All this and Heaven too

by lyralikesstars

Summary:

For all the Nestas out there you are not unloveable (and you don't need to climb a mountain to prove that you worthy of anyone)

It was time for Nesta Archeron to make a decision of her own. So many choices had been taken from her since she was turned Fae but she would not allow it any longer. She would be no one's weapon. However, not even she could anticipate the outcome of her choice.

Notes:

I don't know how I got hooked on this topic but after reading ACOSF and seeing things from Nesta’s view I felt sympathy. Though in real life my personality probably aligns more with Elain, I feel for Nesta. In no way will I try to make Nesta out to be a saint, she has her faults, we all do, but I feel that she was just expected to be like Feyre - to heal like Feyre - or if not to at least be nice like Elain. Yes she was mean, she said some terrible things but Nesta was hurting and instead of trying to see her for who she is, the Inner Circle expected her to heal in a way of their liking. As someone who has struggled with mental health for nearly their whole life one of the biggest things I’ve realized is that we all need help in different ways, no one treatment will work for you just because it worked for another, so no I don’t believe Nesta to be a faultless, but she was grieving, the loss of her mortality, her father, her old life - Nesta Archeron deserved better than the Court of Dreams harsh words and judgment, she deserved to be seen for who she was and not just an extension of Feyre - who they expected to be more like Feyre. Yes, she should have helped Feyre when they were struggling, Nesta was wrong for that but I see so much vitriol directed at her and so little at Elain or maybe their father. It was not Feyre’s job to provide for their family but it was not Nesta’s either, it was the job of their father and mother, who failed - monumentally, so yes you can call her out for that but I believe more of our ire should be projected at their parents who failed. So yes, though it is controversial I believe Nesta deserves better than the Court of Dreams who sees her as a “heartless bitch” than her mate who time after time puts others above her, Nesta deserves to heal, to have someone who will put her above all - even their high lord - and that is what I will give her.

(Also for the sake of this story, the ball in Hewn city happened earlier, instead of before the Winter Solstice, it was before the Autumn Solstice)

Chapter 1: No Light, No Light

Nesta surveyed the room in front of her, only half listening as Feyre offered for Nesta to dance with Eris in her place. She found it humorous how her sister’s court was so content to lock her away in the House of Wind with Cassian for training, yet they were always so willing to use her when it suited them—when they needed her power. They took the weapons she Made, the ones that were rightfully hers by law, as she had once confirmed in the library, and shamed her for her habits as if they hadn’t flaunted their own, drunk at Rita’s every week. It had taken them centuries to heal from their trauma. Nesta knew she had said cruel things to Feyre, but what they had done to her hurt just as much. 

She was drawn out of her thoughts by Eris offering his arm, which she took—after all, how bad could one dance be?

As the music began to play, she felt her body slip back into old habits, dancing under her mother’s watchful eye—dancing for perfection. Every move of her body aligned with the music, and Nesta saw the surprise in Eris’s eyes as his lips slowly curled into a smile. The music began to quicken, and so did she. Her movements were precise and trained, yet to her surprise, Eris was right there with her, matching each step, each spin, as if they were one and the same.

“Has anyone ever told you what a magnificent dancer you are?” Eris asked as the first waltz ended and the next began.

Nesta scoffed. She might like Eris for the pure thrill of antagonizing Rhysand, but she hadn’t forgotten what he’d done to Mor. “Obviously.”

Instead of backing down, Eris leaned in closer, accepting the challenge. “Don’t believe everything you’re told about me, Lady Nesta. There are some truths that not even she will reveal,” he added, nodding toward Mor, who stood beside Feyre.

“Oh?” Nesta replied, her voice sharp with curiosity. “And I suppose you will tell me, then?”

“No,” Eris said simply. “It is not my place to share her secrets, even the ones that shed light on the truth. But tell me, Lady Nesta—I have seen your powers, your fire—are you truly content living here, in the Night Court?”

It took all of Nesta’s restraint not to flinch. No, she wasn’t happy here. But she couldn’t tell him that, not with Rhysand most likely listening. Eris must have seen the flicker in her eyes because he glanced briefly at Feyre and Rhysand.

“Oh, he can’t hear us,” he said smoothly. “I was trained to withstand daemati magic from a young age.”

Still, Nesta didn’t respond, unsure of what she could say. But Eris didn’t seem to mind. He continued, voice low, “You are wasted in the Night Court, absolutely wasted, Nesta Archeron. I felt the flame in that blade, the same fire that burns in you.”

“The High Lord decided to take my creations as his own,” Nesta replied bitterly, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then take them back. My gift to you, Lady Nesta,” Eris offered, a glint in his eyes she couldn’t decipher. “Then come with me to Autumn. Marry me, and I will give you anything you wish for.”

Well, Nesta certainly wasn’t expecting that.

She focused on the music again, letting herself fall into the rhythm of the dance.

“I have no wish to be betrothed to you, Eris,” she said after a beat. “Especially not without knowing you, or your court.”

“Then you don’t have to,” he whispered. “I will make you a bargain. Accept my proposal and come back with me to Autumn. We’ll take as much time as my father allows. And then, if by the eve of our wedding you still have no wish to marry me, I will return you to the Night Court and leave you in peace.”

She wanted to say no. Gods, she wanted to say no. But his offer whispered to the deepest parts of her, a chance to leave, to escape the House of Wind and the Night Court.

“You have such great power,” Eris added. “I can feel it simmering beneath your skin. You have fire, just like me. Rhysand and his court see it and they fear you for it. In Autumn, you could learn how to control it. That fire you took from the Cauldron could bring armies to their knees, if trained.”

He spoke of her with reverence. Few people had since she had been Made. And so Nesta stayed quiet a little longer, letting him stew.

He spun her again, then pulled her back toward him, and she made her choice.

“I’ll accept your bargain, under a few conditions. One: you give me freedom while I’m staying with you in Autumn. No locking me away. Two: in addition to training my powers, you teach me the history of your land. And three: you teach me to winnow.”

Eris’s usually cruel smile softened into something sincere. He met her eyes and murmured the words that sealed both their fates. “I accept your terms, Nesta Archeron.”

A burn flared on her shoulder, and she turned her head slightly to see the mark of their bargain, three golden leaves, shimmering where her dress revealed the skin.

“I hate this court,” Eris muttered under his breath, and Nesta laughed softly, surprisingly inclined to agree.

The music stopped. Whispers rippled across the ballroom as dancers stilled. All eyes turned toward them, and the glowing golden leaves on her skin.

“Shall we inform the High Lord of our impending marriage, my beautiful betrothed?” Eris asked, more statement than question.

Nesta rolled her eyes, and placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her toward her sister and Rhysand, whose fury was written all over his face.

“What did you do, Nesta?” Rhysand demanded. Cassian looked at Eris with unmasked hatred, as if he had the right to care after everything he’d said to her.

Nesta replied sweetly, her voice a smooth blade, “What do you mean? I danced with Eris, just as you requested. And when he proposed, I accepted.”

The shock on Feyre’s and Elain’s faces didn’t amuse her, though Rhysand and Amren’s outrage did.

“You cannot marry him without your High Lord’s approval, girl,” Amren snapped, once again calling her girl, as if she were less than them.

“I am Made. I belong to no court,” Nesta said, her voice steady. “And since I’m such a burden to you all, so hated, you should rejoice at my engagement.”

“Well, not yet anyway,” she added with a wink toward Eris, who nearly choked in surprise.

No one had a rebuttal. Because she was right.

Before anyone else could speak, she turned to Eris, unable to bear the disgusted looks on her sister’s family’s faces any longer, not Feyre and Elain’s devastation. She would explain to them one day. But not today.

“Take me to Autumn now, Eris,” she said. “I’m done here.”

And before anyone could stop them, they vanished.

When Nesta opened her eyes, she was in Autumn.

It was beautiful. So very different from the Night Court.

Autumn, despite its reputation, felt warm, inviting. The land pulsed with color. Sprawling fields of green and gold met her eyes, and the trees were full with leaves in hues of crimson, amber, and deep orange. Their leaves fell constantly but never left the branches bare.

Before them stood a great house nestled beside a lake, framed by forest. It was magnificent. Almost enough to make her smile.

Eris hadn’t spoken since they arrived. He simply led her to the house in silence.

“Have I done something to anger you?” Nesta asked cautiously.

Eris blinked at her, startled. “You think I’m angry at you?”

She hesitated. “You haven’t said a word.”

“I’m in shock,” he said, voice soft. “That your sister’s family would speak to you like that. Did they really say all those awful things to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.

He sighed, continuing toward the house. “This is my lake house. It’s solely mine, my brothers and father have no access. You won’t meet my father until tomorrow. He’s demanded we marry in one month, on the Autumn Solstice, but I promised you freedom. We’ll pursue nothing beyond partnership unless you choose to. And my father… he won’t be around much longer.”

He opened the door, and a hoard of massive dogs bounded out, leaping on them both. Nesta flinched, backing away instinctively.

“These are my bloodhounds,” Eris said, laughing. “They won’t hurt you. They protect me, and now, they’ll protect you.”

He pointed them out one by one. “Seraphina, and then Raziel, Haniel, Dara, Uriel, Dina, and Arella.”

The dogs parted, letting them through. One, Arella, kept close to Nesta’s side.

“She’s taken a liking to you,” Eris remarked with a smirk.

Inside, the house was just as warm and inviting. A fire was lit in the hearth, though it made no noise. It felt nothing like Night, no cold edges, no lurking shadows.

“Your rooms are ahead. Mine are farther down the hall. No one will enter without your permission, not even me. I usually eat dinner later. Our healer, Ceres, is staying here as well at the moment, you’re welcome to join us.”

It had been a long time since someone gave her a choice.

She explored her rooms, larger than any she’d ever been offered in the Night Court. Pale green walls, a jade comforter, a grand bathroom, a cozy sitting room, and a closet full of dresses in Autumn Court colors. The dresses in Night were beautiful but often too revealing for Nesta’s tastes. These dresses however, were perfect, it was fitted at her waist, albeit a bit loose as they obviously did not have her exact measurements when making it, and flowy throughout the rest. While the underlayer of the dress was burgundy, there was a layer of lace with decorations and slight golden accents that covered the dress. While the long sleeves were sheer, the neckline of the dress was high, covering everything up to the base of her neck. 

It made her feel beautiful.

Eris was already in the dining room, speaking with a woman bearing a tray of desserts. She turned and beamed. “You must be Lady Nesta. I’m Ceres, the Vanserra family healer. Come, try one of my apple tarts.”

Nesta looked to Eris, who merely shrugged. “Ceres likes to bake.”

Nesta bit into the tart and was overwhelmed by the flavor. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

“Perfect,” Ceres grinned. “I’ll leave some here. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And then they were alone.

Nesta took her seat, eyes on Eris. “Your father will push for marriage quickly. The bargain only gives us so much time. I want to know what’s expected of me as your wife.”

“Only what you choose to do,” he said. “All I ask is for your political alliance. If you don’t wish to consummate the marriage, we won’t. I have brothers, I have no need for children, unless that’s your desire.”

“I do want children,” Nesta said quickly. “I eventually want a real marriage. Not just a political one, and I won’t be a silent partner. I won’t change. I won’t be a prisoner.”

“Of course,” Eris said. “You will always be free to leave, even after we marry. I don’t want you to change. I meant what I said to Rhysand. There’s nothing in this world more valuable than you. I want us to be equals. I’d make you High Lady if you wished. I want you to burn as bright as you were meant to.”

Nesta nearly broke at that.

It had been so long since anyone had spoken of her with such reverence.

“You did nothing,” Nesta whispered, tears beginning to fall. “But you speak too highly of me. I’m just a burden.”

Flames flared around him. The room grew warmer.

“You will never be a burden,” he said fiercely. “You are a Queen among Queens, Nesta Archeron. And I am honored that I may one day call you my wife.”

Gods.

Eris Vanserra had such a way with words.

“No one’s ever spoken to me like that,” she murmured. “I want books, about the history of Autumn. Of all the courts.”

“Of course, that was already promised. The only thing I ask is that you do your best with training your powers, did they truly not help you at all in Night?”

“I trained some with Amren, before I realized my only value to her was that of a weapon,” she responded and Eris scoffed, “Of course.”

“And then I trained physically with Cassian and some of the Priestesses from the library in the House of Wind. They wanted me to get stronger and more disciplined with training’”

“There are more ways to grow strong than just by wielding weapons. You have a way of commanding people with words that hold just as much value as prowess on the battlefield, and with your magic, no one would dare touch you ever again.”

“I know,” Nesta said, her voice stronger now, “I am tired of not having control of my own powers.”

Chapter 2: Between Two Lungs

If not for the meeting ahead, Nesta would have had more time to appreciate the architectural beauty of the Forest House, which was the more private residence that the Vanserra family usually preferred to stay in as opposed to the main Palace in Autumn's capital city, Jora. From what she saw earlier, only part of the House was visible above ground, the rest built into the ground and cliffs below. 

Eris led her to the main reception room, and it did not surprise her—after knowing what Eris told her about his father—that Beron Vanserra had what could be seen as a throne room in his house. She had seen the High Lord of Autumn once before at the High Lords meeting before the war but even now it surprised her how similar he looked to Eris at first glance. Upon closer examination, Nesta realized that though he had his fathers face, Eris had inherited just as much from his mother; her auburn hair and amber eyes. The Lady of Autumn, Aurelia, whose name Nesta had learned from Eris, sat beside Beron, seemingly surveying Nesta and her son as they entered. Eris had mentioned his mother was quiet and withdrawn, especially around his father, but at times Eris and his brothers would see glimpses of who his mother had once been, before centuries of marriage, and abuse at Beron's hand. Aurelia had the same auburn hair as Eris, softer facial features and kind russet colored eyes. Eris’s three living brothers, not counting Lucien, stood to her left. Idris, the second eldest living Vanserra brother, also had taken more after the Lady of Autumn, though his hair was a bit more orange than Eris’s and his eyes brown like Beron’s. The middle brother, Cormac, took almost completely after Beron with hair that was more brown than red and brown eyes; the only piece of the Lady of Autumn seemed to be in the shape of his face. The second youngest, Damian, was a mix of his parents, just as Eris and Idris were, with a darker shade of auburn hair than his mother and eyes that appeared to be hazel. 

As Nesta approached the thrones, she pushed her shoulders back and straightened her spine, she would not let them see any imperfections, she thought as her mothers years of training came back to her in an instant. Beron was an awful person, Nesta had no doubt of that based on what she had heard from Eris and the Inner Circle. She would not allow him to bully her though, she thought as Eris offered his arm and she took it without thinking. Perhaps she could be happy with him, maybe she could find healing in Autumn.

“Father this is my betrothed, Lady Nesta Archeron,” Eris stated addressing his father as he bowed and Nesta curtsied to match him. She chose to once again dress in Autumn court colors, wearing a dark green dress with a similar shape and cut to the one she wore the night before. Eris wore formal clothes in a similar color, but with golden accents. When Nesta had asked him why earlier he had told her it was best to present a united front in front of his father,

“Ah the Made girl who killed the King, show me your power” Beron demanded and Nesta looked to Eris in fear. They had yet to start training her magic, but Eris just gave her an urging look, as if to say, just try it. 

Nesta had never been able to control her magic but still she pulled forth the silver fire, allowing it to surround her. For a moment she felt as if she had control but then her fire surged outward filling the room as she tried to reign it back in before she lost control of her death magic as well. She could hear Beron shout in the background and Eris jumped towards her, grabbing her hands once again. “Focus Nesta, let the fire die out. You can do it, just breathe.” She tried to listen to him, slowing her breath down as she imagined the flames dying out and though it was slow, they did. She allowed herself to look around the throne room, as the havoc and wreckage she caused, taking in the burnt walls, floors, and furniture, only calming slightly once she realized Eris’s family—his mother—remained untouched.

Nesta expected Beron to be angry, to demand she be thrown out of his court and back to Night, but instead he just looked at her with a greedy sort of wonder in his eyes, “Magnificent,” the High Lord stated, “Your cauldron stolen power will only grow more powerful with training.”

Then he turned to Eris, his voice demanding, “You will train your future wife in the time leading up to your wedding, which will be held on the Autumn Equinox in one month, a powerful time to be married. With time and training, I suspect she will become more powerful than even Rhysand with the power she stole.” Of course it always led back to Rhysand, from what she knew he and Beron despised each other, but despite her deep dislike for the High Lord of Night, Nesta would not put her sister in danger.

Beron looked away from them in dismissal and she curtsied once again, following Eris as they quickly left the throne room, and winnowed back to Eris’s private House. 

---

The second they were back at the Lake House, Nesta turned to Eris, her voice demanding and said, “I want to learn how to winnow too.” 

“Of course,” Eris responded, a charming smile on his face, replacing the cruel one he had worn moments earlier in his fathers court, “I would not expect anything less for my future wife.”

The first two weeks spent in the Autumn Court were surprisingly peaceful. Nesta spent most of her time in the lake house, where she found herself growing more and more comfortable, far more comfortable than she had ever felt at the House of Wind. Eris had arranged for a tutor for her who was teaching her about the history of Pyrthian, along with their customs and any other knowledge Nesta found herself curious about. His mother also visited them frequently, as both a friend and tutor to Nesta, his mother was the one who helped Nesta with all things related to Autumn Court daily life and duties expected of the Lady of Autumn. 

Along with the tutoring, Nesta was still training, though nowhere near as frequently or as harshly as she did in the Night Court. Most of her training with Eris was learning to use and understand her powers, and learning to winnow. 

Winnowing had taken some time to understand but after two weeks of relentless training, Nesta was finally able to winnow at will. Eris had been surprisingly understanding throughout the process, stating that whether Nesta was his future wife or not, she deserved the freedom of being able to winnow on her own. 

The first time Nesta had winnowed at will she nearly broke down. She expected to feel something positive—joy, triumph, just something—but instead all she could think of was how the feeling of freedom while winnowing was so opposite to everything she felt in the House of Wind. A place where she was supposed to be healing, but instead only fell further apart. Everyone hates you . Trapped in a house she could not leave, and yet, somehow, she was supposed to heal, trapped with a male she did not like, forced to train in a village where they all scorned her. Nesta slowly sat on the soft grass in front of the lake, allowing the quiet to ground her. A few tears slipped out as she mourned a life she no longer wanted, maybe if she had been easier like Elain, her sister's new family would have accepted her. But that was not who she was, Nesta thought as she noticed Eris lowering himself down to sit beside her. No pushing her to talk, not questions, just acceptance.

If only she could have gotten the same in Velaris. A part of Nesta still thought she deserved that treatment, but countless hard conversations with Ceres and Aurelia helped her understand that she was grieving and she deserved the same love and support that Elain was given. Not harsh words and a prison disguised as treatment. 

Her mind healing sessions with Ceres had begun awkwardly, Nesta was not the most willing participant at first, not speaking for a majority of their first sessions. But Ceres never pried—she waited. And somehow, that waiting felt like the first kindness Nesta had been given in years.

Ceres never said “you need to talk.” She simply asked: “What memory has your body not stopped holding?”

The first time, Nesta couldn’t answer. The second time, she said, “The Cauldron.”

Now, sitting here by the lake, she could almost hear her healer’s voice: “What did it take from you?”

Everything.

It had stolen her body. Twisted it into something else. Robbed her of her human life and forced her into a world she had no knowledge of. The cauldron had stolen so much from Nesta, so she had taken something from it, and it had made her powerful , but only in the way a storm was powerful—destructive, unwelcomed.

For so long Nesta had lived blaming herself, holding so much guilt within her - for not protecting her family, for her fathers death - that Nesta had not even considered the fact the she was wronged too.

She had not chosen this life. But maybe... now, finally, she could choose how to live it.

Eris remained beside her, unmoving. He didn’t flinch when she wiped away her tears or when her fingers dug into the grass, grounding herself. After a while, he reached for her hand, not taking it, just resting his own near hers—an offer, not a demand.

Nesta breathed in. The scent of pine and fire clung to the evening air. The lake shimmered with dying sunlight, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the weight in her chest begin to loosen, just slightly.

I am not who I was in the House of Wind.
I am not only what the Cauldron made me.

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to.

Later that evening, Aurelia found her in the quiet garden tucked behind Eris’s private study, where the trees grew tall and bent gently toward the lake. The sun had nearly vanished, leaving golden light dripping through branches, casting shadows that swayed like dancers on the mossy stone paths.

Nesta sat on a wooden bench beneath an ancient maple, the book in her lap forgotten, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She hadn’t heard the Lady of Autumn approach, but she didn’t flinch when Aurelia sat beside her.

Neither spoke for a while.

“I used to be afraid of silence,” Nesta murmured, eyes tracing the wind-rippled surface of the lake. “In the House of Wind, silence felt like a punishment. I hated being stuck alone with my thoughts.”

Aurelia’s gaze turned to her, soft and knowing. “And now?”

“Now it feels... like space to think. To breathe. ” She paused. “Even if it still scares me sometimes.”

Aurelia nodded, her hands resting in her lap. “I was raised near the southern borders of Autumn. In a forest where the river met the cliffs. My father taught me to ride, and my mother taught me to sing. My father was a Lord, and my family one of the oldest in our court, but our parents raised my sisters and I away from Court. They gave us the happiest childhood they could. But all that changed when I was betrothed to Beron. The was fine at first, but after the war, he changed.”

Nesta glanced over, surprised. There was a quiet ache to Aurelia’s words, not bitter—but deep, like roots buried under centuries of silence.

“I thought I’d live in a quiet house, surrounded by orchards,” Aurelia continued. “With my sisters, they were my closest friends”

She smiled, and it was sad in the way old songs are—haunted by the joy that once was.

“Beron changed that?”

Aurelia was silent for a long moment. Then: “Yes. But I allowed it too, at first. I thought I could bend without breaking, that if it meant being there for my children I would endure. But there comes a time when the bending never stops, and you realize you’ve become something hollow.”

Nesta looked down at her hands. “I feel like I broke before I even knew who I was. I was raised to marry a Prince, molded into the perfect Lady that my Mother and Grandmother wanted. I was meant to marry and take care of my sisters. After we lost everything, I did what I knew how to do and looked for someone to marry. It didn’t matter that the was cruel if I could help my family. But then Feyre went over the wall and everything changed. I’m not quite sure who I am - who I want to be anymore.”

Aurelia’s voice was a whisper. “Then maybe now is when you begin.”

A breeze rustled the leaves above them. The scent of pine and fading roses drifted through the air.

“You remind me of wildfire,” Aurelia said softly. “Not because you burn everything around you, but because you survive. Even after being extinguished again and again, you still find a way to spark back to life.”

Nesta swallowed hard. “I don’t want to survive anymore. I want to live. ”

Aurelia reached out, laying a hand over Nesta’s. “Then let’s make that life. One where you choose.”

Nesta didn’t reply, but she didn’t look away either. In that shared silence, something passed between them—an understanding, a promise.

The light dimmed as the sun vanished entirely, and still, neither of them moved.

Nesta wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Notes:

Sorry I've been missing for so long! University has been killing me but hey writing this is low-key therapeutic so I am definitely continuing this story though the updates may be sporadic until I finish my final exams.

