush of cold air, and the door to the theatre opens, shattering the carefully constructed illusion.

I recognize the male who strides through the double doors. It is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. He moves with such a swagger and confidence, which would have been ridiculous, had he not been so good looking. And though it is the middle of the act, he walks right down the aisle, his handsome dark head held high. He takes his place in the front row next to who I now know must be Cassian and The Morrigan–legends to even the human realm.

The High Lord doesn’t look at the stage, as he should be, but right up to my box. Our eyes meet, his violet to my blue, and it seems like he is gazing straight into my fragile soul. He turns and whispers something in Morrigan’s ear. He is talking about me.

In the second act there are tombstones, the moon over the footlights. But I don’t pay attention to the play. I am intoxicated now by the mysterious High Lord. Every time I look at him, he’s looking at me. He gazes straight into my eyes.

The orchestra wails a mournful tune, and everybody cheers. “Bravo!”

A terrible noise, a clatter in the crowd. A storm of chromatic scales and diminished sevenths. With rapturous faces everyone is shouting, standing, and applauding, “bravo!” I stand and cheer with the crowd, faint from the heat of both the room and Rhysand’s attention. Ianthe and Elain file out of the box, but I stay in my seat for a moment, gathering myself.

And then, a rush of cold air, and Rhysand enters the box.

“There you are,” he says, “I’ve been looking for you. You didn’t leave with Ianthe and your sister.”

He is sensible and simple, bold and natural, so strange and agreeable, yet there is something formidable about him. His smile is naive, cheerful and good natured. His violet eyes are welcoming and warm, twinkling with a faint sense of mischief. He is as handsome up close as at a distance–quite possibly the most beautiful male I have ever seen.

“You know, Feyre darling,” he drawls, “the theatre in the Night Court is much better than the one here in Spring. You should come visit sometime, and I’ll take you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t–”

“I insist. You must come.” He never removes his smiling eyes from my face, my bare neck and arms. I know for certain that he is enraptured by me. He looks me right in the eyes, and I am foolishly frightened. There is not that barrier of modesty I have always felt with men. He feels terribly near. I fear that at any moment, he might seize me from behind, and kiss me on the neck. My face heats.

“How do you like the Spring Court?” I ask, attempting to clear my mind of such thoughts.

“At first I did not like it much, but now I like it very much indeed.”

We are speaking of most ordinary things, yet I feel closer to him than I ever have with any other man. No one else is here, no one else can see us. It is only his eyes, all I can see is those violet eyes. There is nothing between us. He leans in closer. I find myself leaning in too.

“I must go.” I snap out of his trance and rush out of the box, skirts swirling around my shaking legs.

____________

Lucien

The High Lord of the Night Court leans on the jamb of my front door.

“Rhysand, what are you doing here?”

“Cassian and I are going to the bar. Will you come? For old time’s sake?”

I shrug and grab my coat from its hook. “Why not.”

When we arrive at the bar, Cassian is already there, and already drunk. I, too, drink a great deal, only quite at ease after pouring several glasses into my mouth. I begin to feel a pleasant warmth in my body, all of my worries washed away in the drink.

Rhysand, Tamlin, and I used to do this quite often when we were young. We would drink until morning, then pass out on the stoep of Tamlin’s manor. We were children then, innocent in the ways of the world. Now, we drink exactly because we know those ways. Oh, do we ever know those ways.

“Here’s to the health of beautiful females,” Cassian toasts, a smile lurking on the corner of his mouth. “To beautiful females, their husbands, and their lovers!”

Rhys mutters something about Feyre Archeron–her arms, her eyes, her neck, her hair. “I will make love to her–mark my words.”

“Better not,” I warn, “she’s first rate, but nothing but trouble, since she’s already promised to Tamlin.”

“Nevermind about that,” he dismisses, downing another drink. “I don’t give a damn. I love Feyre.”

“I used to love…”

He snorts and hands me another drink. “Keep drinking, Vanserra.”