Chapter 3: A Map of Her Own Making

Nesta sighed as she flipped another page in one of the books that her tutor, Rhodes, assigned her to read before their next meeting. It was nothing she had not requested, planning to learn as much as she could about the Autumn Court before her marriage to Eris on the Autumn Solstice. 

Technically, she could still walk away. No one had forced her to accept his proposal.

But Nesta had grown tired of running. And if she was going to stay—if she was going to become Lady of this court—she would not do it blindly. Knowledge of the past gave her power. She would not be ignorant

This particular book was a thick, aging tome bound in leather and lined in gold leaf, a history of the High Lords and Ladies of Autumn. She had not expected much. With how Beron treated the current Lady, and how even Feyre—High Lady of her court—had been undermined by her own people, Nesta had little faith in the roles women were allowed to hold in courts like these.

She flipped another page.

Most of the entries were brief: names, years, bloodlines. Some didn’t even list the Lady’s full name, only her father or husband’s title. An afterthought. A footnote.

Nesta’s mouth tightened.

Until she came upon a chapter nearly torn from the spine with wear—its pages faded but long, winding, detailed. A Lady named Sarea, ruling thousands of years ago.

The writing changed in this section. It wasn’t detached or clinical. It was intimate. Like someone had taken care in recording her life.

Sarea had been born into one of the less known noble families in Autumn, one that was well liked but not powerful or power seeking. She and her husband, first son of the High Lord of Autumn, were a love match. One not well received by the more powerful nobles but accepted nonetheless. When her husband's father died and Sarea’s husband became High Lord, it was said that the Autumn Court lived in peace for a time. The people loved Sarea, their kind Lady who frequently traveled to villages around Autumn hearing—listening—to the struggles of their people

Nesta leaned forward.

The entry detailed not just Sarea’s beauty, but her boldness, her cleverness. How she had rewritten customs to allow common-born women to serve in the court. How, after her husband passed suddenly and the magic of Autumn chose their young son, Sarea ruled in his stead, becoming the first woman to hold regency over the Autumn Court, chosen both by the people and the magic of Autumn.

And then—

A section inked in a different hand. A darker one. Speaking of her "untimely death," her "unsanctioned ideas." A return to tradition.

Nesta’s throat tightened.

This Lady had mattered. She had changed things. She had been remembered long enough to be erased.

Nesta looked around the Archive, the towering shelves, the candlelight flickering across ancient words. How many stories were been hidden here? How many women like Sarea had once sat in this court and dared to want more?

And how many had been forgotten?

She turned another page, fingers trembling slightly.

There was no more to this entry, no more of this Lady’s history or rule.

Nesta pressed her palm to the page. Not just knowledge. Not just history.

Legacy.

She did not need to become someone new to fit into this world. She could build on what had already been. Carve something of her own from the bones of what was lost.

The forest remembers.

And perhaps, soon, it would remember her too. 

She closed the book gently, fingertips still resting on the leather cover, as if to anchor the weight of what she had learned.

Sarea had listened. Had walked among her people not from duty, but from care.

Nesta had been in Autumn for two weeks now and had not chosen to go anywhere outside of Eris’s lakeside estate. Perhaps it was time for her to leave for sometime, to explore what else Autumn has to offer. 

She exited the library heading towards the part of the house where she knew Eris’s office was. She stopped briefly outside the door, hesitating for only a moment before she entered, immediately drawing his attention. “Nesta,” Eris started, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she responded, “I was just thinking, are there any villages or cities around here we could visit. I’ve seen so little of Autumn and it's people, and I would like to change that,”

Eris stood from his seat, a smile forming on his face, “Of course. There is a village not far from here actually, we could winnow, or walk down. The Harvest Moon just passed so we should catch the ending part of the festival.” 

“A walk sounds lovely.”

The road to the village was quiet, the only sound was the soft crunch of leaves beneath their boots. Nesta walked beside Eris, the steady rhythm of his steps matching her own. The Autumn air was crisp, the scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves carrying on the breeze.

It had been a quiet morning, and neither of them had spoken much on the way. Eris, as always, seemed content with silence, and Nesta was grateful for it. She had been thinking for days about what she wanted from the village, what she needed from it. 

The village came into view as they rounded a bend in the path, nestled between two rolling hills, its cobbled streets winding around small cottages with moss-covered roofs. The Harvest Moon Festival was already underway—stalls were set up along the square, filled with different types of fruits, foods, and trinkets.

It was the kind of village that felt warm, familiar, and alive with energy. Children ran through the streets, their laughter ringing through the air, while older folk shared stories over pots of simmering cider. Nesta felt a small smile forming on her face. 

"Shall we?" Eris asked, his voice low, offering her his arm. His presence was not forceful or demanding—merely a quiet offer of companionship.

Nesta met his eyes, hesitated for only a moment, and then took his arm. "Lead the way."

They strolled through the village square, passing stalls of pumpkins and apples, weaving through the crowd as the music played on, flutes and fiddles blending into the sounds of celebration. The villagers didn’t pay them much attention, not like in the courts. Some people looked to recognize Eris but did not approach them, allowing Nesta and Eris their space. Here, they were just two people—no titles, no expectations.

Eris didn’t try to dominate the space, nor did he linger in silence. He pointed out the different stalls with a playful smirk, joking with Nesta about the pottery vendor's creatively shaped vases (was that a vase shaped like a hare?), which made her chuckle despite herself. She didn’t let her guard down, but she found herself easing into the simplicity of the day.

They stopped at a stall where an older woman was handing out warm pumpkin tarts. Eris smiled at her and accepted two tarts. The woman beamed up at Nesta, offering her another, despite Eris already having two.

"You've got the look of someone who could use a little sweetness," the woman said with a wink.

Nesta’s lips twitched. She accepted the tart, inhaling the scent of nutmeg and pumpkin. “Thank you.”

"Thank you," Eris echoed, passing her a tart before tucking the second one under his arm. As they moved deeper into the square, he kept pace with her, and they moved effortlessly together—just another couple among many.

A fiddle started up, its lively tune pulling people into a circle in the middle of the square. Nesta stopped, watching the dancers with a mix of curiosity and reluctance. Memories of her childhood, the dances she had been forced to learn by her Grandmother and Mother that had become her passion, her escape from their strict teachings. Here, she could feel the energy in the air, the freedom in their movement, but a hesitation pulled at her chest.

Eris gave her a knowing look. “Come on, Nesta,” he said, his voice softer now. “Don’t stand on the edge of it. Come dance with me.”

Nesta hesitated, her instinct to retreat rising, but something in his gaze, something gentle, patient, urged her forward. “It’s only a dance,” he added, his voice almost teasing. “And I promise I won’t let you fall.”

She didn’t know why, but she believed him. And so, despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach, Nesta placed her hand in his.

Eris guided her into the circle. The music swirled around them, a mix of chaos and rhythm. At first, she stumbled slightly, unsure of the steps. But Eris’s hand was steady, his presence reassuring, and soon she found herself moving with the music; slow, uncertain at first, but then with more confidence, more fluidity.

She laughed, a small sound of surprise, as they moved together. It wasn’t the kind of graceful, practiced dance she’d learned as a young girl, but it felt real—alive, free. When she looked at Eris, his face was soft, his eyes not watching her with judgment or expectation, but with something that felt understanding.

They danced until the music slowed, until the firelight of the village square flickered in the soft evening light. By then, Nesta was breathless, smiling in a way she hadn’t in ages. The day had been simple, quiet, and yet it had felt like something extraordinary.

When the dance ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and Nesta found herself laughing again. For a moment, she felt as though she could stay here, surrounded by the warmth of this village, the laughter, the music. It felt like a home she had never known.

Eris leaned in close as they walked away from the square, his voice soft. “You did well. I think you may have outshone even the best dancers here.”

Nesta looked up at him, her heart lighter than it had been in ages. “Maybe.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile. He then looked ahead, but there was something different in his gaze, a depth of meaning, of something unspoken.

Nesta didn't ask what it was. Instead, she simply nodded, feeling the warmth of the day, the lightness in her chest, and the quiet, unspoken understanding between them.

For the first time in a long while, Nesta felt like she was no longer running, not from the court, not from Eris, not from herself.

They walked in silence for a while after leaving the square, the path winding through amber fields and low stone fences, the last light of day clinging to the sky in streaks of rose and gold. Crickets had begun their nightly chorus, and somewhere nearby, an owl hooted once, low and steady.

The estate came into view slowly—its towers bathed in twilight, the lanterns flickering to life along the walkways like stars settling into place.

When they reached the front steps, the scent of roasted root vegetables and herbs drifted out to greet them.

The scent of roasted root vegetables and fresh herbs drifted on the breeze, and Eris inhaled deeply.

“I think Ceres has taken over the kitchen again,” he said, half-amused. “She claims it helps her think.”

Nesta smiled, the warmth from the village still lingering in her chest. “It smells like something I’d rather not miss.”

As they stepped inside, the low, crackling fire and the cozy light spilling from the kitchen wrapped around her like a second blanket. Ceres stood at the wide stone counter, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a heavy pot. She didn’t look up as they entered.

“About time you returned,” she said lightly. “I was starting to think you’d gotten swept away by the festival.”

“We nearly did,” Eris replied, a faint smile in his voice. He glanced at Nesta, then added, “She danced.”

Ceres paused, turning toward them with raised brows. “Is that so?”

Nesta shrugged, suddenly shy in a way she hadn’t expected. “Just a little.”

Something gentle flickered in Ceres’s expression before she turned back to her pot. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway. Grab an apron, if you wouldn’t mind, I would love some help with dinner.”

Nesta smiled, “Of course,” she replied as she reached for an apron. 

Eris leaned in closer to Nesta, murmuring, “I’ll leave you to it.”

He brushed her hand once,lightly, and then disappeared down the hall, boots echoing faintly on stone.

Nesta walked fully into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves.

“You look lighter, tell me everything,” Ceres said with a proud-looking smile, already handing her a cutting board and a pile of carrots.

Nesta took them with a quiet huff of amusement. “Well,” she said, walking to the basin to wash her hands, “you’re not wrong, I do feel lighter, more centered.”

Ceres leaned against the counter, watching her with a curious glint. “Something happened?”

“I danced, by choice, for the first time in years” Nesta said, still sounding surprised by the truth of it.

Ceres blinked. “Truly?”

Nesta nodded, drying her hands on a linen cloth before moving to the counter. “The village was having a festival. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Sounds like joy,” Ceres said mildly, already resuming her work at the stove. “It’s strange, I know. But it’s allowed.”

Nesta took the knife and began slicing. The rhythm of it settled something in her. The scents, the fire, the simplicity, it was all grounding in a way that felt almost sacred.

“I haven’t danced like that since…” She trailed off. “I don’t think I ever have, actually. Not like that, not so spontaneously.”

Ceres stirred the pot, glancing at her sidelong. “Then I’m glad you did. What was it like?”

Nesta thought for a moment, watching the slices fall away beneath her blade. “Freeing. I didn’t feel watched or judged. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. There were no expectations. Just music. And people who didn’t care who I was, only that I joined them.”

She hesitated, then added softly, “There was a little girl watching me. I think she was nervous to dance until she saw me. And then she ran in.”

Ceres’s expression softened. “That sounds like it meant something.”

“It did.” Nesta’s voice dropped. “It reminded me that I can still be someone others see and follow; and not because they fear me.”

Ceres turned fully now, her wooden spoon set aside. “That’s a powerful thing to realize.”

Nesta flexed her fingers, looking down at them. “I don’t know who I am in this place yet. But at that moment, I didn’t feel like a stranger. I felt like I belonged. Like maybe I could become something new without losing everything I was.”

“You’re not becoming something new, Nesta,” Ceres said gently, placing a hand on her arm. “You’re uncovering what’s already there, beneath the pain, the armor, the expectations. That’s what healing is. Not a transformation. But finding yourself, letting out what was hidden by pain.”

Nesta swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion she hadn’t expected.

They finished preparing the meal in silence, a peaceful one. When the stew was ready, Ceres poured three bowls and handed one to Nesta, then gestured toward the table near the hearth.

They sat together, the fire crackling softly behind them. Outside, the last traces of festival laughter still drifted on the wind, but inside, everything had gone still and safe.

Nesta looked into the dancing flames and whispered, “I’ve lived with so much guilt for so long, not allowing myself much more, but I don’t think I’m afraid to let myself let go—be happy—anymore.”

Ceres raised her drink in a small toast. “Good. Let’s make sure you never have to be.”

 

Notes:

I wrote this around the same time as chapter 2 and was going to edit more but I haven't updated in so long I decided to release it. Also-sidenot-apparently people on twitter are saying professors think using a - means you're using AI but ig fanfiction writers also use them and like I've been using the - since I was younger. So enjoy all the - in this its my fav thing to use in writing lol.

Chapter 4: Shake It Out

The scent of smoke and steel still clung to Eris’s clothes as he stepped into his office, rolling his shoulder with a grunt. Training with Nesta, both physically and with their powers, had become a near-daily routine, equal parts brutal and invigorating, and this morning had been no exception. His ribs still ached faintly from where she’d landed a surprisingly precise hit with a staff, and the smirk she'd worn afterward had lingered in his mind longer than it should have.

He didn’t bother to change out of his sparring clothes, just tugged off his gloves and tossed them on the desk, planning to review a few reports before lunch.

That was when he saw it.

A single envelope sat on the center of his desk. Black as the night, sealed with silver wax, stamped with the insignia of the Night Court.

Eris stilled, rolling his eyes.

He didn’t touch it. Just stared at it like it might bite.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. He’d known they’d come eventually. But still, the sight of that seal felt like cold water down his spine.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, light and familiar. Nesta entered without knocking, she rarely bothered anymore. Her hair was still damp from the quick bath she took after training, The deep green dress she chose for the day trailing behind her. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she’d enjoyed today’s session just as much as he had.

She paused when she saw him standing there, hands braced on the edge of his desk.

“What?” she asked, already suspicious.

He tilted his head toward the envelope. “We’ve received... a love letter.”

Nesta raised a brow, then crossed the room to stand beside him. When she caught sight of the seal, her expression shifted into something colder. Sharper.

She didn’t reach for it either.

“Well,” she said, dryly. “That’s ominous.”

Eris let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Should we pretend we never got it?”

“They’d just winnow into the dining room next,” she replied flatly.

There was a beat of silence, then they both looked at each other and laughed, quiet, knowing. Exhausted already.

Eris finally broke the seal and opened the envelope. He scanned the contents quickly, then handed it over.

“They’re requesting a meeting,” he said. “Feyre and Rhysand. I’m sure they’ll bring others. The whole starry host.”

Nesta’s lips pressed into a thin line as she read. “Of course they are.”

“They want to talk,” Eris added, voice dipping with amusement. “About your ‘future’.”

Nesta didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally: “I suppose ‘leave me alone’ isn’t an acceptable reply?”

“I’ll draft a polite response,” Eris offered, settling into the chair behind his desk with exaggerated poise. “Something like, Dear High Lord and Lady, We respectfully decline your invitation and attempt to emotionally manipulate my bride-to-be over tea. ”

Nesta let out a snort, then dropped into the chair across from him, slouching just enough to show how truly uninterested she was in playing their game.

“It's going to be messy,” she said at last.

“Isn’t it always?” Eris replied, fingers steepled in front of him. “But this time, you won’t be defenseless.”

Their eyes met. A shared understanding passed between them.

Nesta sat straighter, her jaw tight, silver flames flickering faintly in her irises before she blinked them away.

Let them see how far she’d come.

The Night Court’s response came promptly, much to Eris’s irritation.

The letter had been short, demanding a meeting later that same day. Feyre’s diplomatic tone was present, though it had little effect on Eris. Still, he knew better than to delay the inevitable. Rhysand would push, as he always did. It didn’t matter how long he tried to avoid it, this was coming, and it would be on their terms.

The location was, unsurprisingly, a carefully chosen spot. Not within the walls of the Autumn Court’s estates, but near the border, hidden away. Eris had long ago made his lake house a place of refuge, a sanctuary that no one but a select few knew about. A sanctuary he would most definitely not let Rhysand find out about, Nesta thought, as they winnowed to the clearing, bringing with them Eris’s pack of hounds for protection.

The clearing was quiet when the Night Court arrived.

The sun had barely begun to set, casting a faint glow across the dense forest as the wind whispered through the leaves which were various shades of gold, red, orange, and yellow, as they were all across the Autumn Court. A soft sound of water flowing through a creek could be heard in the distance, and the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and Elain emerged from the shadows of the trees, their figures sharply defined against the fading light.

Eris stood at the edge of the clearing, Nesta at his side. They had arrived early, their eyes already hard with determination. Eris’s face was unreadable, a calm front masking the fury he felt simmering beneath. Nesta, however, stood tall, her posture firm and unwavering. Her silver flames were no longer hidden behind her emotions, they flickered faintly in her eyes, a quiet, constant reminder of the power that she possessed and had begun to control.

The Night Court entourage approached, and as they crossed into the clearing, the air seemed to grow heavier. Their presence was commanding, though each person carried their own weight of expectation.

Feyre spoke first, as expected, her voice light but edged with concern. “Nesta. We’re glad you agreed to meet with us.”

Eris didn’t reply at first, his gaze flickering over the group, particularly to Rhysand, who was watching them both intently. Nesta, however, gave Feyre a tight smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I wouldn’t say ‘agreeing’ is the word I’d use, but here we are.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed slightly at her response, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he stepped forward, Azriel shifting behind him. “We need to understand what’s going on here, Nesta. Your decisions aren’t just about you anymore. You’ve allied yourself with Eris, and we’re concerned about where this is headed.”

There was an edge to his words, and the calmness with which Nesta replied was almost unsettling. “My decisions are always my own. And as for where it’s headed... it’s headed exactly where I want it to.”

Cassian, unable to keep his anger in check, growled low in his throat. “You’ve been manipulated, Nesta. Don’t pretend you don’t know it.”

Nesta’s silver flames flared slightly, just enough for the others to notice. Her voice was cold when she spoke. “I’ve not been manipulated by anyone. Least of all by him.”

Eris’s gaze remained fixed on Cassian, and the air around them seemed to crackle with the unspoken tension. “Your accusations don’t change the facts,” he said, his tone sharp. “Nesta made her decision long before you came here.”

Azriel, ever the silent observer, watched the exchange carefully, his eyes flitting between the group but offering nothing more. Elain, on the other hand, stepped closer to Nesta, her face soft with understanding. “I just want you to be okay, Nesta,” she said gently. “Whatever decision you’ve made, I hope it’s what’s best for you.”

Nesta’s gaze softened for a moment, but only for a brief instant. “Thank you, Elain. But I’m fine. I’m more than fine.”

Rhysand’s gaze grew colder, and he took a step toward Nesta. His voice lowered, more biting this time. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe this is all your choice, either. Eris has a way of influencing people, of twisting them to his will. What happens when you can’t see it anymore? When you’ve already fallen too far?”

The accusation hung in the air like a weight, but Nesta didn’t flinch. Instead, her silver flames surged for the briefest of moments, then vanished, leaving only the barest trace of their power lingering in her eyes. The message was clear.

Eris leaned in, his voice cutting through the silence that followed. “You think your accusations are enough to change Nesta’s mind and make her return? You’re wrong, Rhysand. You’ve come here with judgments and no understanding. You don’t want answers, you want compliance.”

Cassian took a step forward, his fists clenched. “And you think you’ve done no wrong? Manipulating her—”

Eris raised a hand, his gaze hardening. “Enough. If you came here for an honest conversation, you’d have questions. But you came for a confrontation. You wanted to see how far you could push, to see if she would bend. But she won’t. And neither will I.”

The tension was palpable as the forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the distant sound of the lake the only sound breaking the stillness. Nesta stood at Eris’s side, her gaze unwavering. “This is my life. I’ve made my choice. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

Feyre, sensing the standoff, stepped forward, her voice quieter but still laced with concern. “We only want what’s best for you, Nesta. We want you to know you have options. Don’t let pride or stubbornness make this decision for you.”

Nesta’s eyes flashed, her silver flames bright for just a moment. “I made my decision. I’ve chosen this path. And nothing you say or do will change that.”

Eris’s voice was low, but the sharpness with which he spoke cut through the last remnants of doubt. “We’ve all made choices, Feyre. You might want to reconsider your approach, because your accusations do nothing but drive her further from you.”

The silence after his words was thick. Rhysand’s jaw clenched, his wings rustling in frustration, but he said nothing more. The meeting, it seemed, had reached its limit.

The silence stretched long enough to border on hostile.

No one moved. Feyre looked like she wanted to say something else, to salvage something from the ruins of the conversation, but Rhysand’s eyes were hard, unreadable, and Cassian looked ready to lunge again.

Eris had seen enough.

He took a single step forward, the fading light of the forest catching in his copper hair, and let his voice cut clean through the air.

“This conversation is over.”

There was no room for argument. No invitation for further protest.

“You came here under the illusion of concern, but what you brought was control cloaked in sentiment. Nesta owes you nothing, least of all explanations.” His eyes flicked to Rhysand, then Cassian. “It is time for you to leave my court. Do not return without invitation.”

“And if we do?” Rhysand asked, his voice low and edged with challenge.

Eris didn’t blink. “Then Autumn will be forced to deal with unwanted trespassers.”

Nesta placed a hand on his arm. No fear, no hesitation. 

He turned to her, nodded once, and they vanished, winnowing with a snap of fire and wind before anyone could speak another word.

The world was quiet again. The still waters of the lake reflected the muted pinks and golds of the setting sun, the trees rustling gently in the breeze. Eris and Nesta stood in silence on the wooden deck behind the lake house, the forest around them peaceful, an odd contrast to the storm they’d just waded through.

Eris exhaled slowly, loosening the tension in his shoulders. “Well,” he said dryly, “that went about as well as I expected.”

Nesta didn’t laugh. Not yet. She stood with her arms crossed, staring out at the lake, her expression unreadable.

“They looked at me like I was broken again,” she said finally, voice quiet but not weak. “Like they were waiting for me to crack.”

Eris stepped beside her, close but not crowding. “They don’t know how to see you any other way.”

Her jaw flexed. “I hate that.”

“You should.” He paused, thoughtful. “But hating it doesn’t make it true. They don’t define you, Nesta. You do.”

The silver in her eyes shimmered faintly, but there were no flames this time. Just a deep, simmering control. She turned to face him. “Thank you. For what you said. For defending me.”

Eris’s brow arched slightly. “Did you doubt I would?”

“No.” A small smile touched her lips. “But it still mattered.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of wind-tousled hair behind her ear. “You don’t owe them forgiveness. Or answers.”

Nesta leaned into the touch for just a moment before pulling away with a sigh. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly,” Eris replied. “But you’ve never been afraid of a fight.”

She tilted her head, considering him. “And you?”

“I’ve waited too long for someone who could stand beside me as my equal,” he said, not looking away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

---

In the late hours of the night, moonlight filtered through tall windows in slanted silver beams, casting long shadows against the carved stone halls.

Nesta couldn’t sleep.

She lay awake too long in her room, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling, the words from earlier echoing in her head. So she rose, barefoot and silent, and wandered the hallways with no destination in mind.

It was a habit by now, to find him.

She found Eris not in the library, as she’d expected, but in the kitchen of all places. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, pouring hot cider into two mismatched mugs. The fire was low in the hearth, the warm amber glow throwing light across the sharp line of his jaw. He glanced up as she entered but didn’t look surprised.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Nesta shook her head. “You?”

A slight shrug. “Didn’t try.”

She didn’t ask what that meant. Just stepped closer, accepting the mug he handed her without a word. They drank in silence for a while, the heat from the mugs soaking into their hands, the only sounds the crackling fire and the occasional creak of wood settling.

“I meant to ask,” she said at last, her voice soft in the quiet, “why did you defend me like that? I know we are to be married, but no one in the past has stood up for me, especially against Rhysand.”

Eris didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his cider, thumb tracing the edge of the handle, as if the answer lived in the steam.

“Because you deserved it,” he said eventually. “Because they spoke to you like you were a child or a burden, and you are neither.”

A pause.

“Because I know what it’s like to be dismissed before you speak. To have people assume the worst of you and act like that’s fact.”

Nesta stared at him.

“And,” he added, after a beat, “because I wanted to.”

That admission was quieter, but not less true. There was something in it he hadn’t figured out how to say. Something weightier than just alliance, but not yet soft enough to name.

Nesta let herself sit on the edge of the table, pulling her knees up slightly, mug cupped in her hands.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence after that. The sounds of the animals outside in the forest being the only noise. 

No need to fill the space, no urge to shift the moment into something else. The fire crackled again, and Nesta let herself lean back slightly, eyes fluttering closed as she exhaled, allowing herself to finally relax, pushing thoughts of earlier out of her mind.

And Eris, still standing at the counter, didn’t look away from her.

Notes:

oops, should i be sleeping.....or studying for biochem....yes...am i..no...but finally finished this! it might be a bit before chapter 5 or maybe ill work on it in the library tomorrow! after that though my exams start but i will try to update 1-2 times a week.

Chapter 5: Leave My Body

The golden hour spilled through the trees like honey, gilding the forest floor in molten light. A breeze stirred the lake in the distance, but here—beneath the quiet canopy Eris had claimed as her training ground—the air was still. Watching. Waiting.

Nesta stood at the center of the clearing, breathing hard. Her fingers tingling, her skin too tight, too hot. The raw edge of her power crackled just beneath the surface, wild and pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Eris circled her at a distance, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, expression sharp as ever.

"Again," he said.

She clenched her fists. “Why?”

“Because the last time, you nearly took my eyebrows off.”

“I told you I don’t know how to hold it back.”

“You do,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re just afraid.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Of what?”

He didn’t blink. “Of what happens when you finally let go.”

That did it.

Nesta let the power rise.

She reached inside, grasping for the thread of it, cold and bright and brutal, and pulled. A flicker of silver flame sparked in her palm, twisting into a tendril of flame and shadow. It curled beautifully, perfectly—

And then it surged out of her, too fast. Too much.

The flame lashed outward like a whip, striking a tree with a hiss that blackened the bark. Her control shattered. The magic roared to life, uncoiling through her limbs with dizzying speed. She staggered back, trying to contain it, but it wanted out ; wanted to burn, to consume.

“Damn it,” she gasped, fingers shaking.

She barely registered Eris moving.

One heartbeat she was alone, drowning in it, and the next, he was there. Close. Closer than he’d ever been. He reached out, catching her wrist in both hands just as another flare surged up her arm. Not to hold her back, but as an anchor. His magic brushed hers, steady and unyielding as stone, something that had been achieved through years of training. Not trying to control her, but instead, just being there, a steady force alongside her own magic that was still so new.

“Nesta,” he said, voice low. “Breathe.”

“I can’t,” The magic clawed at her chest.

“Yes, you can. You just did.”

And it was true. The fire slowed, curling back into her fingers, reluctant but responsive. His grip remained light, but firm enough to tether her. She stared at their hands, his skin against hers, their magic humming in the narrow space between them. A heartbeat. Maybe two.

“You’re not afraid of me,” she whispered, not quite a question.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Should I be?”

“Everyone else is.”

“Then let them be.”

His thumb brushed her skin. Barely. Like it wasn’t even on purpose. But it was.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he murmured.

The words settled low in her chest, dangerous in their gentleness. She hated how much she wanted to believe him. Hated how close they stood, how easily the warmth of him seeped into her bones. She pulled her hand back, not out of fear, but because if she didn’t, she might not. That she’d let him stay.

“Don’t tell me who I am,” she said, voice hard again.

But the truth sat between them like smoke. And from the flicker in his eyes, she knew he saw right through her. 

---

They ate in near silence.

Not the tense kind, like when they first arrived. When Nesta was unsure of what she wanted, or what to think of the Autumn Prince that had offered her a way out of the Night Court. This was quieter. Heavier. Like both of them were still somewhere back on that training field, hands inches apart, fire crackling between their skin. 

Nesta speared a potato, chewing slower than necessary. Across the table, Eris sipped his wine, eyes fixed not on her, but the fire behind her. Thoughtful. Still.

“You didn’t say it,” Nesta said after a moment, voice low.

Eris looked up. “Didn’t say what?”

She flicked her fingers vaguely. “Something smug. About me almost setting you on fire.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Would it help if I told you I’m honored to have almost been incinerated by your rage?”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of her. She hated how easy it was, sometimes, when he wasn’t being infuriating. “You were pushing me,” she said. “Harder than usual.”

“You’re not fragile,” he replied, a shrug in his tone. “It’s insulting to treat you like you are.”

She stared down at her plate. “People used to look at me and only see anger. Like that was the worst thing I could be. Admittedly, I was angry for so long—guilty—but that's not all I was.”

“It’s not.”

She looked up again. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t mocking. Just watching her like he meant every word.

“And what’s the worst thing someone could be, then?” she asked.

Eris tilted his head. “My father, for one.”

A beat of silence.

Nesta blinked, and then let out a soft snort. “That’s fair.”

He smiled into his glass. “Growing up with him, I learned early how to be quiet in the right ways. Smile at the right time. Be cruel, even when I didn’t feel it.”

“Sounds like my mother,” she said, surprising herself. She didn’t usually talk about her mother, or her childhood. But Eris wasn’t trying to pry.  “She used to say emotion was weakness,” Nesta continued. “That it held me back.”

Eris didn’t interrupt. Just nodded, slow and thoughtful.

“She was always looking for ways to control everything. She wasn’t much of a mother,” Her voice tightened. “She just saw me as a tool, to marry off and bring status for my family. She wasn’t fond of my sharp tongue or stubbornness.”

“You fought back.”

“I made her life hell,” Nesta admitted, stabbing a carrot with more force than necessary. “I mean, she almost got what she wanted before we lost everything, but I didn’t make it easy.”

“Good,” Eris said. “She sounds like someone who needed a little hell.”

Nesta huffed a breath of something close to a laugh. A moment passed. And then another. Then Eris said, almost absently, “I once set my brother’s bed on fire.”

She blinked. “What?”

“He told my father I was sneaking out to train with a fire witch in secret.” He paused, savoring the memory. “I wasn’t. But the accusation got me whipped anyway, so,”

“You burned his bed.”

“Not while he was in it,” Eris added proudly, “But he returned after a bath to a nice pile of charcoal where his bed used to be”

Nesta’s eyebrows rose.

“I got another beating for that,” he went on, “but I considered it to be worth it.”

“You’re insane.”

“Possibly.”

She shook her head, fighting the smile tugging at her mouth.

Eris tipped his glass toward her. “Would you like to confess to any dramatic acts of childhood vengeance?”

"I once dumped an entire bowl of sugar into Elain’s favorite tea set because she told our mother I skipped my piano lesson. She cried for an hour, not because of the tea set, but because the sugar got in her pressed flowers. She didn’t speak to me for three days.”

“And you feel bad about that?”

“Not even a little.”

“Remind me never to get between you and revenge.”

She laughed, and reached for her glass, savoring the last sip of wine as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Outside, the light had gone from golden to lavender, the long twilight of the Autumn Court settling gently over the lake. Through the tall windows, the water shimmered in silver-blue ripples, the trees casting dusky silhouettes across the shore.

Eris set his empty glass down and leaned back in his chair, studying her with that too-sharp gaze that always felt like it saw more than it should.

“It’s still warm out,” he said, almost casually. “Walk with me?”

Nesta arched her brow. “Is this where you lure unsuspecting brides-to-be into the woods?”

“If it were, I wouldn’t ask so politely.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted.

A few minutes later, they stepped out into the cooling evening, the scent of pine and lake air brushing against her skin. The house faded behind them as they followed the path down toward the shore, their steps quiet on the mossy stone.

They walked in silence at first, the kind that wasn’t awkward, just... full. Like there were too many words in the air, still sorting themselves out.

The lake lapped gently at the pebbled shore, moonlight unfurling over its surface in a wide silver ribbon. Crickets hummed in the grasses, a soft and steady rhythm that seemed to fill the space between their footsteps.

Eris didn’t say anything, just walked beside her with his hands tucked behind his back, his head slightly tilted toward the stars overhead. He looked like he belonged here, this untouchable Autumn Prince among the trees and twilight. And Nesta hated how much she didn’t want to hate that.

“Was it always easy to control for you?” she asked suddenly, her voice low in the quiet.

He glanced over. “My magic?”

She nodded.

He looked back at the lake, thoughtful. “Not at first. It came in pieces. A spark here, a flicker there. My father used to say I was slow to ignite.” He paused. “But once it caught... I burned too fast.”

Nesta’s brows rose. “That sounds vaguely poetic for someone who once burned his brother’s bed.”

“Even arson can be elegant in the right lighting,” he said dryly.

She snorted, and a smile curled at his mouth again. “What about you?” he asked after a beat. “Did it feel like drowning at first?”

Nesta blinked. That was... closer to the truth than she expected. “Yes,” she said. “But not water. It feels like a never ending well. Something colder. I’ve been told my flames are cold.”

Eris nodded once, like he understood. “And now?”

She hesitated. “It still feels like that bottomless well, but now I have more control, the magic isn’t controlling me anymore.”

He hummed. “That sounds about right.”

They slowed as they neared the edge of the water, the stones giving way to soft earth and tangled reeds. The moon hung low over the lake, casting long shadows from the trees behind them.

Nesta stared out at the water. “Do you think it’ll ever go away?”

“Your power?”

She nodded.

“No,” he said simply. “But I think it will get easier. Though I hate to compliment him, look at Rhysand, his power moves as an extension of him now.”

Her throat tightened. She didn’t respond, not with words, anyway. Just let the silence stretch between them, comfortable and full of things that didn’t need to be said aloud.

A breeze brushed past them, cool and damp with lake mist. Nesta’s hair blew across her face and she moved to push it back, only to find Eris watching her, his expression unreadable.

“What?” she asked, half-defensive.

He tilted his head slightly. “Nothing. Just… you look different out here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you say soft, I swear—”

“I was going to say dangerous,” he interrupted, voice low.

That silenced her. He was still watching her. Not like a courtier, not like a soldier. Just... like someone who saw her and didn’t flinch.

She looked away first.

They started walking again, their shoulders occasionally brushing as the path narrowed. Nesta found herself relaxing into the rhythm of it, her body still thrumming from the magic but her mind quieter than it had been in days.

By the time they returned to the lake house, the stars were high above them and the forest was quiet. Neither of them said goodnight. They didn’t need to.

Nesta woke to chirping birds and the faint smell of cinnamon.

She blinked up at the wooden beams above her bed, her muscles stiff from the previous day’s training. But not unpleasantly so. She stretched slowly, savoring the ache, it felt earned. 

When she stepped into the main hall, Eris was already there, lounging by the hearth with a cup of tea in hand and an unreadable expression on his face. When was he ever not unreadable though, Nesta thought to herself.

Before she could greet him, the front door opened with a burst of late morning air and a familiar voice called, “I hope you’re decent, because I brought pastries.”

Ceres strolled in, dressed in an emerald riding cloak that did nothing to hide the mischief in her eyes. She had a basket looped over one arm and an arched brow that matched the expression in her eyes perfectly.

Nesta blinked. “You don’t knock?”

“Darling, I’m basically family. And I come bearing food,” Ceres said, breezing past her to deposit the basket on the table.

“She does this,” Eris said flatly. “Frequently.”

“I do,” Ceres agreed. “And thank the Mother I do, because if you’re feeding Nesta whatever you usually eat, she’s suffering.”

“I’m right here,” Nesta muttered, but a smile tugged at her lips as she opened the basket to find delicate honey rolls and fruit tarts wrapped in linen.

Ceres settled into a chair with a long sigh, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “So. I hear there was some excitement in the clearing yesterday.”

Nesta glanced at Eris. He didn’t look up from his tea.

Ceres smiled faintly. “You almost lit him on fire, didn’t you?”

Eris muttered, “It was barely a singe.”

“I saw the scorch marks on the tree,” Ceres replied, unimpressed. She turned to Nesta with a spark of amusement. “Don’t worry. In Autumn, it’s only concerning if you miss .”

Nesta let out a quiet laugh. “Then I guess I passed the test.”

“You did more than that,” Ceres said. “He wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Eris gave her a dry look. “I asked you for a salve, not commentary.”

Ceres shrugged. “You get both. Healer’s privilege.”

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the brief pause that followed. Ceres studied Nesta, not unkindly. Her gaze was sharp, but not probing, more like someone taking quiet inventory. Of how someone had changed.

“You look steadier,” she said finally. “The last time I saw you, you were coiled tight as a bowstring.”

Nesta hesitated. “I’ve been training.”

Ceres gave a small nod. “And whatever you did yesterday, it helped?”

“It didn’t feel like it at first,” Nesta admitted. “But… yes. A little.”

“Good.” Ceres’s tone softened. “Magic like yours, it doesn’t come easily. But it does listen, eventually.”

Nesta met her eyes. “Do you always speak in riddles?”

“Only when the direct truth is too much all at once,” Ceres said, reaching for her own tea. “Healing’s like that too. You don’t realize something is working until after the bleeding stopped.”

Eris raised a brow. “Poetic today, aren’t we?”

“I save it for special occasions,” she replied with a sly smile.

They sat for a moment, letting the warmth and quiet settle. Then Ceres leaned back with a faint sigh. “This place agrees with you both.”

Her voice was casual, but Nesta didn’t miss the shift. The way her eyes flicked between them. Measuring.

“Too bad you’re heading back to the Forest House tomorrow,” she added. “It’ll be… different.”

Nesta reached for her water, not missing the weight behind the words. “Let it be.”

Ceres tilted her head, considering her. “You’re not afraid?”

“Of course I am,” Nesta said simply. “But I’m not going to let that stop me.”

There was a pause. Then Eris said, “Let them look. Let them talk.”

His voice was quiet. Certain.

Ceres smiled, something quieter now, tinged with something like relief. “Then I think you’re both more ready than you think.”

Notes:

Happy Easter! (To those who celebrate) I swear I've been on a writing kick after not writing for over a year, I didn't realise how much I missed it. I had some time while I was home after brunch today and was able to finally finish this chapter. I have a few more in the works but after that it might take me a bit longer to update.

Chapter 6: Sky Full of Song

The air was sharp in the early morning, the lake still as glass beneath a pale sky.

Nesta stood at the water’s edge, arms crossed over the light cloak draped over her shoulders. The Forest House waited, but she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. She’d grown used to the calm of the lake house, the gentleness that had crept into her mornings here.

She heard the crunch of boots on damp leaves before she felt his presence.

“We don’t have to go if you’re going to look at the water like it insulted you,” Eris said dryly.

“Just memorizing it,” she murmured. “It’s the first place I’ve felt… quiet. That I’ve actually made peace with silence.”

He was silent for a breath, then stepped beside her, close but not touching. “You’ll find your peace again. Even in the Forest House. Anyways, we will always be able to return here.”

“I doubt that,” she said, a bitter edge under her breath.

Eris turned to her, one brow raised. “Truly, anytime you wish to return, we can. I can deal with my father.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted.

“Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She handed him a folded square of silk, embroidered with a flame at its center. “It’s for your coat. For luck. Or to remind you that I’m watching.”

He took it like it was something sacred, tucked it away in his coat without a word.

“Ready, my Lady?” he asked.

Nesta nodded once, spine straightening. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Forest House loomed like a cathedral carved into the bones of a great tree. Red-gold banners fluttered from its visible spires, and the scent of moss and fire clung to the wind.

Nesta kept her face serene as they entered. She could feel eyes on her from the balconies above, from the servants wandering the halls. Eris offered his arm, and she took it without flinching.

Waiting for them were three males, who she knew to be Eris’s brothers.

The first, Cormac, tall and sharp-eyed, gave a short bow. “Welcome to the Forest House, Lady Archeron.” His voice was clipped, cautious, but not unkind.

The second, Idris, surprised her. He grinned, boyish despite the haunted look in his eyes. “You’re even fiercer in person, my brother chose well. The Forest House could use some excitement.”

The third, Damian, didn’t bow at all. “So this is the witch,” he said, eyeing her up and down. “Tell me, what spell did you cast on our brother to make him bring you here?”

“Careful,” Eris said smoothly, a hand lightly touching her back. “She’s still learning to control the one that burns your tongue off.”

Damian smirked, but there was unease in his eyes. He said no more.

Nesta turned her head slightly, just enough to meet Damians’s gaze. “Don’t worry,” she said coolly. “Your tongue isn’t sharp enough to interest me anyway.”

The warmth of Eris’s hand lingered as they walked past and into the house.

The Forest House was vast, less a home, and more a fortress grown from the bones of the oldest trees. Its halls curved and twisted like branches, its walls a seamless blend of wood and stone, lit by floating globes of warm amber light.

Eris’s voice echoed gently as they walked. “It’s easy to get lost. My brothers used to do it on purpose. Lead guests into dead-end corridors, lock doors behind them. We were charming children.”

“I’m sure,” Nesta said dryly, eyes scanning the high-arched ceilings where vines grew like veins, pulsing faintly with life.

He showed her the great hall, empty now, but with remnants of a recent gathering still lingering in the air, “Ceremonies are held here. Balls, sometimes. And Court meetings, when my father deigns to include anyone else in his decisions.” A trace of bitterness curled around the last words.

They passed a long hallway filled with portraits. “Those are the former Lords of Autumn,” Eris said. “You’ll notice there are fewer portraits of their wives.”

Nesta paused before one, a painting of a woman with ash-blonde hair and dark eyes, her expression unreadable. No nameplate.

Eris followed her gaze. “She was erased from the records. Rumor says she tried to burn the Forest House down.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “Did she succeed?”

“She nearly made it to the heartwood,” he said with something like admiration. “The fire took days to put out.”

She didn't ask what happened to the woman. She already knew. They stopped before a tall, carved door veined with gold and russet hues. “Your rooms,” Eris said, pushing it open.

The space beyond took her breath. High windows spilled golden light over a bed of crimson and copper. A delicate writing desk faced a balcony that opened onto the treetops, where leaves shimmered like embers in the wind. Eris didn’t step inside. “There are wards. No one can enter without your permission. If you want more, just tell me.”

Nesta ran a hand along the velvet curtain beside the door, thoughtful. “I like it.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable now. “Dinner’s at dusk. You don’t have to attend, but you’re welcome. I imagine my brothers will be on their best behavior.”

Nesta arched her brow. “You don’t believe that.”

Eris grinned. “No. But it sounds polite.”

He turned to go, then paused. “If you need anything, before or after you threaten to set something on fire, just call.”

“I’ll try not to scorch the bed,” she said, but there was a flicker of warmth beneath the sarcasm.

He gave her a shallow bow, one hand over his heart. “Do your worst.”

And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the heart of the Autumn Court, the soft crackle of magic in the air.

Nesta exhaled, slow and steady. The room was beautiful—warm woods, deep reds, textures that whispered of ancient wealth—but it wasn’t hers. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Her fingers skimmed the edge of the velvet chaise by the window, restless.

The stillness pressed in.

So she moved. Without thinking too hard, she slipped back into her boots and opened the door to the hallway. She told herself it was only to walk, to breathe, but part of her was already drawn to the scent of open air. To something uncontained.

The halls of the Forest House were quieter than she expected, though her footsteps echoed faintly on the polished floors. No one stopped her as she descended a side staircase and passed through an arched doorway that opened onto the gardens.

The air was cooler here, fragrant with damp earth and autumn spice. A gentle wind stirred the leaves overhead as she stepped beneath the old branches and onto a moss-veiled path. It felt like stepping into a different world entirely, older, more honest.

The gardens of the Forest House were unlike any Nesta had seen. Not the carefully pruned hedges of the Night Court or the wild overgrowth of the mortal lands, this was something older. Ancient paths of mossy stone wound through trees heavy with red and gold leaves, their branches curling toward each other in silent conversation. Flowers bloomed in strange colors: deep plum, rust-orange, and soft amber. The scent of spice and loam clung to the air, grounding and unsettling all at once.

Nesta followed the path down a shaded slope, her fingers brushing a low-hanging branch as if to greet it. She hadn’t meant to leave her room for long, just long enough to breathe.

The sound of footsteps on stone caught her attention.

She turned to find a woman approaching from the opposite path, a vision in a dark red gown embroidered with bronze leaves, her hair pinned in a twist with glints of copper catching in the light. She was beautiful, but in a way that was precise, deliberate. Like the blade of a well-kept knife.

“You must be Lady Archeron,” the woman said.

Nesta didn’t answer at once. She tilted her head slightly, assessing. “And you are?”

The woman offered a faint smile, polite but unreadable. “Aster, my father is Lord Thorne, one of the High Lords advisors.”

Thorne. The name tugged at something her tutor had once mentioned, Lord of an old house, powerful in Autumn, but politically quiet of late. “I didn’t expect company,” Nesta replied.

Aster glanced at the winding path behind her, as if she hadn’t either. “I walk here every morning. But it seems the Forest House is full of surprises these days.”

There was no venom in her voice, but neither was it a compliment.

Nesta stepped off the path slightly, hands tucked behind her back. “Surprises tend to follow me.”

“Indeed,” Aster said, her gaze trailing over Nesta’s cloak, her loosely braided hair, the flicker of power just under her skin. “I imagine it’s been…a challenge, adjusting to court life.”

Nesta smiled thinly. “I’m not here to adjust.”

That made Aster pause. Then she let out the softest laugh, like wind rustling through dry leaves. “I see. Well, the Forest House has long needed shaking.”

She took a step closer, her voice lowering with quiet amusement. “I was curious to meet you. There are already many rumors floating around about you. People are curious about the future Lady of Autumn, I heard you met the other Vanserra brothers this morning. Apparently you gave Damian a scare.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Nesta said.

“That makes it even better,” Aster murmured.

They stood there for a long moment, the breeze picking up between them, brushing fallen leaves across the path.

Finally, Aster extended a hand. “If you ever grow bored of the courtiers and sycophants, come find me. I prefer honest company.”

Nesta looked at the offered hand, then took it in a firm grip. “I’ll consider it.”

As Aster turned and walked away, her gown trailing over the leaves like drifting smoke, she called softly over her shoulder, “Be careful, Lady Archeron. Autumn is beautiful, but it can be cruel.”

Nesta watched her disappear around the bend of trees, that final warning echoing in her chest like a whisper in a forgotten room.