“Poor little fox-boy,” Cassian teases, jabbing my side.

“You know nothing, Cassian,” I snap, a sudden fire in my soul. “You’re a bully and a scoundrel” He laughs me off, but for some reason–likely the alcohol–I don’t let him go. “I challenge you.”

“Oh,” he drawls, “a duel? Yes, this is what I like!”

Rhysand grabs my arm. “He will kill you, fool!”

“So I shall be killed, what is it to you?” I stand up and struggle to keep my balance. “Take up your place, bat-boy.”

Cassian stands on one end of the bar, and I stand on the other. The rules are simple: whoever gets hit with a blast of magic–whatever magic that might be–loses. It is my fire against Cassian’s siphoned arrow.

“This is horribly stupid,” Rhysand warns again.

Cassian and I both ignore him.

“Well, let’s begin.”

Someone else in the bar takes the place as the judge, and stands on the counter. “As the adversaries have refused a reconciliation, we shall please proceed with the duel. Ready your magic, and on the count of three, begin to advance.”

Everyone in the room counts down for us. “ONE… TWO… THREE!”

“Lucien, hold your fire,” Rhys instructs as I begin to advance. “Wait, not yet!” I trip over my own feet, and before I can stop it, fire shoots forward, hitting Cassian on the arm.

“No!” he shouts, clutching the burned flesh, “shot by a fool!”

“No wait,” I scramble to my feet, “I didn’t mean–”

“My turn!” Cassian’s eyes are clouded in vengeance. “MY TURN!”

“Lucien,” Rhys calls again, “stand down!”

But I don’t stand down. I have shamed myself, and now I accept my fate. I stand straight and spread my arms out wide, welcoming Cassian’s strike…

Except it never comes. The arrow shoots past me, lodging into the wall behind. Cassian sinks to his knees, still clutching his arm, his head held in shame.

“Missed… missed… how did I miss?”

The judge jumps down from the counter and raises my hand in the air. “The duel is at an end, and Lucien Vanserra is the winner!”

Winner… I am no such thing.

“Come on, fox-boy, let’s get you home,” Rhysand urges me. “Hey, be happy. You live to love another day.”

Love? I have no love.

Rhysand leaves me at my door, and I stumble up the stairs to my chambers.

Is this how I die? Ridiculed and laughed at, a joke and a failure? Is this what has become of me? Furious and reckless, sick with booze?

I taste every wasted minute, every time I turned away from things that might have healed me from my past. I’ve pushed everyone away. Everyone but Jesminda, but even she is gone now.

I feel like I’ve been sleeping my life away. When was the last time I looked up at the stars, or experienced nature, and felt actual joy?

Jesminda told me once that we are all asleep until we fall in love. That we are children of dust and ashes. But when we fall in love, we wake up, and we become a new and better self.

I was awake once, because of Jesminda.

But if I had died tonight, as I should have, I would have died in my sleep.

Ever since I lost her, I’ve been searching the world for something to awaken me once again. I have searched to no avail, and I wonder now if it has all been pointless.

Did I squander my divinity? Do we only get one chance at happiness?

These questions plage me during every hour, every day. I cannot find the answers, but I want to, more than anything. There must be another chance for me–this can’t be all there is.

They say we are asleep until we fall in love.

I think of Jesminda, how she was too kind for this world, how it was that kindness that awoke me the first time. Maybe… maybe I can find that again. Not to replace her, because nothing ever could, but to exist alongside her memory.

Yes, that’s what I want. I want to wake up. Please Mother, let me wake up again.

____________

Feyre

Elain shakes me awake in the early hours of the morning, pulling me out of bed and into her bedroom. She draws the curtains, lights some candles, and arranges three mirrors so they are in a half-circle.

“What are you doing?” I ask when she hands me a candle and guides me in front of the mirrors.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I see my face,” I dismiss. I know what my own reflection looks like.