The wind stirred as Aster vanished, and Nesta remained still for a moment longer, the scent of moss and fire lingering in her nose. Autumn is beautiful, but it can be cruel. The words curled around her like ivy, and she wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a welcome.

Eventually, she turned back toward the house.

By the time she reached her chambers again, the sun had dipped low enough to spill amber light across the polished floors. A fire in the hearth, already lit, casting long shadows along the stone walls.

Nesta crossed the room and paused before the mirror. Her reflection stared back, composed, but not untouched. A flush still colored her cheeks from the garden air, and her braid had loosened, golden-brown strands escaping like they refused to be tamed. She let out a breath and reached for the brush.

She took her time readying herself. Not out of vanity, but because it was armor, and maybe a bit of vanity…

The dress she chose was a deep bronze silk gown that caught the firelight when she moved, simple in cut but elegant, the fabric whispering over her skin like falling leaves. Her hair, she twisted back loosely, anchoring it with a gold pin in the shape of an oak leaf. 

When the knock came at the door, she was already turning toward it.

Eris stood just outside, dressed in black and russet, a dark cloak over his shoulders and a smirk that deepened when he saw her.

“Well,” he said, offering his arm, “if you were hoping to inspire jealousy, you’ve succeeded. I almost envy myself.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but let her fingers curl around his offered arm.

“You clean up well too,” she said coolly.

He leaned in as they started down the corridor. “Let’s hope the rest of the court is as welcoming as you are.”

She didn’t answer, but the way her hand stayed on his arm said enough.

Together, they descended toward the dining hall, toward whatever the Forest House had in store. 

The dining hall of the Forest House was carved from old, living wood. Dark beams arched overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast, and golden candles flickered along the long oak table, casting warm light on wine-dark velvet runners and burnished plates. The walls were adorned with various tapestries depicting stories of Autumn’s history.

Nesta kept her expression unreadable as she entered, holding onto Eris's arm. A fire roared in the hearth behind the high table where Beron sat at the head, already nursing a glass of deep red wine. His auburn hair had faded with age into something tarnished, but his eyes were sharp and cold as ever.

To his left sat Aurelia, dressed in a deep crimson gown that shimmered like embers. The color should have made her fierce, but she looked small despite it, her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed slightly downward.

The three brothers were already seated: Idris offered Nesta a grin, Cormac gave her a polite nod, and Damian barely looked up.

Eris pulled out a chair for her beside him and sat with easy elegance, nodding once at his father. Beron didn’t return the gesture. Silence held for a beat too long before Beron finally said, “So the Lady Archeron graces us with her presence. I admit, I half-expected you'd vanish into smoke before the evening meal.”

Nesta met his gaze without flinching. “I thought it would be rude to disappear before dessert.”

Idris let out a quiet laugh that he quickly smothered behind his wine goblet. Damian coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a snort.

Beron’s mouth curled into something humorless. “You have a sharp tongue. That tends to end poorly in this court.”

Eris set his goblet down with a click, his tone calm but edged. “And yet we’re all still here, miraculously unbloodied.”

“Give it time,” Beron muttered.

Servants appeared then, breaking the tension as platters were laid on the table; roasted pheasant glazed with wine and honey, autumn vegetables charred to smoky sweetness, fresh bread still steaming.

Nesta focused on slicing into her food as conversation slowly resumed around her.

Cormac spoke first, his voice even. “The Autumn Solstice festivals are starting soon. I imagine we’ll be expected to make an appearance.”

“Eris always liked the bonfires,” Idris added. “Especially the ones that got out of hand.”

Eris gave him a warning glance, but Nesta saw the faintest smirk tug at his mouth.

“Only because you couldn’t stop daring me,” he said dryly.

“You liked being dared,” Idris replied.

Nesta found herself surprised by their ease with each other. There was a camaraderie, even with the undercurrent of tension their father brought.

“I’ve always liked the tradition of firewalking,” Cormac said thoughtfully. “It’s meant to prove courage, though half the time it proves stupidity.”

Damian spoke then, lazy and cold. “We could always have the Lady try it. See if her power makes her immune.”

Nesta didn’t even look at him. “I don’t need to walk on fire to prove anything. If I wanted to burn, I’d just sit next to you.”

Idris choked on his drink. Eris’s fingers brushed against hers under the table in the barest graze—whether it was amusement or warning, she couldn’t tell.

Beron’s gaze cut to Nesta like a blade. “Careful, girl. Your novelty wears off quickly.”

Nesta met his stare with the steel that had hardened inside her long before she’d entered any court. “Then I suppose we’ll both have to endure.”

A long pause followed.

Then, shockingly, it was Aurelia who spoke, quiet as snowfall, but clear. “Perhaps we should discuss something…less dramatic.”

All heads turned toward her. Beron frowned but said nothing, and the moment passed like a ripple across still water.

Conversation resumed, lighter this time. Idris tried to coax Eris into retelling a ridiculous story about a failed duel in the capital, and Cormac brought up border patrols. Damian stayed quiet, watching Nesta now and then with thinly veiled irritation.

The dinner dragged on, rich with flavor but layered with sharpness. By the time the plates were cleared and the wine was replaced with mulled cider, Nesta leaned back slightly in her chair, her posture still poised but her mind calculating.

This court was a battlefield of words and power, and she had no intention of losing.

The corridor outside the dining hall was lit by firelight trapped in lights that hung from the ceiling. The air still held the scent of roasted spices and smoke, but Nesta found herself breathing easier now that the weight of Beron’s gaze was no longer on her.

Eris matched her stride as they walked side by side, his hands clasped behind his back, quiet for a few paces.

“I’ll admit,” he said at last, voice low and smooth, “I was waiting for the moment you set the tablecloth ablaze.”

“I came close when Damian opened his mouth,” Nesta muttered. “Again.”

Eris huffed a soft laugh. “That was impressive. He usually needs wine to find that level of stupidity.”

“He’s lucky I’m too tired to be cruel.”

They walked another few steps in silence, the carved wood beneath their feet whispering under each stride. The Forest House pulsed around them like something alive; roots woven into the walls, wind sighing through upper boughs, the occasional flicker of faelight dancing ahead and behind them.

“You held your ground well,” Eris said after a moment. “My father doesn’t like to be met with equal force. It unsettles him. But I must warn you, you need to be careful around him”

Nesta didn’t look at him. “I know.”

Another silence, this one softer. They turned a corner, her rooms just ahead now, the tall wooden doors marked by leafwork metal and a polished handle of burnished bronze.

She paused before them, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed to have reached the end of the night.

Eris didn’t reach for the door. Instead, he leaned a shoulder against the frame, watching her with that familiar, unreadable calm.

“I meant it, earlier,” he said. “If you need anything. If he pushes too hard. I’ll deal with it.”

She raised a brow. “And how would you do that?”

A glint of firelight caught in his eyes. “With a smile. And, ideally, something flammable.”

Nesta huffed a laugh before she could stop it.

Eris stepped back, straightening again. “Sleep well, my Lady.”

He started to turn, but her voice stopped him. “Eris.”

He looked back.

She studied him for a long moment, the hallway quiet around them. “Thank you. For walking with me. For… dinner.”

His mouth twitched, but not into a smirk. Something softer.

“It wasn’t entirely awful.”

“No,” she agreed. “Just slightly unbearable.”

He inclined his head, a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

Then, without waiting for another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, his steps silent against the wooden floor.

Nesta watched him go, her heart steady but her thoughts anything but.

Notes:

I hope you all enjoy! Of course, please let me know if there are any mistakes. I'm actually so obsessed with Neris, in my opinion, they work much better than Cassian/Nesta for so many reasons. Also I swear for once my obsession with watching historical shows and reading about history is coming in handy because Prythian is based on the 17-18th centuries from what I've read. Ugh, I would study history if I could, it is so interesting.

Chapter 7: What the Water Gave Me

The Forest House buzzed with motion. Magic stirred in the air, thick and anticipatory, as High Fae from all different Courts winnowed into the entrance hall in flashes of gold, red, shadow, and snow. Nesta had always expected to have a large wedding, but not this large. As Heir Apparent Eris’s wedding drew in fae from all Seven Courts. The magic of Autumn hummed through the ward stone, resonating with every new arrival, as if testing each unfamiliar pulse of power.

Nesta stood beside Eris at the top of the grand staircase, her posture iron-straight, her expression carved from steel. She wore no crown, no jewels, just a fitted gown the color of crimson maple leaves and her own unshakable presence.

She hadn’t slept much. The manor had been alive with preparations all night, runners moving through the halls, enchantments refreshed, kitchens overflowing with spices and sugar, and guards at every entrance.

And now, the courts began to arrive.

A ripple of Summer warmth burst across the threshold. Tarquin entered with a glimmering entourage in shades of seafoam and gold. Beside him, Cresseida offered Nesta a faint nod, the only courtesy she extended. Tarquin’s eyes lingered longer—curious, reserved—but not unkind.

Then came the gentle pulse of Winter. Kallias followed, his grace like moonlight on snow. Beside him, Viviane stood radiant in silver, her snowy hair bound with icy jewels. Kallias offered her his arm as they stepped forward, equals in every sense. Viviane’s gaze met Nesta’s, cool but not unkind.

Next arrived a cluster of Autumn nobles, Lords who ruled smaller estates scattered across the Court’s sprawling borders. One, a stooped lord in russet silks, bowed so deeply it was almost exaggerated. Another, younger and sharply dressed in oak-brown velvet, sent Nesta a cool, assessing look. Politics danced behind their every movement, old rivalries and ambitions rekindled by the prospect of a new Lady.

Day arrived in a gilded flash. Helion entered laughing, his coat a cascade of sunlight embroidered with symbols of the day court, each movement casting warm reflections on the walls. He scanned the room, spotted her, and offered a theatrical bow that earned a few raised eyebrows.

And then the wind changed.

Power coiled through the air, dark and ocean-deep, heavy with salt and moonlight. Nesta didn’t need to turn. She already knew.

The Night Court had arrived.

Rhysand stood at the forefront, dressed in tailored black with stars stitched subtly into the lapels. Feyre lingered slightly to his right, her expression careful and composed. Azriel flanked them, shadows swirling over his shoulders like a restless tide.

To Rhys’s left stood Amren, elegant and ancient in a gown of black silk, her silver eyes gleaming with that eerie, ageless light. And beside her, Elain.

Nesta blinked.

Elain had dressed in Night Court colors. Midnight blue and silver, her hair pinned with star-shaped combs. Her eyes met Nesta’s for a heartbeat. She smiled, and then looked away.

“Nesta,” Feyre said first. “You look—”

“Different?” Nesta cut in, voice flat.

Feyre’s smile faltered. “I was going to say healthy.”

Nesta inclined her head but said nothing more. A silence stretched and frayed, taut as wire.

Amren broke it.

“Well,” she said, her tone like cracked crystal, “at least the Autumn Court won’t need fires this Solstice. All this tension should keep the manor warm enough.”

Azriel shifted slightly, his shadows curling in.

Nesta’s jaw tightened. “Nice to see your wit hasn’t dulled, Amren.”

“Oh, it sharpens with age, girl.” Her gaze slid to Eris. “Though I can’t say the same for your taste.”

Eris, standing coolly beside Nesta, gave Amren a slow, dangerous smile. “Careful how you speak of her.”

“We’re here in peace,” Rhys said, his voice low and even. “For the sake of inter-court alliances.”

“And curiosity,” Eris murmured. “Don’t forget that part.”

Nesta let the silence settle again before she said, “Thank you for coming.”

Rhys nodded once. Feyre stepped forward. “Nesta, could we… speak? Alone, maybe?”

Nesta hesitated. Her gaze flicked to Elain, still silent, still dressed like a stranger. A knot pulled tight in her chest. She looked back at Eris.

“Not right now,” she said, quiet but firm. “Another time.”

Feyre’s shoulders sagged just slightly. Elain gave Nesta a small smile before she turned her face away.

The Night Court moved deeper into the gathering, shadows and starlight trailing behind them.

Nesta lingered a moment longer at the top of the stairs, watching their retreating forms.

It had never hurt like this before, not seeing Elain. Not hearing Feyre say her name like it still meant something. She turned before she could unravel, her dress brushing against the floor as she strode down the opposite corridor.

---

She found herself in a quiet wing of the manor, far from the bustle of the arrivals. The scent of cedar and distant woodsmoke curled around her as she stepped into the shadowed corridor. The hush here was welcome, almost sacred.

And then a voice: "You're avoiding them."

Lady Aster stood at the far end of the corridor, bathed in the dappled light filtering through windows. Her deep auburn hair was coiled elegantly, her gown a deep dark green.

Nesta straightened. "I needed air."

"So did I." Aster walked closer, each movement precise but unhurried. "Though I suspect our reasons differ."

Nesta waited, unsure whether to deflect or engage.

Aster studied her for a beat. "You handled yourself well. With them, your sister and her Court."

"Did I?"

"You didn’t shrink. And you didn’t lash out. That’s a rare balance. Especially for those who come from… courts that thrive on extremes."

Nesta gave a small, dry laugh. "I was raised for Court life, my mother always wished for me to marry a Prince."

"Then I think Autumn will suit you well," Aster said. "But only if you let it."

Nesta hesitated. "Do you think I belong here?"

"I think you already do," Aster replied. "But that isn’t the same as believing it."

They walked together, slowly, past a row of stained-glass windows. Golden light poured through them, casting vines and thorns across the stone.

"There was a Lady of Autumn once," Aster said quietly, "who was a warrior. Not with blade or flame, but with voice and presence. She changed this court more than anyone believed she could. You remind me of her."

Nesta swallowed. “What happened to her?”

“She endured.”

They stopped at an arched doorway. Aster glanced toward the main hall, where the music and chatter had resumed.

“Give them something they don’t expect,” Aster said. “Make them learn your name again. Not as a sister or a wife. As a power of your own."

Inside again, Nesta took a longer route through the manor, both to avoid more guests and to ground herself. Her steps echoed on the floors, her fingers brushing the carved wood of the paneling.

A flicker of golden light caught her eye.

The Day Court delegation gleamed like a pocket of sunshine in the hallway. Helion stood at its center, unmistakable in his brilliance.

“Lady Nesta,” he purred, sweeping into an elegant bow. “You’ve never looked more dangerously radiant.”

“Flattery?” she asked, brow arched.

“Truth,” he said, eyes alight. “You and Eris may set this whole place ablaze, but I’ll be watching, cheering for the fire. Don’t let him bore you. If he does, you know where to find me.”

“You’re outrageous.”

“I’m of the Day Court,” Helion said with a wink. “Outrage is our specialty.”

She shook her head, but a laugh slipped out, quiet and genuine.

As the sun began to dip low, Nesta found herself alone again, this time by choice. She wandered the edge of the gardens, where the trees arched high, leaves catching gold and flame in the light. She let her hand drift through the tall grass, grounding herself in the now.

A memory crept in, older than the rest. Not of her sisters, but of herself.

She was ten years old, and had briefly escaped her mother and grandmother's harsh lessons. She was climbing the slope behind their old manor alone, away from Feyre’s paintings and Elain’s gardens. She had sat at the crest for hours, watching the sky change, pink to violet to deepest blue, because it made her feel small and endless all at once. Because for once, no one had told her to stop.

She hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.

The sitting room waited, hushed and warm, the last light of day slanting through the windows in golden beams. Eris was already there, pouring wine.

Nesta stood near the fire, her arms crossed, not from cold, but to hold something in. Her thoughts were a storm. The weight of the day, the stares, the judgment. And still, her heartbeat was steady. Her decision, already made.

Eris didn’t speak until he set a glass beside her. “Tomorrow is the Autumn Solstice,” he said, voice quiet. “The date of the wedding.”

She nodded.

“I won’t hold you to it,” he added, eyes meeting hers. No smugness. No pretense. Just Eris. “That was the deal. You had until the eve of the wedding, even after if you wish.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

“You came looking for a political alliance. A power to match your own.”

“I did.”

“And I was willing to be that.”

He tilted his head, something cautious in his gaze. “Are you still?”

She stepped closer, enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Her voice was steady, even if her heart was not. “I’m still willing… but not for the same reason.”

That stopped him. His expression shifted, surprise, then something deeper. Careful. Reverent.

“I’m choosing to stay,” she said. “Not because of our bargain. But because this is what I want. What I am choosing.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, heat, searing and sudden, flashed across her shoulder.

Nesta gasped, spinning just enough to glance at the mark beneath her neckline. The ink that had once spiraled down from her shoulder blade, vivid and ancient, was fading. Unraveling into threads of silver and gold before vanishing entirely.

Eris inhaled sharply. She turned and saw the same thing happening to him, the mark on his left shoulder burning out, tendrils of magic dissolving like smoke.

Their bargain, fulfilled. Choice freely given. No longer binding them.

She looked up at him. He hadn’t moved. But something in his face had gone soft and unreadable, like he didn’t know what to say.

“Still want to marry me?” she asked, because the silence was too loud.

Eris’s smile bloomed, slow and real. “How could I not?”

The magic faded from their skin, but not from the room.

And in the hush that followed, Nesta let herself believe, maybe for the first time, that she had chosen right.

Hours later Nesta found herself still unable to sleep, though her mind was settled about Eris, they're were still so many things that were keeping her mind active, the wedding, life in a new court, her sisters. Nesta found herself putting on a simple gown, and letting her body guide her on autopilot.

The night had fallen soft and slow over the Forest House, moonlight draping silver over the stone balconies and winding garden paths. The sitting room behind her still glowed with firelight, but Nesta needed air, needed stars and silence and space to hold the choice she’d made.

Her feet led her to the gardens, quiet but alive with night sounds: the rustle of wind through hedges, the distant hoot of an owl, the faint trickle of a fountain. The flowers here bloomed pale and ghostly under the moon—white asters, dahlia, pale roses. Somewhere in the shadows, the scent of rosemary and mint clung to the cool air.

And then, footsteps. Two shapes ahead, walking slowly between the arbor and the trimmed yew trees. One tall, cloaked in shadow; the other slim and radiant in a gown of lavender silk.

Elain. The lavender gown suited her far more than the Night Court colors.

Nesta still. Her heart jolted, unsure whether to retreat, but Elain had already turned.

“Hello,” her sister said, her voice soft as the night around them.

Azriel stood beside her, silent and sharp-eyed, his shadows curling faintly at his shoulders. He didn’t speak, but Nesta saw the tension coil in him like a thread pulled taut.

“May I speak with her?” Nesta asked quietly. “Alone.”

There was a pause, then Elain gave Azriel a look, gentle but firm. He hesitated a beat longer, then dipped his head once and melted back into the shadows.

Elain stepped closer, her hands folded in front of her. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It is,” Nesta agreed, surprised at how easy the words came. She looked at her sister fully now, her bright eyes, the glow of her skin in the moonlight. “I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Too much noise in my head.” Elain gave a small laugh. “And there are too many opinions in that house.”

Nesta smiled faintly. “Tell me about it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn’t heavy, just… suspended.

“Are you alright?” Elain asked at last, her voice gentle but steady. “Is this… what you want?”

Nesta looked away, to the stars peeking between the trees. “I think for the first time, I made a choice that was truly mine. Not to please anyone. Not to rebel. Just… mine.”

“And are you happy?”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t know if I’d use that word. But I’m not drowning anymore. I think I’m learning how to get better, be happy.”

Elain’s face softened, and a warm, earnest smile bloomed there, one Nesta hadn’t seen in a long time. “Then I’m happy for you.”

The words landed like a balm, unexpected and healing.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be,” Nesta admitted.

“I want you to have a good life,” Elain said quietly. “Whatever that looks like. And… I’m sorry we let things get so broken between us.”

Nesta blinked, her throat tight. “We don’t have to fix everything tonight.”

“No,” Elain agreed. “But maybe we can promise not to let anyone come between us again.”

Nesta nodded, her voice catching. “Yes. Let’s keep in touch, and actually talk. No more messengers or middlemen.”

Elain stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, and Nesta, after a breath of surprise, returned the embrace.

In the hush of the garden, beneath moonlight and the scent of blooming lavender, the world held still for a moment, just two sisters finding their way back.

When they finally pulled apart, Elain gave her a wry look. “You’re going to be an Autumn bride. Who would’ve thought?”

Nesta smirked. “Certainly not me.”

They both laughed, soft and real, and then Elain nodded toward the path. “Azriel’s probably eavesdropping by now. I should get back.”

Nesta watched her go, warmth blooming in her chest. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like something was missing.

Just beginning.

Notes:

Ok no notes on this one, but gosh coming up with a title was tough. I'm trying to stick to the theme of Florence + Machine songs and lyrics and somewhat match them to the chapter but I swear it takes me half as long as it does to write the chapters. Jk but ugh their songs are perfect for this story.

Chapter 8: Queen of Peace

The dawn broke gently across the Forest House, its light pouring like honey through the arched windows of Nesta’s chamber. She lay still, eyes open, watching the golden beams climb the carved walls. There was a weight to the morning, not oppressive, but thick with meaning.

Today.

The day the court would call her Lady Vanserra, and one day Lady of Autumn. The day she would bind herself to Eris Vanserra, not with magic or political strategy, but with choice.

She sat up slowly, the silk sheets whispering around her. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Just breathed. One inhale. One exhale. And again.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself. Her voice didn’t tremble. And for the first time in a long while, she believed it.

A knock on her chamber door. A quiet rhythm.

Ceres stepped in first, all soft warmth and strawberry blonde curls, beaming with anticipation . “I made breakfast,” she said, balancing a tray of fresh bread, fresh apples, and a teacup with steady hands. “You’re not allowed to pass out before the vows.”

Behind her swept Lady Aurelia, tall and elegant in a deep russet gown that matched her eyes, her expression serene but sharp. Magic clung to the Lady of Autumn like perfume, and Nesta faintly remembered Eris telling her that the Noble family his mother came from carried some of the most powerful fire magic outside of the Vanserra family. Her eyes swept Nesta from head to toe, “You’re calm,” she observed, clearly surprised. 

“I’m prepared,” Nesta replied. Choosing not to mention that she had already run through this moment, through the whole day, multiple times in her head.

Then came Lady Aster, ever composed, dressed in her usual crimson gown, this one more ornate than anything Nesta had ever seen her dressed in before. And finally another woman Nesta had met only once before, Lady Sienna, entered with a tilt to her smile that promised sharp wit and kindness in equal measure.

"Let’s make you a bride who is talked about for centuries," Aster said with a faint smile, surveying Nesta as though she were both a project and a masterpiece.

The room became a flurry of silks and murmured suggestions. Ceres gently brushed out Nesta’s hair, humming a calming melody. Aster and Sienna adjusted the golden gown, a radiant creation that hugged Nesta’s figure before spilling into a full skirt with a long train. Aurelia oversaw the placement of delicate autumnal jewelry: a delicate necklace of rubies, earrings that gleamed like fire-opals.

Aster held the circlet last, given to brides of the sons of Autumn. Each unique to the Autumn Prince that created it, waiting until they could gift it to their future partner. Eris's was a delicate crown of gold decorated with small rubies.

"Not too heavy?" she asked, setting it carefully atop Nesta’s styled hair.

Nesta met her reflection’s gaze. She hardly recognized the woman staring back. And yet, she did.

"It’s just right," she said.