“Don’t be silly,” she chides. “They say you can see your future in the long row of candles stretching back into the depths of the mirror.” I examine the candle in the reflection. “In the dim, confused last square,” she goes on, “you’ll see a coffin or a man.”

“Really?” I look closer, but I don’t see anything.

“Everyone sees a man,” she sighs.

“I see the candle… and the mirror. No coffin or man.”

“Look again, Feyre.”

“I see… a shape,” I look closer. “Is it Tamlin? Or is it…” I gasp, nearly dropping the candle. “He’s lying down. Why would he be lying down?”

Elain pulls me from the mirrors, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. Before she can try to interpret what I saw, the doors open, and Ianthe pokes her head in.

“Time for another ceremony, ladies.” She leaves us to get ready.

All throughout the ceremony, I think about the shape in the mirror. Maybe it means that Tamlin will never come. Or that something will happen to me before he does.

_____________

That afternoon, Ianthe leaves to visit some of the villagers. Not ten minutes after she leaves, however, there is a knock on the door. I peek out the window to see who it could be, and instantly flush.

It’s The Morrigan. Rhysand’s cousin.

I am wary, but I open the door.

She is dressed in ruby red, her sun kissed skin glowing, and she holds a gown in her arms.

“Oh, Feyre, you beautiful thing,” she says by way of greeting. She pushes past me into the foyer, walking as if she owned the place. “I come bearing gifts,” she holds up the gown.

“Whatever for?”

“Every girl deserves a beautiful gown, Feyre.” She looks me up and down. “Such a shame to bury a gem like you in the country. Now, come, try this on.”

I’m still confused, but I obey. Taking off my simple dress, I slip into the gorgeous gown. The material is metallic and dusted with crystals that look like billions of stars.

“This one suits you so well. You look rather charming in it!”

“I still don’t understand what it’s for.”

“My cousin dined with me yesterday, Feyre. But he didn’t eat a thing. You know why?” I wait for her to go on. “Because he was thinking about you! Sighing about you!”

My cheeks heat up, and I can’t help but smile a little. I look away.

“I’m throwing a ball tonight. You should come. My cousin will be there.” She winks at me.

I’m shocked, frankly. She knows that I’m engaged and yet she talks so freely. It must be alright, then. “I will come,” I decide.

With that, she leaves, almost as quickly as she came. I’m left in a daze, wondering if any of that really just happened.

____________

Rhysand

I stand waiting at the door for Feyre to arrive. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

The females in the room stare at me, giggling to each other every now and then. But right now, there is only one female in Prythian that I care about.

And here she is.

Feyre enters the room and every head turns to look at her. To look at her and her bare shoulders, bare arms. The jewels around her throat. I see my cousin dear has paid her a visit.

I stride towards her, my head held high and shoulders back. I take her hand in mine and pull her to the dance floor, sweeping her into the waltz. I press my hands to her waist and hand, and gaze into her eyes. Her frightened but loving eyes.

There is no barrier between us as we spin and glide around the room, her skirts flowing around us.

“You are enchanting, Feyre darling,” I murmur.

She cannot seem to find the words to reply, and lowers her eyes, blushing.

“Don’t look away. You don’t have to hide.” She looks at me again. “I am in love, Feyre darling.”

She pulls away from me slightly. “Don’t say such things, Rhysand, I am engaged. I love Tamlin.”

“Tamlin is not who he says he is.”

“What would you even know about it? I told you, I love him. I know who he is.” She begins to walk away. I can’t let her go, though.

“Feyre, come with me to the Night Court. Leave Tamlin behind.” I take her hand, and she turns to look at me. I slowly bring her hand to my lips. She only stares.

“I can’t just leave him, Rhys. Even if I wanted to.”

“Of course you can. You are not some caged animal, you are a wolf. You can do what you want.”

She sighs, and with a final glance, rushes out of the room.

The music swells, the people crowd. The ball goes on.

I will save her from this Court.