The ladies moved in unison, a small procession of gold, russet, and crimson weaving through the Forest House’s quiet halls. Their steps echoed lightly off the stone as they guided Nesta down the long corridors toward the great hall. Magic flickered faintly along the walls, as if the house itself sensed the significance of this day.

Ceres murmured something lighthearted that made Lady Sienna chuckle. Lady Aster adjusted the fall of Nesta’s train as they walked, her fingers quick and deft. Lady Aurelia walked at Nesta’s right, regal and composed, her gaze sharp but approving.

Nesta said little, letting the rhythm of their steps and the quiet strength of their presence steady her heartbeat. She had faced death. Faced gods. Faced herself. And now, she would face this, a choice she had made, one she would not regret.

Ahead, the doors to the great hall loomed taller than any tree in the Autumn wood.

With every step, the weight of her circlet felt less like a burden and more like a crown.

The great hall was awash in candlelight and the perfume of autumn roses. Golden leaves shimmered above on the enchanted ceilings, rustling with magic as guests took their places in the rows of ornate seats.

Nesta entered through towering doors carved with flames, her gown catching the flickering light as she walked. Each step echoed. Each breath was hers alone. 

Her steps echoed like a drumbeat in her mind. She walked past isles full of people, some she recognized, and some she did not. She passed by Thesan, who she remembered briefly from the High Lords meeting, who nodded with warmth. Helion, who gave her a respectful dip of his chin.

Then the Night Court. Feyre stood tall, beside her mate, her expression unreadable, but a look in her eyes that resembled longing. Rhysands stare was flat and he almost looked annoyed. 

Nesta didn’t break her stride. 

She walked to Eris because she wanted to.

He stood at the far end of the hall, tall and steady, in robes of deep crimson lined with gold. A matching circlet rested upon his brow. But it was his expression that struck her: pride, awe, and something quieter beneath it. Reverence.

When she reached him, they clasped hands. They stood before a high priestess of the Mother, her robes flowing like smoke, her voice steady as she began the rite. No Cauldron, no overwhelming power, just quiet reverence, and them. Not bound by fate, not tethered by the bond of mates, but instead choosing each other, freely, in the eyes of the Mother. 

"I see you," he said softly.

She met his gaze, unflinching. "And I you."

Their vows were quiet, spoken for each other and no one else. No binding magic crackled, no power surged. And yet, the room shifted. The court itself seemed to breathe them in.

When it ended, there was applause in the background. But Nesta heard only the quiet rush of her own heartbeat, steady and resolute.

The reception spilled into the Forest House’s inner courtyard, strewn with lanterns and crimson banners. Music hummed in the air, soft and elegant.

Helion was the first to approach, sweeping Nesta into a half-hug. "Congratulations, Lady Vanserra," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Tarquin followed with a warm smile. "A beautiful ceremony," he said simply, Cressida stood at his side, greeting them with a small smile and nod of her head.

Viviane, radiant in icy silver, embraced her lightly. "You looked radiant, Lady Nesta." Her husband, the High Lord of Winter stood still at her side. Looking as cold as always, the opposite of his wife's warm words, he offered a short congratulations.

Nesta received each congratulation, each gesture, with the practiced grace of someone born for this, or rather, someone who had been raised for it.

The Autumn nobles came next. Some bowed low. Others offered thinly veiled smiles. Some whispered amongst themselves, watching her with curiosity or envy. Still, she stood tall, her circlet glinting in the torchlight.

Lord Thorne approached with his daughter Lady Aster on his arm, his amber eyes appraising but not unkind. "You wear the fire well, Lady Vanserra," he said, offering a courtly bow.

Others followed: Lord Fenric of the Fallentree, who offered a crisp nod and nothing more; Lord Balen of Emberhall, whose bow was deep and sincere; Lord Virel of Ashgrove, whose smile didn’t reach his eyes; and Lady Cerelle of the Acadia, the only ruling Lady present, whose curtsey was deep but whose expression betrayed her uncertainty.

Yet for all the hushed words and careful watching, Nesta remained unbowed, the ruby circlet catching the firelight like a flame all its own.

Then came Beron.

He approached alone, his robes rustling like dry leaves. Damian lurked nearby, his eyes curious.

Beron’s gaze raked over her gown, her crown, the way she stood beside his heir.

"Let’s hope the my son remembers," Beron drawled, "that a wife is meant to be controlled."

The air chilled.

Before Nesta could speak, Eris stepped forward. His voice was ice. "She is not a creature to be controlled, Father."

Nesta didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. She met Beron’s eyes with steel.

Beron’s lips thinned. He regarded his son for a moment longer, then said, "We’ll see how long that defiance lasts."

Then, without another word, he turned away, his robes trailing behind him like smoke.

Eris signed, "I am sorry for him, my father can be cruel as you know."

"It's not your place to apologize for your father being rude, but thank you for standing up for me," Nesta replied.

"Of course, I will always stand up for you."

Nesta’s chest warmed at his response, something easing within her, but before she could reply, the musicians struck up a soft, lilting tune, and Eris extended a hand toward Nesta. "Shall we?" he murmured.

Nesta allowed herself a small smile and placed her hand in his. The crowd parted as they stepped onto the dance floor, the flickering light casting golden shadows across the polished stone.

They moved in perfect harmony, each turn and step effortless, elegant. A dance honed not just by training but by shared understanding. When Eris spun her out and drew her back in, Nesta laughed, the sound light and genuine, her earlier tension melting away. Around them, courtiers watched in silent awe.

It was not just a performance, it was a declaration. This union, whatever else it was or would be, had been freely chosen. And in that dance, they let the court see it: not dominance, not submission, but partnership.

When the music ended, they lingered for one last moment, palms pressed together, foreheads almost touching.

And then the evening began to dissolve, the crowd thinning, the music fading.

Later, when the crowd had thinned and the music became a far-off echo, Nesta found herself standing at the window of their new shared chambers. Beron had moved them into the shared chambers, a subtle way of asserting control. Eris apologized multiple times for the decision and reminded Nesta that she was not required to stay in this room; her own rooms were still available, should she want them. However, Nesta chose to remain in the shared chambers. She wasn't quite ready for a romantic relationship yet but because in this court of sharp tongues and uncertainity, she felt safe around Eris. Her husband.

The moonlight bathed her golden gown in silver. Eris entered silently, undoing the clasp of his cloak. He didn’t come to her. Just stood a few feet away, watching.

"You didn’t run," he said softly.

Nesta laughed lightly, "Did you expect me too?"

"Well no," Eris responded, "But I wouldn't blame you if you did."

He moved beside her, their shoulders brushing. "You were... magnificent."

She turned to look at him, something tender blooming in her chest. "So were you."

They stood like that, quiet, the weight of the day settling around them like a velvet cloak.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"I think I’m learning how to be."

He nodded, as if that answer was more than enough.

Nesta leaned her head against his shoulder, and for the first time that day, she let herself breathe.

Peace didn’t always come in silence or solitude. Sometimes, it came in shared stillness. In gold and firelight. In the space between two people choosing each other.

Even if only for tonight.

---

Nesta woke slowly, the weight of the past day still a haze in her limbs. The bed was warm, the sheets tangled around her in lazy loops, and for a moment, she just lay there, eyes half-lidded, listening.

No chaos. No voices. Just birdsong and the low rustle of trees brushing the wind.

She shifted, expecting the space beside her to be empty, but found a warm indent where Eris had been. His side was still faintly scented with cedarwood and smoke.

A quiet clink drew her attention toward the far side of the room.

Eris sat near the arched window, lounging in a deep armchair with one leg crossed, a book open in one hand and a mug in the other. Morning light haloed his hair, “You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

Nesta huffed. “You’re smug in the morning. It’s unnatural.”

He glanced at her then, that infuriating little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Would you prefer brooding and unapproachable? I can scowl, if that helps.”

She threw a pillow at him.

He caught it easily, then rose, padding barefoot across the polished floor. “Here,” he said, offering her the other mug. “Tea. I remember how you liked it.”

Nesta took it, fingers brushing his, and sipped. A pause, then a quiet, “Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence, the kind she never thought she’d share with anyone here. And yet, this moment—soft and slow, with the whole day still untouched—felt more like a beginning than yesterday’s vows had.

Ceres did not knock. According to Eris, she rarely did. 

Nesta was just beginning to contemplate getting dressed when the doors burst open and the healer swept in, balancing a tray that threatened to collapse under the weight of pastries and fresh fruit.

“Morning, newlyweds!” she sang, setting the tray on the bed with flair. “I bring offerings and stories. Mostly the stories.”

“You’re worse than Mor,” Nesta muttered, rubbing her temples.

“Thank you,” Ceres said brightly, biting into a sugar-dusted bun. “Did you see Helion trying to flirt with Lady Cerelle’s husband? She was halfway to turning him into a badger.”

Nesta snorted before she could stop herself. “I missed that part.”

“Oh, it was glorious.” Ceres tossed her braid over one shoulder and grinned. “Honestly, it was a better performance than the dancing. Speaking of, how are you feeling? You looked like a goddess last night. Slightly terrifying, but in a beautiful, don't-touch-me sort of way.”

Nesta arched her brow, sipping her tea. “I’m adjusting.”

“To being married? Or to being a Vanserra?”

Nesta didn’t answer right away. Ceres didn’t push.

After a moment, Nesta asked, “Is there a place in this house you go to when you need to think?”

Ceres blinked, then smiled. “I’ll show you after lunch. There’s a little balcony over the North part of the gardens. No one ever bothers me there.”

Nesta smiled, nodding her head in thanks. She was more than thankful for Ceres' help with the mind healing, but she appreciated having a friend even more. 

Nesta took her time with getting dressed. Somehow her entire wardrobe had been transferred into their shared rooms. She chose a brown dress for today, a color she had yet to wear in Autumn. It was simple in design but the neck was high and the sleeves long. The dress was made of silk, and flowed elegantly down to the floor. 

She peeked out of her dressing room, noting that Eris was already gone. He had mentioned earlier that he needed to look over some trade agreements his father left for him before lunch. She slipped on a pair of black boots and swept out of the rooms, heading towards the dining room.

The midday sun filtered through the arching trees, casting golden dapples across the stone terrace where the table had been set. A soft breeze carried the scent of late-blooming flowers through the slightly open windows and roasted rosemary bread from the kitchen.

It was the first day that felt like normal again, or what passed for normal in the Autumn Court.

Nesta took her seat beside Eris, her gold circlet traded for a simple braid threaded with golden autumn leaves. Across from her, Cormac and Idris chatted over a bottle of spiced wine, while Damian sat at the far end, swirling water in his goblet like it had insulted him.

At the head of the table, Lady Aurelia sliced into her roast pheasant with quiet precision. She hadn’t spoken much, but Nesta didn’t miss the way the Lady’s eyes occasionally swept the table, watching, always watching.

“Father is meeting with Lord Emberwell,” Eris said casually, refilling Nesta’s glass before she could reach for the bottle. “Apparently, Emberwell is upset about the seating arrangements at the wedding feast.”

Idris snorted. “He wanted to be closer to Helion, didn’t he?”

“To his credit,” Cormac added, “so did half the court.”

Eris smirked. “Helion always has that effect.”

Aurelia set down her knife, her voice as smooth as silk. “And yet we managed a feast without a single duel or fire incident. A miracle.”

“And no one was turned into a hound,” Idris added helpfully.

“Yet,” Damian muttered.

Nesta, trying not to smile, focused on slicing a pear. The food here was richer than what she was used to, but she found herself enjoying the quiet rhythm of the meal.

“Will you be staying in the Forest House long?” Cormac asked her, tone polite.

“For now,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’d like to understand this court before I represent it.”

Lady Aurelia’s expression shifted, just slightly. Approval, Nesta thought.

“We could show you the archives later,” Idris offered. “There’s a map room you’d like. It’s older than the Forest House itself.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

It wasn’t warmth. Not yet.

But the conversation came easier than she expected. Even Damian, sullen and distant, didn’t interrupt. And when the dessert tray arrived—crimson poached pears with honeyed cream—Eris reached over and silently placed the largest one on Nesta’s plate.

“You hate pears,” she said, eyeing him.

“I like watching you enjoy them,” he said.

And somehow, that was worse.

Or better.

She wasn’t sure yet.

After lunch ended Nesta made her way to the library, eager to explore what the Forest House had to offer in knowledge. She found that the Forest House’s library was quieter than any Nesta had known, as if the entire manor held its breath the moment one crossed its threshold. Ancient shelves lined the curved stone walls, rising so high they seemed to vanish into the beams above. A massive hearth was lit in the corner, casting golden light across the leather armchair where Nesta had curled up with a book in a deep leather chair.

The History of the Forest House and its Architecture, bound in worn burgundy leather, rested in her lap. The script was dense and elegant, the sort of thing that required reading each sentence twice. Still, she didn’t mind. There was something grounding in the ritual of it, the slow unfolding of centuries, of names and foundations and decisions that still shaped the Court today.

She didn’t hear Damian enter.

Only when the shadow fell across the page did she look up.

He was leaning against a nearby bookshelf, arms crossed, dark red tunic unbuttoned at the collar. His expression was unreadable.

“You’ll get bored of that,” he said without preamble.

Nesta blinked. “Pardon?”

“That book.” He tilted his head toward it, then ambled a step closer, the movement lazy but deliberate. “It was written by a scholar who never left the Forest House. He quotes himself in the footnotes.”

Nesta raised a brow. “You’ve read it?”

“Unfortunately.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t offer thanks. Just closed the book on one finger and waited.

Damian sighed, as if put upon by his own decision to speak. “There’s a better account in the restricted stacks. Written by a courtier who lived here before the last Fire Crown war. Less flattery, more truth.”

“Let me guess,” Nesta said dryly. “You have access.”

His lips curled, not into a smile, into something sharper. “I’m not offering to take you there, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Nesta shrugged. “Didn’t ask.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Whatever he was searching for, he seemed to find it, or not. Hard to tell with Damian.

Then he turned to leave, pausing only once at the threshold. “It’s bound in black, no title on the spine. Left column, second shelf from the floor.”

And then he was gone.

Nesta stared at the doorway he’d vanished through.

She didn’t know what to make of it, of him. But she found herself rising a few minutes later, fingers trailing over the shelves, until she found exactly what he’d described.

Nesta read until the sun dipped low, and the shadows stretched long across the floor.

The halls of the Forest House were quiet again, as if the departure of so many guests had exhaled the last of the tension. Nesta walked through the corridors, her skirts whispering around her ankles. A fire was already light in the hanging lamps when she entered the suite she and Eris now shared, elegant but warm, with deep reds and golds threaded through the tapestries and cushions.

Eris stood by the sitting area, pouring two glasses of wine, already half out of his formal jacket. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and his hair looked slightly windblown, like he’d been out walking or pacing in thought.

“Good timing,” he said, offering her a glass.

Nesta took it with a quiet thanks and curled into the armchair across from him. She took a long sip, then asked, “How was the rest of your day?”

Eris leaned back against the sideboard, swirling his wine. “Productive. Cormac and I went through the latest trade reports and updates from the eastern garrisons. There’s some unrest near the border with Spring, nothing threatening yet, but enough to keep an eye on. Trade’s steady, though.”

Nesta nodded. “I didn’t realize you handled all that directly.”

He gave a faint smile. “Beron likes to pretend he does. But someone has to keep the court from collapsing under his own posturing.”

“And Cormac helps?”

“When he isn’t threatening to throw the reports into the fire out of boredom, yes. He helps me with reports when needed, while Idris is our emissary, and Damian handles the army.”

Nesta let out a quiet laugh and set her glass down. “Well, I spent most of the afternoon in the library. Picked up a book on the history of the Forest House.”

Eris raised a brow. “Found anything interesting?”

“Some. I was reading when Damian showed up.”

That got his attention. He pushed off the sideboard and came to sit beside her on the couch, one leg draped casually. “And?”

“He was still his usual charming self,” she said dryly. “But... not completely awful. He pointed out that I was wasting my time with that particular volume, said there were better records, gave me its placement, and then walked away.”

Eris blinked. “That’s practically a love letter coming from Damian.”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. He still looked at me like I might set the library on fire just by existing.”

“But he acknowledged you. Offered advice. That’s something.”

She studied him, the way his smile was faint but real. “Why does he do that? Why is he like that?”

Eris leaned back, folding an arm across the back of the couch. “He’s... protective. Always has been. Beron’s parenting style left us fending for ourselves, but Damian took that to heart. He decided it was his job to keep the rest of us safe. Even from each other.”

“That’s a lot for one person to carry.”

“It is,” Eris agreed softly. “And it made him sharp. Suspicious. Always watching for weakness or threat. Especially from outsiders.”

“Like me.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But if he pointed you to a better volume, that’s his way of saying he doesn’t think you’re just a threat anymore.”

Nesta raised a brow. “That’s what passing for ‘approval’ looks like in this family?”

He grinned. “From Damian? It’s practically an embrace.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same, warmth flickering low in her chest.

After a pause, Nesta tilted her head, smirking. “If he starts being too nice to me, I might start thinking he’s been possessed.”

Eris huffed a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I think he might be too paranoid to get possessed. You should see him around Rhysand, Damian hates Daemati. The idea of someone in his head makes him absolutely feral.”

Nesta snorted. “That explains the look he gave Rhysand at the reception. I thought he was going to bite him.”

“Oh, he probably would have, if it wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident,” Eris said dryly. “Damian trusts no one he can’t punch in the face.”

“So… everyone,” she said, taking a slow sip of wine. “Except his hounds, maybe.”

“Sometimes I think he loves them more than us,” Eris confirmed solemnly. “They’re like his children.”

Nesta laughed, “Honestly, I respect it. They’re very loyal and it's not like they talk back to him.”

Eris gave her a crooked grin. “Or judge his life choices. Or flirt with my younger brother.”

Nesta raised a brow, amused. “You think I’m flirting with Damian now?”

“I try not to think about it,” he replied with mock seriousness. “It’s bad for my health.”

She nudged his arm with her knee under the table. “Please. I think if I did flirt with him, he’d spontaneously combust.”

“Wouldn’t even leave ashes,” Eris said, leaning back in his chair with a faint smirk. “Just a cloud of horror and judgment.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the fire in the hearth crackling softly, shadows flickering across the carved walls of their shared rooms.

Then Eris glanced over at her, quieter now. “Still… it means something. Him talking to you. Giving you a book suggestion, even.”

Nesta tilted her head, more curious than skeptical. “You think it’s a sign he’s coming around?”

He gave a thoughtful shrug. “It means he’s watching. And with Damian, that’s the first step. He doesn’t bother with people he doesn’t think matter.”

Nesta leaned back against the cushions, letting that sit for a moment. “Well. If he starts offering me reading lists, I’ll know I’ve made it.”

Eris grinned. “And if he starts asking for your opinion… we flee.”

She chuckled again, softer this time, then turned her head to look at him fully. “Thanks. For telling me.”

Eris’s expression, gentle. “Always.”

Notes:

I got my friend to read over the last of the chapters I have prepared, so here is chapter 8! The wedding. I've outlined some more chapters and I can't wait to continue with this story.

Chapter 9: Never Let Me Go

The morning light filtered in through the gauzy curtains, golden and soft, casting faint patterns across the stone floor. Nesta stirred, blinking slowly as she shifted beneath the covers. 

Eris was already awake, seated in one of the chairs near the hearth, a thin stack of documents balanced on his knee. He glanced up as she stirred, and his expression softened. open, but not unguarded.

"You're staring," she said, voice still rough with sleep, “Is this going to be a daily thing?”

"I'm assessing," he replied, tone light. "Trying to determine if I need to call for a healer or if you're just not a morning person."

Nesta stretched slowly, rolling her eyes. “No healer required. Though I wouldn't say no to tea.”

Eris rose and crossed to the small side table where a fresh teapot had been delivered. He poured two cups without asking, handing one to her once she’d pulled on a robe.

They drank together in companionable silence, Nesta perched on the edge of the bed, Eris still standing, his gaze drifting now and then to the window. When she finished her cup and set it aside, she turned toward the dressing chamber.

Her gown was already laid out, a deep green silk with subtle gold embroidery. Nesta had managed to fasten most of it herself before pausing at the more complicated row of clasps at the side.

She heard him approach before he spoke.

“Let me,” he said simply, not assuming but offering.

Nesta paused, then gave a small nod. She turned slightly, allowing him the space to work. His fingers were careful, efficient. Gentle, even. Neither of them spoke as he finished the last clasp and adjusted the fabric over her shoulder.

Their eyes met in the mirror. There was no flirtation, no tension, just a shared understanding, an awareness that this, whatever it was becoming, rested on a fragile sort of trust.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Eris gave a half-smile. “I’ve got a meeting with Lord Fenric and Lord Theron, trade and military updates. I expect to be bored within ten minutes.”

Nesta smoothed the front of her gown. “I’ll be in the library. Trying not to get lost.”

“You know where to find me if you do,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Don’t forget to eat lunch.”

“I never forget to eat,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “Well, at least not anymore.”

He made a quiet, amused sound, and together they stepped into the hallway. Their paths would diverge, but for a moment, they stood side by side, two pieces of something not quite whole, but learning how to be.

Then Eris turned toward the southern wing, and Nesta headed for the stairs, the quiet sanctuary of the Forest House library waiting ahead.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of wind through the tall, arched windows and the soft creak of old wood. Sunlight streamed through stained glass high above, casting dappled colors onto the pale stone floor and gilded shelves. The Forest House’s library was older than it looked, crafted with a reverence for silence, for knowledge, and for the flickering boundary between memory and myth.

Nesta walked slowly down the main aisle, fingers brushing the spines of leather-bound volumes. Many were in languages she didn’t know. Others were so old the titles had faded entirely, their bindings held together by magic and care. She liked it here. It was far removed from the scrutiny of courtiers, from the weight of watchful eyes.

It took her some time to find what she was looking for: a modest section devoted to the history of the Autumn Court. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, maybe just an excuse to learn more, to understand the place she now lived in, had sworn herself to. Or maybe she was searching for stories like her own, ones that didn’t end in fire and ruin.

She selected a worn book titled The Lineages and Holdings of Autumn’s Great Houses , its cover embossed with gold leaf and curling vines. Another thinner volume, The Seat of Autumn: A Chronicle , practically called to her from the second shelf. With both books tucked under her arm, she wandered to the far end of the chamber, to a reading alcove framed by a wide window and a cushioned seat carved into the stone.

It was warm there. The sun poured in through the tall glass panes, and the cushions, in deep burnt orange and wine-red, were soft beneath her as she curled up with her legs folded beneath her.

Opening The Seat of Autumn: A Chronicle , she began to read.

Its first pages detailed not just architectural facts and dates, but the philosophy behind its design, rooms arranged with balance in mind, doorways that aligned with solstice light, a great hall built to echo certain forest clearings sacred to the court’s oldest rituals. The house had been altered, of course. Generations of High Lords left their marks. But the foundation, the roots of it, remained.

Nesta let herself sink into the prose, each word pulling her deeper. Her mind quieted in a way it hadn’t for days. Her fingers idly traced the page’s edge as she read about the ancient rites once held in the east gardens, and the female courtiers who had recorded history when no one else had bothered to.

She didn’t realize how long she’d sat there until the sun shifted and the colors on the floor moved with it. She closed the book and leaned her head against the cool stone of the window frame.

She didn’t belong here, not yet. But something about the age of this place, the way the dust settled in the light, the way voices echoed in reverent hushes, it made her want to. It made her think that she could.

The air was cooler in the hallway outside the library, the scents of sun-warmed parchment and polished wood giving way to the sharper, woodsmoke-and-pine tang of the Forest House corridors. Nesta tucked the book she'd borrowed beneath her arm, fingers lightly pressed against the gold-inked title, The Lineages and Holdings of Autumn’s Great Houses.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent curled in the alcove seat, but her legs were a little stiff as she walked. She debated returning to her rooms, maybe asking one of the staff to bring food, when the sound of voices, low and overlapping, drifted from around the corner. Familiar voices.

She turned the corner to find all three of Eris’s brothers gathered at the far end of the hall, near a wide, arched window that looked out over the Forest House’s southern gardens. They were talking, animated but not tense, and though she couldn’t hear their exact words, there was an ease to them, something that reminded her, uncomfortably, of the way Cassian and Azriel used to banter when they thought she wasn’t listening.

Idris noticed her first. He straightened with a quick smile, nudging Cormac with his elbow. “Lady Nesta,” he called out, stepping forward a little. “You’ve survived your second full day post-wedding. We were about to place bets.”

“On what?” she asked dryly as she approached.

“Whether you’d throttle our brother before the sun rose or after breakfast,” Idris said with a wink.

“I came close,” she muttered. “The dress had too many clasps. Would’ve been justifiable.”

Cormac let out a quiet laugh. “He’s been in meetings all morning. With how grim he looked, we assumed it was either trade numbers or your vengeance.”

“Both, probably,” Nesta said. She paused, glancing toward the still-quiet Damian, who stood a little behind the others, arms crossed, his ever-present scowl firmly in place. “Don’t tell me you’ve all been loitering in this hallway waiting to antagonize me.”

“We’ve been debating whether Idris’s taste in boots is a threat to national security,” Cormac said, as if that were a perfectly reasonable topic of concern.

“They’re suede,” Idris said defensively, lifting a leg to show off the soft brown leather. “You people wouldn’t know style if it bit you.”

Nesta shook her head. “You’re all unwell.”

Idris grinned. “So we’ve been told. But since you’re here, are you enjoying the house?”

Nesta hesitated, then nodded. “It’s… different. But the library’s beautiful. I might get lost in there for the rest of the week.”

“She means she doesn’t want to talk to us,” Cormac said under his breath.

“Can you blame her?” Damian finally spoke, his voice flat but not sharp. “You’ve scared off worse.”

Nesta blinked. She didn’t know if that was meant to be a jab, but there was no bite to it. In fact, it almost sounded… approving? Or at least neutral, which was as close as she’d come to civility from him.

She studied him. “No terrifying guard dog stories today?”

He looked at her like he couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Not today.”

It wasn’t exactly warm. But it wasn’t hostile. That was… new.

Cormac gave Nesta a sidelong glance, like he’d noticed too. “Maybe the wedding softened him,” he murmured.

Damian didn’t rise to the bait. He just turned to Nesta and added, “If you’re going to keep reading in that window seat, take one of the heavier throws. That corridor gets cold in the evenings.”

Nesta blinked. She hadn’t even noticed the draft until now.

“…Thanks,” she said slowly, trying not to look too startled.

Damian gave a slight nod, then pushed off the wall and stalked down the hall without waiting for a reply.

Nesta watched him go, still processing.

Idris looked positively gleeful. “Well. That’s the nicest thing he’s said to anyone all week outside the family. We should mark it on a calendar.”

Cormac muttered, “Damian 1, Feelings 0.”

Nesta shook her head. “If he starts being nice to me consistently, I’m going to start asking for a blood test.”

They laughed, and this time… she didn’t mind the sound. Maybe there was more to the Vanserra brothers than sharp teeth and sharper politics. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to find her place among them.

And that thought stayed with her as she turned down the corridor that led back to her rooms.

As she made her way toward the back of the hall, Nesta couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of something like belonging. There was a strange kind of warmth in the way Cormac and Idris had interacted with her, an unexpected lightness that hadn’t been present in the early days. Even Damian had offered something that wasn’t outright hostility, a gesture so foreign she almost doubted it had happened at all.

She half-smiled at the thought, still processing the exchange. It was a long way from love or even friendship, but it felt like a step forward.

But the lightness of the moment didn’t last long.

As she rounded the corner that led to the grand dining room, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She glanced up, and there, standing before her in the doorway, was Beron.

His presence filled the space. The room seemed to grow colder. The smile faded from her lips, replaced with a quiet, measured neutrality. She had learned over the past few days that it was best not to provoke him, not directly. He didn’t seem to mind much either way, but there was a coldness to him that, at times, could turn brutal without warning.

He didn't offer her a greeting. Instead, he watched her with a look that could have frozen the blood in her veins.

“Lady Nesta,” he said with that clipped, dismissive tone she was learning to dread. “I trust you’re getting accustomed to your new role?”

Nesta met his gaze evenly. “I’m adjusting,” she replied, her voice calm despite the tightness in her chest. She took a step forward, her fingers still brushing against the book under her arm. There was no reason to shrink back, no reason to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled.

Beron’s eyes flicked to the book, then back to her. There was a brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or contempt—but it was gone before she could place it. “I hope your interest in history extends beyond your personal comfort,” he said, his voice lowering, turning the words into something sharper. “Not every tale worth reading has a happy ending, after all.”

There it was. The subtle jab, the way his words never felt like mere comments but like barbed threads meant to unravel something deep inside.

Nesta squared her shoulders. She could feel the tension in her throat, the sharpness in her teeth, but she refused to let him see it. “I’m well aware of that.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Because we both know what you’re really here for.” His gaze narrowed slightly, a predator assessing prey.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t even twitch at the insinuation. “You think I’m here for power, then?” she asked, voice low, controlled.

“Power,” he repeated, as if testing the word. His lips twisted into something that was almost a smirk. “You’re nothing but a tool, Lady Nesta. A means to an end. Don’t forget that.”

His words, sharp as knives, cut through the air, leaving a silence in their wake. Nesta’s chest tightened, but before she could speak, a voice broke through the tension.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Eris’s voice came from behind her, low and dangerous, sending a ripple of surprise through Nesta. He’d been walking the opposite direction, presumably toward his next meeting, but now he was standing at her side. His presence was immediate, protective, even if understated.

Beron looked at his eldest son with a raised eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curling into a sneer. “And what, are you going to do about it?” he drawled, voice full of contempt.

Eris didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “I’m going to ask you to leave,” he said, his tone turning dark, "We'll be going back to our rooms."

For a long moment, Beron studied him, the challenge hanging thick in the air. Nesta held her breath, the tension between the two men as palpable as a storm before it broke.

Finally, Beron took a deliberate step back. “You’ve always been a disappointment, Eris,” he muttered. “But it seems you’ve grown brave. Just don’t forget your place.”

Eris didn’t respond, merely stepping forward with quiet confidence to block his father’s path. Beron didn’t seem to mind, it was a move he expected. Instead, with a low chuckle, he turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor.

As the silence settled in the space after Beron’s departure, Nesta exhaled slowly. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.

Eris turned to her, his expression unreadable. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes, when they met hers, were full of something soft, something she hadn’t expected.

“You’re not a tool,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Never let him convince you of that.”

Nesta swallowed hard. She didn’t trust herself to speak just yet, not with the storm of emotions swirling in her chest. She wasn’t sure whether she should be angry at Beron or grateful for Eris’s intervention, but the tension was still too thick to cut through.

Eris nodded, as though sensing her conflict, and gave her a gentle push toward the hallway. “Come. Let’s get you back to our rooms. You deserve a quiet afternoon.”

Nesta let him guide her away, her fingers still curled tightly around the book she hadn’t even realized she was clutching like a weapon. They walked in silence, her steps measured beside his, the silence between them pulsing with everything unsaid.

When they reached her chamber doors, he didn’t follow her in. He only gave her a brief glance, a shadow of something protective flickering across his face, before nodding once and disappearing down the hall.

She didn’t see him again until nightfall.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, staining the sky with the final threads of dusk. The hanging lights glowed gently around her chambers, casting amber light on the soft velvet drapes and gilded mirrors. Nesta sat curled in the window seat, a book open in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. Her eyes were fixed on the moonlit garden beyond the glass, her thoughts still tangled in Beron’s words, in Eris’s face—how carefully he had kept his anger contained, how calm his voice had been while his eyes burned.

The door creaked open.

She turned sharply, then froze.

Eris stood in the doorway, his coat askew, his hair disheveled. Blood streaked across his cheekbone, a cut split along the corner of his lip. She could see small cuts all over his torso, his shirt torn.

Nesta was on her feet before she realized she’d moved.

“Eris,” she breathed, her voice cracking. She crossed the room in three steps, reaching for him with hands that trembled. “What…what happened?”

He gave her a tired smile. “Beron was displeased.”

Her stomach turned. “He did this to you?”

Eris didn’t deny it.

Instead, he reached up and winced as his fingers grazed a swelling near his jaw. “Apparently speaking out of turn warrants punishment now. Though I suppose it always has. I just forgot.”

Nesta stared at him, fury and disbelief vying for space in her chest. “He hurt you for defending me.”

“That’s generous,” Eris said dryly, pushing off the door and limping a few steps into the room. “He hurt  me for not obeying him. But I’m sure your presence was part of it.”

She caught his arm before he could go further. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “Sit.”

He obeyed without protest, his movements slow, stiff with pain. He slumped into the cushioned chair by the fire, head tipped back against the frame.

Nesta stood over him for a moment, unsure what to do with the fury boiling inside her, until it began to rise into something else. Something hotter, deeper. Not rage. Power.

Carefully, she placed her palm against his chest.

A flicker.

The silver flames surged from her fingertips before she could stop them, warm, crackling energy pouring from her skin into his. They lit the room for a heartbeat, soft as moonlight and just as pure.

Eris’s breath caught.

The bruises faded beneath her hand.

They both stared, neither moving, neither speaking. The silence stretched until he whispered, awed and disbelieving, “You didn’t know you could do that, did you?”

Nesta shook her head slowly. “No,” she said. “But I think I was supposed to.”

Eris didn’t speak right away. He was still staring at her, his breath shallow, the silver light of her magic slowly fading from his skin. One of the smaller cuts on his chest sealed before her eyes, leaving only a faint shimmer where blood had been.

He looked down at it, then up at her again. “That felt different, similar to your power, but…warmer.”

Nesta pulled her hand back, unsettled by how natural it had felt. “It wasn’t.”

He tilted his head, studying her as if seeing her with new eyes. “When you took from the Cauldron… you didn’t just come back with fire and death.”

She shook her head, her voice soft. “The Cauldron gives. It takes. I think I got both.”

“We’ll have to ask Ceres if she can help you understand the healing side of your powers. Autumn is not all fire and destruction,” Eris said with a smirk, “Though not as renowned as Dawn, Autumn has long lines of healers hailing from our court. I’ll ask Damian to help you find some books on it.”

Nesta laughed, soft and a little bitter. “Thank you. You know, I never wanted this power. Not any of it. All it’s ever done is hurt, tear my life apart. But this…” She looked down at her hands, her voice quieter now. “This is the first time it’s felt like something good came from it. Like maybe it wasn’t all just destruction.”

Notes:

Enjoy!

Chapter 10: Drumming Song

The Forest House was quiet in the early morning, wrapped in that particular hush that came before the day’s duties unfurled in full.

Nesta moved through the corridors at a steady pace, her thin boots barely making a sound against the marble floors. Aella padded beside her, the smokehound’s dark fur rippling like a shadow with every step. Though no leash bound them, she stayed close, loyal and watchful.

The House was waking. A maid swept dust from the corners of a great arched window. Two courtiers passed, nodding faintly to Nesta, their conversation fading as they disappeared around a curve in the hallway. From far off, the metallic rhythm of armor being fastened echoed faintly, some guards preparing for the morning patrol.

Nesta exhaled, letting the silence settle over her like a cloak. She’d grown used to the Forest House’s twisting halls, to the way light filtered through narrow windows and gilded the edges of tapestries. There was a rhythm to the place, not unlike Velaris but slower, older. Every room seemed to breathe with its own personality.

They passed the small council chamber. The door stood ajar, the hearth within banked low. Empty. She’d heard that Beron hadn’t attended the morning meetings in two days, not that she cared much for him or his well being. Still, it was curious.

Aella gave a soft huff, ears flicking forward as they neared the eastern entrance to the gardens. Nesta reached down and gave her a light scratch behind the ears.

“I know,” she murmured. “You’d rather be running through the woods.”

The hound gave no reply, but her gaze softened.

The garden door appeared ahead—arched, ivy-wrapped, with warm sunlight spilling beneath the crack.

Lady Aster would be waiting.

The garden door creaked softly as Nesta pushed it open. Aella stepped out first, nose lifting to test the scents on the wind: dew, blooming roses, the faint musk of foxes in the distance. The morning air was cool against Nesta’s cheeks, tinged with the promise of late Autumn.

Lady Aster stood by the reflecting pool in the center of the garden, her hands clasped before her, dark red skirts trailing along the stone pathway like spilled wine. Her gown was elegant but simple, cinched at the waist with a belt of woven bronze leaves. Her hair was done simply, pinned up in a single twist, but as Nesta approached, the older female tilted her head in greeting.

“You’re early,” Aster said, voice calm and low, as if the garden might be listening.

Nesta glanced at the sundial near the hedge. “I could say the same of you.”

Lady Aster smiled faintly and gestured to a small wrought-iron bench beneath a large maple tree, “Join me.”

Nesta did, smoothing her skirts as she sat. Aella settled at her feet, watchful but relaxed.

“I thought it might be nice,” Lady Aster began, “to speak away from the pressures of court. You’ve had so many eyes on you this week. Some are kinder than others.”

Nesta raised a brow. “I’ve noticed.”

Aster’s gaze held a glint of amusement. “You carry yourself well. But it’s not always easy, is it? Being watched. Being judged for every glance, every silence.”

She sounded as if she spoke from experience.

“It’s not,” Nesta agreed. “But I’ve learned how to manage it.”

“I know,” Aster said softly. “That’s what I admire. There’s strength in silence, and power in choosing when to speak.”

A breeze stirred the petals around them, rustling the hedges and setting the surface of the reflecting pool trembling. Nesta looked out over the garden, over the careful cultivation and control. It reminded her, oddly, of herself.

“Why did you ask to meet?” she asked at last.

Lady Aster hesitated. “Because I wanted you to know that not everyone in this court serves Beron blindly. Some of us are watching, listening. And some of us…are quietly pleased by the changes you bring.”

Nesta blinked. “You think I’m changing things?”

“I think you will. You’re already starting to. But more importantly,” Aster added, turning to her fully, “I want you to know you’re not alone.”

It wasn’t a declaration of allegiance. But it was something. A thread of understanding stretched between them, spun of shared silence and subtle defiance.

Nesta inclined her head. “Thank you.”

Aster’s smile softened, genuine now. “Come walk with me. Some of the magnolias are beginning to bloom.”

They rose together, skirts whispering over the path, and began to walk slowly through the garden’s winding trails.

The sun rose higher, and somewhere in the distance, bells chimed the hour.

They walked slowly through the garden paths, the morning soft and golden around them. Lady Aster paused now and then to gesture toward a bloom or remark on a shift in the planting patterns, small, thoughtful details that spoke to her deep familiarity with the Forest House grounds. Nesta listened, replying when needed, but more often letting the quiet fill the spaces between.

It wasn’t an urgent meeting. It didn’t need to be. The message had already been delivered: she wasn’t alone.

Eventually, as the sun climbed higher, they circled back toward the ivy-wrapped door. Lady Aster placed a gentle hand on Nesta’s arm before they parted.

“Not everything in Autumn is as it seems,” she said. “The same goes for its people.”

Nesta nodded once, and Aella rose at her side without needing a command.

Back through the hallways, the Forest House had fully woken, more voices now, more motion. Courtiers glided like swans through the corridors. Pages rushed with messages. Even the air had shifted, warmed by the sun slanting through the tall windows.

Nesta passed a sitting room where servants laid out wine and roasted venison. Down another hall, she glimpsed a glimpse of Idris speaking to a steward with an expression of mild irritation.

Aella peeled off at a side corridor, perhaps to return to the kennels or the forest, and Nesta offered her a fond, silent goodbye.

When she reached her and Eris’s shared rooms, the door opened before she could open it herself.

He stood there, his clothes slightly rumpled, red hair caught up in a careless twist as though he’d pulled at it in frustration. His eyes found hers immediately, warm for a moment, then clouded.

“You’re back,” he said. “Good.”

She arched her brow. “Lunch with your wife slipped your mind?”

“No,” he muttered, stepping aside to let her in. “Just…distracted.”

She stepped into the room. A low table near the windows had been set with platters; her favorite bread, a tart, plum jam, cold meats, and fruit. Eris had clearly tried, but his expression didn’t ease as she settled into a cushioned chair.

She poured herself a glass of water before asking, “What happened?”

He hesitated, then crossed the room to sit beside her, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Beron missed another council session today.”

Nesta blinked. “Again?”

Eris nodded slowly. “That’s two in the past five days. And no word, no excuse offered, no message delivered. Just silence.”

“That’s unlike him,” Nesta said carefully.

“Yes. And that’s not all.” His gaze cut to hers, sharp and wary. “I’ve heard… things. From the guard. Whispers.”

She leaned forward slightly. “What kind of things?”

“A cloaked visitor. Someone arriving in secret, not on any official list. They’re not staying in the guest wings. And my father has been meeting with them privately. No one’s seen their face.”

The tension in his shoulders said he already had suspicions, dark ones. Nesta didn’t speak, letting the silence press until he looked at her again.

“I don’t know what it means,” he admitted. “But I trust you. And your instincts.”

It was a rare thing, to hear such honesty from him without armor or cleverness.

Nesta folded her hands in her lap. “Do your brothers know?”

“Not yet. I was going to tell Idris this evening. Cormac will want to know too. And even Damian has been… oddly cooperative lately.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that.

“But I wanted to speak to you first,” Eris added. “Before we do anything. If Beron is meeting with someone in secret, and we don’t know who they are, it could be dangerous. For all of us.”

Nesta met his gaze squarely. “Then we’ll find out.”

His breath caught slightly at the “we.”

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing his hand once, deliberately. “We’re stronger together, Eris. Start with your brothers. I’ll listen, I’ll watch. And we’ll figure this out.”

A silence fell between them, not heavy, but brimming. Something more solid than suspicion was forming between them now. Not just strategy or survival. Trust.

And somewhere beyond the windows, the trees rustled, whispering of old roots and deeper shadows.

---

They didn’t meet in the formal war room or in the drawing rooms where servants could drift too close. Instead, Eris led Nesta down a narrow stairwell behind a tapestry of a flame-winged phoenix, through an old hallway whose windows looked out into nothing but dark trees.

At the end of the hall, a modest door opened to a long, low-ceilinged room that smelled faintly of cedar and ash. A fireplace crackled quietly, logs burning low. The furniture was mismatched, clearly an old family retreat, long forgotten by most of the household.

The three Vanserra brothers were already there, seated around a circular table. Damian leaned back in his chair, spinning a dagger between his fingers. Cormac stood near the hearth, his arms folded. Idris sat nearest the door, one leg crossed over the other, a dark brow raised as they entered.

Nesta took a seat beside Eris. The quiet closed in, heavy with unspoken tension.

Eris was the one to break it. “Beron’s been holding private meetings. Off the record. At night.”

That got all three brothers to still.

“With who?” Damian asked, leaning forward, the dagger stilling in his hand.

“We don’t know,” Eris said. “No name. No face. Just whispers. A cloaked visitor. Guards have seen someone, but no one official has announced their presence. And our dear father has missed two council sessions in the last five days.”

“Odd,” Idris said slowly, brows furrowing. “Even for him. He doesn’t leave power sitting unattended.”

Damian snorted. “Maybe he’s just scheming another insult for your next diplomatic event.”

But his sarcasm didn’t reach his eyes.

Eris shook his head. “This feels different. I can’t explain it, just… watchfulness. He’s planning something, and it’s big enough to warrant secrecy even from us.”

“We should be careful,” Cormac said, voice low. “If we’re right, we’re already at risk. He’ll notice if we sniff around too obviously.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Damian added, his tone skeptical but not cruel. “We end up chasing shadows while the real danger walks through the front door.”

Nesta spoke then, calm and clear. “We’re not chasing shadows. We’re preparing. Quietly.”

All three looked at her.

She continued, “Eris and I will keep asking around, discreetly. Watch Beron’s patterns. I’ll look through the archive for anything recent he’s accessed, any documents or maps moved. Maybe someone’s keeping a record they shouldn’t be.”

Idris perked up at that, eyes gleaming faintly. “Do I get to sneak around the guest wings and flirt with suspicious courtiers?”

“No,” Cormac said flatly. “You do not.”

Eris smirked slightly. “But you can keep your ears open. Guests talk more than they should. Especially after wine.”

“What about me?” Damian asked, still frowning.

“You’ll know if any guard rotations shift,” Eris said. “You’ve trained most of them. If our father’s moving around at odd hours, you’ll be the one who notices first.”

A silence settled. Not full agreement, but something close. An understanding.

Nesta added, “This only works if we’re smart. No brash accusations. No power plays. Just eyes open.”

Cormac gave a slow nod. “We’ll do it your way. For now.”

Idris offered a crooked smile. “This might be fun.”

Damian said nothing, but his arms uncrossed.

Eris looked around the table, then at Nesta. A flicker of pride passed through his expression.

“Then we begin,” he said.

Notes:

I've read lots of stories where the brothers and Nesta don't get along but I quite like the idea of the opposite. I guess this is not fully canon because the those relationships but to be fair we do know so little about the Vanserra brothers and their relationships. They grew up with an abusive father so I'm having it make them closer in this story, eager to protect their own, which will eventually include Nesta!

Chapter 11: Seven Devils

The late-autumn light filtered through tall, arched windows of the study, casting amber-gold patterns across the thick rugs and polished mahogany shelves. The air was scented faintly with old parchment, resin from the fire crackling in the hearth, and the dry, leafy musk of the woods that surrounded the Forest House. Outside, the wind stirred the golden leaves, sending a soft rustling through the glass panes, like whispered secrets from the trees.

Nesta sat at a carved oak desk near the window, the grain of the wood warm beneath her fingers. The letter lay open before her, the curling Night Court insignia inked in silver atop the page, glowing faintly in the fading light. She stared at it for a long while before folding it with a sigh, the parchment crinkling softly in the stillness.

"I’m not sure about this," she murmured, turning the letter over in her hands. "It feels... wrong, considering everything that's happening."

Eris reclined in a high-backed velvet chair a few feet away, one leg draped casually over the other, a tumbler of brandy cradled in his fingers. The flames from the hearth danced in his red hair, casting flickering shadows across his sharp cheekbones and thoughtful expression. His gaze never left her.

“I don’t like it,” she said, handing the parchment to Eris.

“You think I do?” Eris muttered, scanning the letter. “The Night Court doesn’t reach out unless they want something.”

“They say it’s for Feyre’s birthday,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “But they know I’m not exactly…ready for reunions.”

Eris tapped the parchment against his knee. “They also know Beron is hiding something. The Shadowsinger and his spies have been sniffing around. It’s possible they’ve uncovered more.”

Nesta looked at him. “You think I should go.”

“I think…” He hesitated, then exhaled through his nose. “As much as it pains me to admit it, we may need them. If they know something we don’t, and you can confirm it while also attending for the celebration, it’s cleaner than sending a spy.”

Nesta exhaled through her nose and stared at the dancing firelight reflecting off the windowpane. The forest beyond was slowly being claimed by dusk, the trees now shadows, their branches scraping softly against the glass.

"I'll need time to think about it," she said, though the choice was already beginning to settle like a stone in her chest.

Eris gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on her a heartbeat longer before he leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch between them like a held breath. 

She nodded slowly, and before either of them could say more, a sharp knock came at the door.

A servant dipped her head in. “High Lord Beron has requested your presence for dinner. Both of you.”

Nesta met Eris’s eyes.

“Wonderful,” he said flatly, standing. “Let’s go endure that, shall we?”

The Forest House’s dining hall was becoming a common sight to Nesta. Long, narrow, and flanked by stone columns carved with fire motifs, it held a single obsidian table that could seat fifty. Tonight, only seven places had been set; one at the head, and three to each side.

The candles in the iron chandeliers overhead were dimmed, casting more shadow than light. Emberlight flickered in sconces lining the walls, the smell of smoke and spiced meat thick in the air. The scent reminded Nesta, distantly, of war camps.

She walked beside Eris, her gold-threaded gown swaying with each step. Across from them, Idris and Cormac had already taken their seats. Damian leaned back with an expression caught between disdain and boredom. At the head of the table sat Beron.

He didn’t rise when they entered. “You’re late,” he said, his voice low and sharp as a knife’s edge.

Eris inclined his head with mock reverence. “We live to serve, Father.”

Nesta held her chin high as she sat beside him. She could feel Beron’s eyes on her, studying, sizing her up.

“I see the bride is still lingering,” Beron said, swirling the wine in his goblet. “I’d thought you'd be gone by now, running back to your former Court.”

“I’ve made my choice,” Nesta said coolly.

“Mm. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

Servants appeared, placing silver platters of roasted venison, charred root vegetables, and heavy loaves of dark bread onto the table. The clink of cutlery and goblets filled the space for a while, the only noise between them.

Beron cut into his meat with slow precision. “I hear the Night Court’s been sniffing at our borders again. Your former family must be restless.”

Nesta didn’t rise to the bait. But she felt Eris tense beside her.

Beron sliced into his venison with slow, deliberate precision, gaze sweeping lazily across the table. “You’ve been quiet, girl. The glamour of court life worn thin already?”

“She has better things to do than entertain your insults,” Eris said, his tone deceptively mild.

Beron’s lip curled. “You’re bold for a son who still wears borrowed authority.”

Lady Aurelia’s knife paused mid-cut. Idris shifted in his seat, and Cormac’s jaw tensed. Damian said nothing, swirling his wine like he was considering throwing it.

Beron turned back to Eris with a sneer. “I do hope you’ve remembered your place, boy. And that you’ve explained hers,” he gestured lazily toward Nesta, “before she starts thinking she actually has one here.”

Nesta’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “Is that how you rule, then? By reminding others where they stand?.”

Beron’s smile was sharp, all venom and no humor. “Careful, girl. Play with fire long enough, and it will burn away what little use you have.”

“We’ve survived worse,” Eris said under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

The conversation turned then, if it could be called that, to court dealings and border patrol rotations, to Winter Court trade delays and vague mentions of unrest in the villages. Beron gave no acknowledgment to Eris’s recent reforms or growing influence. Every word was designed to remind, to diminish. To bait.

Not a single mention of the letter from the Night Court. Nesta and Eris hadn’t told him, and wouldn’t.

When the final course was cleared and the wine replaced with something sharper, Nesta rose with Eris. Beron said nothing, only sat back in his chair and watched them with the expression of a predator too bored to chase.

The fire crackled softly in the study, the logs seasoned and fragrant, casting long shadows across the walls. It was one of Eris’s private rooms tucked on the eastern wing of the Forest House, far enough from the central halls that they wouldn’t be overheard. Heavy drapes sealed out the night, and a subtle enchantment muffled sound from within.

Nesta stood near the hearth, her arms loosely folded, the warmth of the flames brushing her back. Eris sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs, elbows on his knees, glass of brandy balanced between his hands. The other Vanserra brothers were scattered around the room in varying degrees of tension, Cormac at the desk with his fingers idly tracing runes into the wood, Idris perched on the arm of a velvet couch, and Damian leaning in the shadows near the bookcase, his profile hard in the dim firelight.

“This isn’t just about the usual backdoor politics,” Eris began quietly. “He’s changing the rhythm of the court. Skipping war council meetings. Hosting unannounced guests with no record of their arrival or departure. Even Mother has been kept in the dark.”

Idris leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Have you caught sight of any of these guests?”

“No. And the guard rotations around his wing have doubled, none of our people are assigned there anymore.” Eris’s mouth tightened. “Whatever it is, it’s big. And it’s not just about Autumn.”

“And you’re thinking it’s Briallyn?” Damian asked, voice gruff.

“We don’t know,” Eris said. “But she’s the likeliest candidate. She’s still out there. And Beron... he has no loyalty to anyone but himself.”

Nesta’s voice cut through the low tension. “Then it’s time we started preparing for whatever’s coming.”

Eris looked at her, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “There’s something else.”

He set down his glass and withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket, sliding it across the small table toward the center of the room. “A letter arrived. From the Night Court. For Nesta.”

Cormac’s brows rose. Damian straightened from the wall.

Idris blinked. “What?”

“Feyre’s birthday,” Eris said. “They’re inviting Nesta to attend.”

A heavy silence fell, broken only by the soft hiss of the fire.

“No,” Damian said immediately, stepping forward. “Absolutely not.”

“She’s not going alone,” Cormac added, more measured but no less firm. “This feels too timed. Too convenient.”

Their protectiveness didn’t strike Nesta as patronizing. Not now. Not after everything. It surprised her how much it actually meant, that they cared, that they were worried for her. Not because she was Eris’s wife or some figure of political weight, but because she was Nesta . And in their own prickly, flame-scarred way… they were beginning to see her as part of them. She hadn't realized how much she’d wanted that, how good it felt not to be merely tolerated, but defended.

“I understand the concern,” she said softly. “But she’s my sister. And I haven’t seen her since the wedding. That alone makes the invitation believable. But Eris is right. The Night Court might know something. Azriel and his spies were already working with him against Beron before the wedding. If anyone’s uncovered new information, it’s them.”

“You think they’re baiting you?” Idris asked, clearly trying to weigh every angle.

“I think they’re offering an opportunity. And right now, we need every advantage we can get.”

Eris met her gaze. “I told her earlier, I hate the idea of sending her into their court. But I also know they could have answers we don’t.”

“We’ve all been watching Beron, but it’s still puzzle pieces,” Cormac said. “They might have pieces we’re missing.”

“Or the whole damn picture,” Damian muttered. “Still doesn’t mean you should go without protection.”

Eris rubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t leave. Not without raising questions. He’s sent me to oversee a border dispute, and if I back out now, he’ll know something’s off.”

“I’ll go,” Idris said after a moment. He stood, already bracing for argument. “He trusts me enough. I’ll ask for leave tomorrow. Escort Nesta, stay long enough to assess the situation, and bring back whatever we can.”

Nesta looked at him, surprised. “You’d really do that?”

Idris shrugged one shoulder, but there was steel behind his smile. “We’re not letting you walk into the Night Court alone. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Cassian and his smirking.”

That earned a laugh from Cormac and a grunt of agreement from Damian.

Eris stepped closer to her, brushing his fingers lightly along her forearm, just a whisper of a touch. “You’ll be careful?”

Nesta nodded, her voice quiet. “I always am.”

He arched his brow. “You aren’t. But you’re clever. That I’ll count on.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment, something warm flickering beneath the crackling tension.

Then Idris clapped his hands together. “Well. This just got interesting.”

Cormac stood and poured another round of brandy, the bottle glinting amber in the firelight. “To war,” he muttered, raising his glass. “Or whatever this is turning into.”

Damian didn’t toast, but he didn’t stop them either.

Nesta took her glass last, the cool crystal against her fingers grounding her as the flames danced behind her. Whatever was coming, she could feel it pressing closer. But she wasn’t walking into it alone.

Not this time.

The brothers eventually trickled out of the study, their voices trailing down the hall. The warmth of the brandy lingered in Nesta’s chest, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tension that had gathered at the base of her spine. She stayed where she was, gazing into the fire as slowly died out, the heat a low pulse at her back.

Eris shut the door behind the last of his brothers, the soft click echoing through the now-quiet room. He didn’t speak at first. Just walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps and stood beside her at the hearth, his shoulder brushing hers.

“I didn’t expect them to react like that,” Nesta said after a moment, her voice hushed.

“They’ve always been protective,” Eris replied, watching the flames. “They just don’t show it until they decide someone is worth the trouble.”

Nesta huffed a quiet laugh. “So I’ve passed some invisible Vanserra brother test?”

Eris turned to her then, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You set the bar on fire, actually.”

That earned a real smile from her, brief, but genuine. “It surprised me,” she admitted. “How quickly they were on my side. I didn’t realize I cared if they were.”

“You do,” Eris said gently. “It’s alright that you do.”

Nesta looked up at him, and he wasn’t smiling now. Just watching her with that intense, unguarded expression he reserved only for her.

“I’ve been on the outside of so many families,” she murmured. “Even my own, sometimes.”

Eris didn’t flinch at that. “I know the feeling.”

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. Just thoughtful. Familiar.

He stepped closer, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I hate that I can’t go with you.”

She leaned into his touch slightly. “I’ll be alright.”

“I know you will. That doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

“Idris is a good choice,” she said. “He’s steady. Smart.”

Eris nodded. “He volunteered without even looking at me first. That was... telling.”

Nesta’s lips curled faintly. “They’re not so bad.”

“They’re bastards,” Eris said lightly, his tone affectionate. “But they’re our bastards.”

She laughed again, and Eris let out a quiet breath, as if the sound eased something in him.

Then he sobered. “You’ll tell me everything right? If something feels off, if anything happens—”

“I will.” Her hand found his fingers curling around his palm. “And I’ll come back.”

Eris brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “You always do.”

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the hush of firelight and the quiet rhythm of their breathing, hands still intertwined. And even though danger loomed in the days ahead, Nesta felt, for this moment, like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Notes:

I'm so glad I planned out the bones of this story when I first started. I hated outlines in school, but they (sadly) might be useful sometimes, I have up to chapter 14 somewhat written right now! Some of them just need to be read over by my friend before I upload.

Also I was so proud of the flame-scarred comment. Nesta + her band of traumatised red heads (Vanserra brothers) against the world.

Chapter 12: Breaking Down

Notes:

I went a little overboard with this one and its over 8k words, enjoy!!

Nesta moved with careful purpose, folding each dress into neat piles. The colors, autumnal in nature—burnt oranges, deep reds, and forest green—mirrored the hues of the Court she was now from. The layers of fabric felt heavy in her hands, but it wasn’t the weight of the gowns that burdened her.

“Don’t overthink it,” Eris’s voice came from the doorway, low and steady. He was leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable, but there was a warmth in his gaze.

Nesta didn’t look up as she folded the last dress, but she could feel him watching her. “I’m not overthinking,” she said softly, though the words rang with a bitterness she didn’t mean to show. “I’m just... preparing.”

“Preparations are good,” Eris said, pushing himself off the frame and stepping into the room. “But overthinking comes next.” His voice carried a lightness that, even though she didn’t show it, made her shoulders relax. “You’ll be fine. Idris will be with you.”

Her gaze flickered toward the window, and the landscape of the Autumn Court stretched beyond, leaves of various colors falling slowly from trees in the distance, “And you?”

Eris came closer, and this time, she let herself look at him, really look. The speckled gold in his eyes burned brighter than the flame they stood next to, but his usual guardedness wasn’t there.

“I’ll be here,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving hers.

There was something in his voice. Something unspoken.

Nesta swallowed hard, unable to completely fight the tremble that threatened her voice. “I’ll come back.”

“I know you will.” Eris’s words were gentle, but they carried a weight, the unspoken truth between them both.

She folded the last of the dresses and stood up, finally meeting his gaze. The air between them shifted, a softness that neither of them had allowed for before.

She didn’t hesitate when she stepped forward, her fingers brushing the lapel of his coat. “I’ll be alright,” she said.

Eris's lips curled slightly, though there was something bittersweet about the expression. He leaned in, just a breath away from her, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be waiting for your return.”

Their eyes locked, and for the first time, Nesta felt the pull that had been there all along, a tether between them neither had acknowledged until now. His gaze softened as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, and with a soft exhale, he closed the distance.

Her heart skipped a beat as their lips met in a gentle, fleeting kiss. It was soft, hesitant, but something within her unraveled with the touch. When they pulled apart, her breath was shaky, and her mind felt too full.

“You’re leaving me with this, then?” Eris said, his voice a quiet tease as his thumb traced her jawline.

“I think you’ll manage,” she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her heart still pounded.

“I’ll miss you,” he added, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

The next moment, they were standing together in the courtyard, Idris already there, his expression unreadable but the faintest glint of concern in his eyes. The air felt cooler now, the late afternoon breeze creeping in.

“We should go,” Idris said, breaking the silence. His eyes flicked to Eris, then back to Nesta. “The sooner we leave, the sooner this will be over.”

Eris gave a short nod but didn’t move, his gaze still locked with Nesta’s. “Be careful. And remember, if anything goes wrong, I’m here.” He pulled her in for another brief moment, wrapping his arms around her before letting go.

She nodded, keeping the weight of his words in her mind. Then, with one last glance at him, she followed Idris toward the clearing. The wind whipped through her hair as they stood together, and with a sharp breath, they winnowed away. The transition was almost immediate, one moment, she was standing in the quiet of Autumn, the next, they were in the heart of the Hewn City. The halls stretched out before them, dark, shadowed, and imposing.

Rhysand and Feyre stood in the middle of the room, their figures illuminated by the glow of lanterns that dotted the walls. Cassian and Azriel flanked them, their imposing figures filling out the space with an undeniable presence.

Nesta took a breath and moved forward, feeling the weight of their gazes as she approached. Azriel gave her a quiet nod, and she returned it with a small, uncertain smile.

“We weren’t sure if you were coming,” Rhysand said, his voice playful but edged with concern. “Idris doesn’t have to stay, you know. You’ve been to Velaris before.”

Idris, standing beside Nesta, let out a snort. “I’m here to make sure nothing goes wrong, High Lord. I’m not about to leave her alone in your city with you around.”

Cassian's grin faltered as he watched Idris stand a little too close to Nesta, his protective stance clear in the way he positioned himself beside her. His eyes flicked over to the empty space where Eris should have been, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Leave it to Idris to be the overprotective one,” he muttered under his breath, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone.

Feyre smiled at the banter, but her eyes flicked to Nesta, worry hidden beneath the friendly smile. “Are you sure about this, Nesta? You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said quickly, though she appreciated the concern. “I’ll be fine.”

The wind howled as the landscape shifted, and in the blink of an eye, Nesta and Idris were winnowed from the dark room in Hewn City to the quieter, more welcoming air of Velaris.

The change was immediate. The oppressive atmosphere of the Hewn City, laden with tension and unease, was replaced with the calm beauty of the River House. The lush trees lining the riverbank glowed with soft lanterns, and the soothing sound of the flowing water added a sense of peace to the night. 

As they arrived, the front door of the house opened, and Nesta saw her sister standing at the threshold. Elain was the first to spot her, her face lighting up with recognition. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, her arms open wide.

“Nesta!” Elain’s voice was full of warmth, and before Nesta could even move, her sister’s arms were around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. The scent of flowers and herbs surrounded her, Elain, always so kind, always so welcoming.

Nesta held her sister close, a strange mix of emotions rushing through her chest. It felt so different from the tensions in the Autumn Court. Here, with Elain, there was a sense of peace that she hadn’t even realized she was missing.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Elain whispered into her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Nesta murmured, feeling her throat tighten. It was good to see her sister, she hadn’t realised how much she missed Elain.

As Elain stepped back, her eyes scanned Nesta’s face, a curious smile pulling at her lips. “You look good. I hope they’re treating you well.”

Before Nesta could respond, Lucien stepped forward, his golden eye studying the two of them, then his gaze flicking over to Idris, who had been standing back silently.

Idris met Lucien’s eye, a raised brow hinting at something that Nesta couldn’t place. He gave a small nod, then offered Lucien a polite, if slightly strained, smile.

“How have you been, brother?” Idris asked, his voice warm but with an edge of curiosity. He hadn’t seen Lucien in some time, and Nesta could sense the slight awkwardness between them, though they had no real reason for tension.

Lucien blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. “I’ve been... well enough,” he replied slowly. “And you?”

“Busy,” Idris answered, still studying Lucien carefully. “I’ve been... handling matters for Eris.” He didn’t say more than that, but the implication was clear. He was here for Nesta, in some way. It wasn’t just a casual visit.

Lucien’s gaze flicked over to Nesta, his expression unreadable. He might have known about the reasons Idris was here, but Nesta had the feeling that even he wasn’t quite sure about everything that was going on.

“Well,” Lucien said, running a hand through his hair, his usual sarcasm returning, “it’s good to see you here, Idris. We don’t get enough Vanserras visiting the Night Court.” His tone was teasing, but there was an undertone of something else—wariness, perhaps, or simply the recognition that things were changing, and he didn’t quite know what to expect.

Idris gave him a sharp look but didn’t rise to the bait. “Just here for Nesta, nothing more.”

At that, Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, his golden eye narrowing as he looked between Idris and Nesta. He seemed to study the dynamic between them, and for a moment, Nesta wondered if he understood more than he let on.

“I see,” Lucien said, but his voice was quieter now. His teasing tone was gone, replaced with something more thoughtful.

Nesta glanced at Elain, who had moved slightly to the side, her eyes scanning her sister and her surroundings. There was a soft smile on her face, but she hadn’t missed the tension in the exchange between the two brothers.

“Let’s go inside,” Elain suggested, her voice a touch quieter than usual, though her warmth was still evident. “It’s late, and you must be tired from your travels.”

They nodded, and the group made their way into the River House. The warmth from the hearth greeted them as they stepped inside, the soft crackling of the fire adding to the peaceful atmosphere. Feyre and Rhysand were already settled near the fire, and Cassian was lounging in one of the chairs, his easy grin offering a welcome distraction from the tension. Azriel stood near the doorway, his presence silent and watchful, ever the sentinel.

Feyre smiled warmly as they entered. “I am so glad you’re here Nesta,” she said, “I know it’s late, so we can talk tomorrow if you’d prefer.”

Nesta felt a small sense of relief at Feyre’s suggestion. She wasn’t ready to talk about everything just yet, not with the weight of the journey still on her shoulders.

“That sounds perfect,” Nesta replied, though she could feel the eyes of the room on her, especially Rhysand’s. His gaze was sharp, but there was some form of understanding in his eyes.

Rhysand stood, his eyes flicking between Nesta and Idris for a moment before he gave a slight nod. “You both are welcome to stay in the House of Wind for the night. It’s not far, and there’s more than enough space.” His tone was inviting, though there was a sense of formality in the offer.

Before Nesta could respond, Idris spoke, his voice low and firm. “Nesta won’t be staying somewhere where she can’t leave again,” he snapped, his eyes cutting toward Rhysand with barely concealed irritation.

The tension in the room rose for a heartbeat, but Feyre stepped in before things could escalate. “We do have extra rooms here in the River House,” she said quickly, her tone smoothing over the tension. “Near Elain’s room. You’ll be comfortable there.”

Idris didn’t argue further, but his jaw tightened in silent agreement. Nesta felt a strange relief at Feyre’s words. The River House felt safer, more familiar somehow. She knew it wasn’t her usual comfort, but it would do for now.

“Thank you,” Nesta said, offering Feyre a small but genuine smile.

Elain, ever the gracious host, moved to Nesta’s side. “I can show you to your rooms,” she offered gently. “Lucien and I will make sure you’re settled in.”

Lucien gave a curt nod, his golden eye assessing the room one last time before he followed Elain toward the stairs. Idris followed them, his pace slow but steady, his focus on the task at hand, as though he were trying to shake off the tension that had followed him from the conversation.

As they made their way upstairs, Elain’s voice broke the silence. “It’s been a while since you left. I know things have been…complicated between us, but I’m glad you’re here, Nesta.”

Nesta didn’t respond right away. The weight of Elain’s words hung in the air, and as they walked down the hallway toward the rooms, she found herself thinking about everything that had brought her to this point. She had a sense that Elain wanted to say more, but she didn’t push her, letting the quiet moments stretch out between them.

When they reached the door, Elain turned to Nesta. “This is your room. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nesta nodded, though the room, comfortable as it was, felt unfamiliar. It was meant to be a refuge, a place to gather her thoughts, but for some reason, it felt like a temporary stop, just another place to wait before something else inevitably happened.

“Thank you,” Nesta said softly, her hand brushing the door frame as she stepped inside, noting Idris entering the room beside hers.

Elain gave a warm smile, though it was tinged with something softer, something almost sad. “Rest, Nesta. Tomorrow will be a new day.”

As Elain and Lucien turned to leave, Nesta stood at the window, looking out at the stars over Velaris. She thought about Eris, about the promise he had whispered to her before they’d parted ways. But he wasn’t here, and for the first time in a while, Nesta realized that for the first time in years, she knew where she belonged, and it was not in Velaris.

---

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden haze across the River House bedroom. Nesta blinked against the brightness, the unfamiliarity of her room in Velaris settling around her. She sat up slowly, brushing sleep from her eyes, and let herself breathe for a moment, just one, before she stood and began to get ready.

She chose the ruby red dress deliberately.

It shimmered like flame when she pulled it over her body, the bodice adorned with delicate gold embroidery that trailed like firelight down into the full skirt. The weight of it felt grounding, regal. She placed the circlet, golden, decorated with red rubies, just above her brow. A wedding gift from Eris. A crown made not of duty, but of recognition.

She studied her reflection in the mirror for a moment. There was no hiding who she was here. So she would not try.

A knock sounded on the door just as she turned away from the mirror.

Nesta opened it to find Idris standing there, freshly dressed in crisp Autumn Court attire, bronze and russet tones that somehow didn’t make him look like a Vanserra, not in the way Eris did. But there was a hint of Eris in his eyes, in the sharpness of his cheekbones, in the defiant set of his mouth.

“You ready?” he asked, hands in his pockets. His voice was still rough with sleep, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Or are you planning to stun the entire city first?”

Nesta arched her brow. “I thought I’d give them a head start.”

Idris huffed a quiet laugh. “Come on. Apparently there’s breakfast before the birthday chaos starts.”

They walked together down the wide hallways of the River House, the sun glinting off the stained-glass windows as they passed. It was quiet this early, but not unpleasant.

“Did you sleep?” Idris asked, glancing at her sideways.

“Well enough,” Nesta said truthfully. “You?”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Can’t say I’ve ever been this close to so many Night Court people without reaching for a knife.”

“Progress,” she murmured, lips twitching. He gave a snort in response.

The scent of fresh bread, fruits, and coffee met them before they reached the dining room. Voices filtered out, a low hum of laughter, the clink of silverware. Idris slowed slightly, and Nesta caught the momentary flicker of tension in his jaw.

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on. I’ve been through worse than breakfast with the Inner Circle.”

Idris muttered something that sounded a lot like “Debatable,” but followed her in.

The dining room was sun-drenched, light pouring through the windows and casting the long table in a warm glow. At the head of it sat Feyre, smiling brightly, dressed in soft blue and silver that made her look every bit the High Lady. Rhysand was at her side, casual and content, his arm resting behind her chair as he chatted with Azriel and Amren.

Cassian was laughing—loudly, of course—with Mor seated beside him, her golden hair shining in the sunlight. Elain sat near the far end with Lucien, and both looked up as Nesta and Idris entered.

The room quieted for a beat. Not in tension, exactly. Just awareness.

“Good morning,” Feyre greeted, her voice warm but measured, and her eyes lingered on Nesta’s circlet for a fraction of a second.

“Happy birthday,” Nesta said, inclining her head slightly.

Feyre’s smile brightened, genuine now. “Thank you.”

Rhysand raised a brow at Idris but didn’t comment, choosing instead to gesture toward two open seats. “There’s room. I hope you both like cinnamon bread.”

“Only if it’s warm,” Idris replied dryly as he slid into the chair.

Cassian looked up at the sound of their footsteps, and for a heartbeat, he stilled, completely, utterly still. His hazel eyes flicked from Idris, standing just behind her, to the circlet of gold and rubies on her brow, then back to her face. Something flickered in them, something raw. But he masked it quickly behind a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Didn’t realize Autumn Court bred charm,” he said, tone light, but the jab was there.

Idris only smirked. “Didn’t realize the Night Court bred brooding.”

Nesta said nothing as she slid into the empty chair beside Idris, across from Mor.

Mor, dressed in her usual red, didn’t bother hiding her disdain. Her brown eyes swept over Nesta with open judgment, lips pressed together in a smile that was anything but kind. Nesta returned her gaze with cool indifference.

Across the table, Amren slowly set down her teacup. Her silver eyes narrowed slightly.

“Married life suits you,” she said, voice soft, but laced with an edge. “Though I imagine Autumn fire doesn’t warm the bed quite like Night Court steel.”

A sharp, uncomfortable silence followed.

Nesta lifted her teacup, took a sip, and said evenly, “You’d be surprised what warmth is, once you’ve stopped freezing out the world.”

Rhysand cleared his throat. His smile was diplomatic, but his violet eyes had sharpened. “Let’s try to keep things civil. For Feyre’s sake.”

“I’m perfectly civil,” Amren said, shrugging. “It’s not my fault if civility stings.”

Feyre shot her a look before turning back to Nesta, offering a warm smile that held something like hope. “I’m glad you came.”

Nesta held her sister’s gaze. “So am I.”

From her place near the end of the table, Elain beamed. “You look beautiful, Nesta. That circlet is… stunning.”

“Thank you,” Nesta said, her voice softening, “It was a wedding gift from Eris.”

Lucien nodded in agreement beside Elain, ever the diplomat. “It’s good to see you again. And you, Idris. Welcome.”

Idris gave him a courteous nod. “Thank you. Your court is… different.”

Lucien grinned. “That’s one word for it.”

As the breakfast continued, conversation resumed, though it flowed more awkwardly now, broken by silences too heavy to ignore. Cassian hardly spoke again, his gaze flickering too often to Nesta’s circlet, to the way she deliberately dressed in Autumn colors, sitting beside her husband's brother.

Mor ignored her entirely, choosing instead to speak only to Feyre and Amren. And every so often, Nesta caught Rhysand watching her—not with hatred, but with suspicion, as though waiting for her to make a wrong move.

It was only Elain and Lucien who brought ease to the table, gently drawing Idris into conversation about travel and court customs. Elain even made Nesta laugh, a soft, startled sound that momentarily silenced the table again.

And through it all, Nesta sat tall, the ruby circlet gleaming in the morning light, a quiet defiance in every breath she took.

She was not here to apologize.

Not to the court that had once abandoned her. Not to the male who had broken her heart and now watched her as though it were still his to grieve. She had chosen this path. Chosen fire and thorns and the risk of burning. And she knew now that she had chosen right.

The silence that followed the last scrape of silverware was thick, layered with words left unsaid. Then, softly, Feyre cleared her throat.

“Nesta,” she said, her voice tentative. “Would you… would you come with me? Just for a few minutes. Elain too, if that’s all right. I thought maybe the three of us could talk.”

Nesta looked to Elain, who gave a small, encouraging nod. There was a thread of warmth in Feyre’s voice, hesitant but genuine. Not a command. Not a trap. An offer.

She stood. “All right.”

They left the dining room together, quiet footsteps echoing in the halls of the River House. Elain led them to a sunlit sitting room overlooking the river, and once the door closed behind them, there was only the hush of the river and the hum of their breathing.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Nesta broke the silence. “I didn’t come to make things harder.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed. “That’s not what I think. I just… I needed to see you. Really see you. We haven’t spoken properly since before—”

“Since before you sent me away to the House of Wind. Since before you locked me away without a choice,” Nesta finished, not cruelly, just plainly.

Feyre looked away, guilt shadowing her face. Elain reached across and took both of their hands, grounding them.

“I didn’t know how to help you,” Feyre admitted. “And then I let that become an excuse not to try.”

Nesta blinked, the honesty of the words striking something tender and raw in her. “I felt like I was drowning,” she said quietly. “Every time I opened my eyes here, it was like the world was too loud, too bright. I couldn’t breathe. And no one noticed.”

“We noticed,” Elain whispered. “We just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know,” Nesta said. “But in Autumn… I can breathe. I feel like I belong somewhere, finally. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s mine.”

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Even with Eris?”

Nesta smiled faintly. “Especially with Eris.”

Feyre opened her mouth, then stopped. Her blue eyes searched Nesta’s face, looking for cracks, for uncertainty. But there was none. Only clarity. And peace.

“You look happy,” she said at last, her voice quiet with wonder. “Really happy.”

“I am.”

A soft sigh escaped Feyre, and she finally stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Nesta. It was not dramatic or tearful—just steady, and real.

“I’ve missed you,” Feyre murmured.

“I missed you too,” Nesta replied, her arms tightening just slightly around her sister.

Elain pulled them both into her embrace, tears shimmering in her eyes. “You’re both impossible,” she said, laughing wetly. “But I love you.”

For the first time in a long time, Nesta believed it. Not as something she had to earn, or fight for. But as something that had always been there, beneath the hurt and silence and stubbornness.

And for the first time in years, the three sisters stood side by side, not as strangers or adversaries, but as family.

By the time the three Archeron sisters returned to the sitting room, the conversation inside had already resumed in soft murmurs and sideways glances.

Feyre led the way, her shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been before, and a small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she crossed the room. She slid into the space beside Rhysand on the wide couch, his arm coming to rest along the back of it. Their fingers brushed, eyes met, and Nesta could tell, even without daemati powers, that they were having one of their silent conversations.

Rhys’s violet gaze flicked briefly to her, unreadable as always. But there was not as sharp an edge to it as before. 

Amren was curled into an armchair with a glass of red wine already in hand, watching the return with the calm detachment of a cat that had just decided not to claw the drapes—for now. Azriel sat nearby, perched like a shadow on the edge of his chair, his gaze sweeping the room even as he appeared perfectly still.

Elain and Lucien were sharing a smaller loveseat near the window, close but not quite touching. Lucien offered Nesta a small, respectful nod, and Elain smiled, soft and relieved.

Cassian and Mor were seated on the long couch opposite Feyre and Rhysand. Mor was lounging, legs crossed elegantly, expression unreadable. Cassian… Cassian looked up the moment Nesta walked in.

There was space beside him, deliberately left, Nesta suspected.

But Idris was already seated in a deep, cushioned armchair near the fireplace, long legs stretched out, firelight glinting in his amber eyes. He caught her gaze and raised a brow, mouth twitching like he knew what she was considering.

Nesta strode across the room, her ruby skirts rustling softly, and paused beside his chair.

“Move over,” she said, not unkindly.

Idris huffed a laugh but shifted immediately, making space without question. She tucked herself beside him, her gown pooling over the armrest, one elegant leg crossed over the other. Idris gave her a slightly amused glance but said nothing, simply resting his arm along the back of the chair, relaxed and watchful.

Across the room, Cassian’s shoulders tensed. He turned his head away quickly, though not quickly enough.

Nesta saw it.

And chose to ignore it.

Let him look disappointed. She owed him nothing now: not her presence, not her attention, not her place beside him on a couch that no longer felt like hers. S he was not here to soothe old wounds. She was here to build something new.

Idris, sensing the tension as only a brother might, angled his body subtly toward hers, as if shielding her from the weight of those watching eyes. And Nesta leaned back just a little, lifting her chin.

“You didn’t have to sit with me,” Idris murmured, his tone light but not without weight.

“I know,” Nesta said, her gaze steady across the room. “That’s why I did.”

A beat passed between them. Idris tilted his head slightly, studying her with that quiet, assessing look that reminded her so much of Eris when he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

“You’re handling this better than I thought you would,” he said under his breath, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“I’m used to being watched,” Nesta replied coolly. “They just don’t know I’m watching back.”

Idris chuckled softly, the sound low enough that it didn’t draw attention. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

“You already are,” she said, glancing sideways at him. “And you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be.”

He grinned. “Flattery. Now I know something’s wrong.”

Before she could reply, Feyre’s voice lifted from across the room, warm and clear. “So,” she said, setting her cup of tea down and glancing between Nesta and Idris, “how has life in the Autumn Court been?”

All heads turned again, the lazy conversations and watchful silences pausing. A diplomatic question, Nesta noted. One that didn’t ask too much, but still required an answer.

Idris raised a brow at her, deferring.

Nesta folded her hands in her lap, lifted her chin, and said evenly, “Challenging, beautiful, and more honest than I expected.”

A ripple of curiosity passed through the room. And for once, she let it settle, let them wonder what that meant.

Idris leaned back in his chair, the flicker of a smirk on his lips. “She’s being modest,” he said casually, glancing around the room. “She’s made quite the impression. Half the court adores her already.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though a corner of her mouth lifted. “That’s a stretch.”

“It’s not,” Idris said, turning toward Amren as if making a point. “Ceres won’t shut up about her. And Aster treats her like a sister.”

“Aster?” Elain asked, perking up with a warm smile. “Is she a lady of the court?”

“She’s one of the first friends I made at court,” Nesta replied fondly, the teasing edge in her voice softening the words. “Aster’s never afraid to speak her mind, she keeps me grounded at court.”

“She sounds delightful,” Amren said flatly.

Nesta met her gaze. “She is.”

The air grew heavier again, that subtle shift in the room when lines were drawn, when alliances were not quite understood. Nesta felt the eyes on her, not hostile, not friendly either. Just watching.

Idris shrugged, clearly unfazed. “It’s true. They like her there. Gods know why.”

Nesta gave him a warning look, but her smile lingered for a second longer than usual.

Feyre, sitting beside Rhysand, tilted her head. “It sounds like you’ve found your place.”

Nesta didn’t look at Rhysand. Didn’t look at Cassian.

She looked at her sisters.

“I have.”

Feyre smiled, “I’m glad. I am also glad you’re here because I have some exciting news to share with everyone,” she said looking at Rhysand for a moment, “I’m pregnant.”

There were gasps of surprise around the room, followed by congratulations from everyone in the room. Nesta smiled to herself, echoing her own congratulations, “I’m happy for you Feyre.”

Conversations about Feyre’s pregnancy continued for some time, the room softening with warm smiles and playful remarks. Even Amren offered a faint, grudging congratulations, though she rolled her eyes when Elain began discussing nursery color palettes. Feyre, glowing with a mixture of happiness and exasperation, shook her head fondly at her sister.

As the chatter waned into a lull, Feyre turned toward Nesta, her expression open, tentative, but sincere.
“I was thinking,” she began, “that maybe the three of us could go into town for a bit. Just to walk around, maybe stop by the market before dinner.” She glanced between her sisters. “It’s been a long time since we did anything together.”

Nesta blinked in surprise but nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

Elain beamed.

Across the room, Rhysand straightened, his arm still slung across the back of the couch. “Feyre…” he started carefully, his eyes flicking toward her stomach, “I don’t like the idea of you going without backup. Not while you’re pregnant.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “We’ll stay in the upper ward. It’s Velaris, Rhys. I’m not made of glass.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, though his jaw ticked. “But the babe—”

“Will be fine,” Feyre said gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. She glanced back at Nesta with a wink. “Don’t mind him. He’s been nesting worse than I have.”

Nesta bit back a laugh.

Still hesitant, Rhysand gave a shallow nod. “At least let Azriel send a shadow with you.”

“I will,” Feyre promised, already rising from the couch.

Nesta stood as well, turning to Idris. “Want to come?”

Before he could answer, Lucien leaned forward from his seat beside Elain. “Actually, I was hoping Idris might stay behind.” His russet eyes flicked toward the older Vanserra. “We haven’t had much chance to talk, and I thought I could show him some of the terraces above the river. The view’s not bad, and the drinks are even better.”

Idris gave Nesta a nod. “Go. I’ll be fine. Might as well catch up with my brother if I’m stuck in Night for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” Nesta asked quietly.

He grinned. “Positive. Besides, I’m curious how many people mistake me for Eris if I walk around with Lucien.”

Lucien groaned. “Gods, I hope not.”

Nesta gave Idris a quick smile and a soft pat on the shoulder before following her sisters toward the front of the River House, the late afternoon sun casting warm light through the tall windows.

Outside, as they passed through the garden archway, Feyre looped her arm through Nesta’s. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For coming. For trying.”

Nesta only nodded. But she squeezed her sister’s hand in return.

The sisters strolled through the vibrant streets of Velaris, sunlight spilling golden between the white-stone buildings. They wandered past fruit stands bursting with color, plums the shade of twilight, oranges like molten gold. Elain lingered at one stall arranging sprigs of lavender and rosemary into a neat bouquet, while Feyre bought a cluster of late-season cherries from a vendor.

Nesta kept to their side, quiet but content, occasionally reaching for a tart fruit or commenting dryly on overpriced scarves in a nearby boutique. They stopped at a few shops, one for delicate stationery Elain couldn’t resist, another where Feyre admired painted ceramics, and one tucked into a narrow alley with hand-bound books and dust-scented tomes that made Nesta’s fingers itch.

Laughter came easier than it had in years. It surprised Nesta, how natural it felt. Not like old times, those had been fractured, but like something new forming, tentative and steady.

By the time they stepped out of the final shop, the sun was already dipping low over the Sidra, casting the cobbled streets in amber light. Feyre glanced at the sky and winced. “We should get back. Rhys is probably pacing a hole in the floor by now.”

They made their way back through the winding lanes, the breeze carrying the scent of riverwater and baked bread. 

By the time they stepped through the front doors of the River House, warm light spilled from the chandeliers and hearths, laughter already echoing faintly from the dining room. The scent of roasted vegetables, herb-laced meats, and fresh bread greeted them, grounding Nesta in the familiar comfort of a home she’d once resisted so fiercely.

The dining room was already half-full when they entered. Rhysand looked up immediately, visibly relaxing when his eyes landed on Feyre. He stood just long enough to press a kiss to her temple as she moved to take her seat beside him, his hand lingering at the small of her back. Amren was already sipping wine in her usual high-backed chair, Azriel to her left, his shadows curling lazily across the polished floor. Mor and Cassian occupied one side of the long table, Mor laughing at something Cassian had said, though the general still cut a glance toward the doorway when Nesta walked in. Lucien leaned back easily beside Elain, whose soft smile widened when she caught sight of her sisters.

Idris was already seated at the far end, a glass in hand. Nesta made her way to him, nudging his leg with her knee until he sighed dramatically and scooted over to make room. She slid into the seat beside him without a word, pointedly ignoring the flicker of disappointment that crossed Cassian’s face across the table.

Conversation sparked quickly over the first course, stories from the market, Feyre’s sharp teasing of Rhysand’s overprotectiveness, Elain describing a new greenhouse project with glowing excitement. Nesta turned slightly to Idris and asked quietly, “So? How was your afternoon?”

Idris shrugged, sipping from his glass. “Nice, actually. Though… odd,” he admitted. “Lucien’s spent so much time away from Autumn, it’s like talking to someone who remembers a version of home you never lived in.”

Nesta hummed, thoughtful. “Still, good you’re catching up.”

Dinner passed in a blend of teasing remarks and meaningful looks, but the tension had thinned, replaced by something nearly warm. And when the plates were cleared, Feyre sat back with a contented sigh, only to blink when Elain clapped her hands together and declared, “Time for gifts!”

One by one, members of the Inner Circle presented Feyre with their offerings: a rare jewel from Amren’s hoard; a tailored cloak from Mor in deep night blue; a satchel of polished throwing knives from Azriel, their hilts engraved with stars. Cassian was a hand-carved training dummy shaped like a certain Illyrian commander—Feyre laughed so hard she nearly cried.

When Nesta’s turn came, she rose and crossed to Feyre’s side, holding out a slim wooden box. Inside was a carefully wrapped collection of new brushes, a fresh painting set with rich, high-quality pigments—and a selection of oil paints in a vivid Autumn Court palette, all fiery reds, rich golds, deep greens, burnt oranges, and deep auburns.

“Aster helped me find them,” Nesta said softly. “I thought… you might like to try something different.”

Feyre opened it slowly, her fingers pausing on each item. She looked up, eyes bright. “Thank you, Nesta. These are beautiful.”

A quiet passed between them, real, if not perfect. But it was something.

Once the gifts were unwrapped and the laughter began to fade, Nesta glanced at Idris. He gave a small nod, and together they turned toward Feyre and Rhysand.

“There’s something we’d like to discuss,” Nesta said, her tone shifting. “Privately, if possible.”

Rhysand tilted his head slightly, something in his expression cooling. “Anything you share with us,” he said calmly, “is something I share with my court. My family.”

A pause. But Nesta didn’t protest. Idris only leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“It’s about Beron,” Nesta said. “Eris has been suspicious for some time. There’ve been meetings, secret ones, and things he’s kept hidden even from his sons. We think he’s plotting something.”

“Elaborate,” Azriel said quietly, shadows coiling tighter now.

“We believe he may be aligning himself with someone dangerous,” Idris added. “Someone outside the courts.”

Rhysand’s brows lifted slightly. “Who?”

Azriel glanced at Rhys, then leaned forward, voice low. “There’ve been whispers. Reports out of the South. Briallyn has begun to stir with an army.”

Silence fell over the table like a weighted blanket.

“She’s looking for power,” Azriel continued. “We think she’s found someone willing to give it to her.”

“Beron,” Nesta breathed.

Rhysand’s face was stone. Feyre reached for his hand beneath the table.

A quiet fell over the room, thick and taut as a drawn bowstring.

Rhysand exhaled slowly. “That… tracks. Briallyn wants power, and revenge. And Beron has never cared about the cost of power, only that he holds it.”

Idris nodded. “We don’t have proof yet, just rumors, inconsistencies in his behavior. But Eris believes he’s preparing for something. Something bigger than petty court rivalries.”

“He’s been away without notice often lately,” Nesta added. “And some of his private guard have gone missing, no records, no explanations.”

“Sounds like Briallyn’s style,” Amren murmured, swirling her wine. “Rotten beneath the surface.”

“We’re keeping track of every name and location that comes up,” Idris said. “Eris wants this handled quietly, if Beron knows we suspect him, he’ll double down.”

Rhysand glanced at Azriel, who gave a subtle nod, he’d already begun tracking similar trails. Finally, Rhys turned back to Nesta, his jaw tight. “We don’t trust Eris.”

“I’m sure my husband doesn’t trust you either,” she said calmly. “You don’t have to. But trust me. I believe him. And I believe this is real.”

Another silence. Then Feyre spoke, voice soft but sure. “Maybe… maybe it doesn’t matter who we trust right now. If Beron and Briallyn are working together, that’s a threat to all of us.”

Rhysand looked at her, and something in his expression shifted.

Finally, he nodded. “Very well. We’ll share what we learn, and we expect the same in return. If your court uncovers anything, no matter how small, we need to know.”

Idris inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Nesta met Rhysand’s gaze across the table, her voice low but steady. “This isn’t about our courts anymore. It’s about stopping whatever they’re planning before it tears through all of Prythian.”

Azriel leaned back, shadows whispering. “I’ll send reports as they come in.”

The heaviness in the room lingered a moment longer before Elain, observant as ever, asked about the flowers blooming along the river. Lucien picked up the thread easily, describing some odd fae variety he’d seen in Spring, and slowly, the conversation slid back to safer ground.

They spoke of food and gardens, of Elain’s greenhouse and Idris’s amusing attempt to charm a grumpy shopkeeper while waiting for the sisters’ return. Laughter circled the table again, soft and tentative.

But as the hour grew later and chairs scraped softly against the floor, Cassian cleared his throat. “Nesta,” he said, standing. “Can we talk?”

The room fell quiet.

Idris was on his feet before Nesta could speak. “No.”

His tone was hard, unwavering. His posture readied for a fight. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

Nesta sighed, rubbing a hand over her brow. “Idris, it’s okay.”

He turned to her, clearly torn, his jaw tight. But when she placed a gentle hand on his arm, he relented, though he stayed close, watching Cassian with barely restrained distrust.

“I’ll get it over with,” Nesta muttered. Then to Cassian: “Outside.”

They stepped onto the balcony, the moonlight silvering Nesta’s braid, her golden gown catching the faint glow of the stars.

Cassian turned to her, eyes already full of pain and hope. “I never stopped loving you.”

She closed her eyes. “Cassian…”

“I know I hurt you. The House of Wind—the way I pushed you, the way I let everyone push you—it was wrong. I was wrong.”

“I’ve moved on,” she said gently, stepping back. “I chose Eris. I'm married to him.”

“You don’t mean that.” He stepped forward. “He’s…he’s playing you, Nesta. Everyone knows what the Vanserras are capable of.”

“You don’t know him,” she snapped. “He’s nothing like Beron, nothing like what you all believe.”

He reached for her hand, just as the world shifted.

Something in her snapped. A bond surged to life, wrapping around her heart like a chain.

Cassian inhaled sharply. “Nesta, do you feel that? You’re my mate.”

She stood frozen, wide-eyed, pale. A thousand emotions flickered through her face, and none of them were joy.

Cassian took a step closer, voice cracking. “We’re meant to be. You know that. I’ve always known—”

“No.” Her voice broke. “No, no, no.”

“Why are you—”

“I don’t want this! ” she screamed. “I don’t want you, I don’t want this bond, I don’t accept it!”

Cassian faltered, pain flashing across his face. “Nesta, please—”

She shoved past him, breath ragged, eyes full of panic as she burst through the balcony doors and into the sitting room where everyone had just begun to rise.

“Idris,” she choked out. “Take me home. Please, I want to go home.”

He was beside her in a heartbeat, gripping her shoulders. “What happened?”

“I need to leave,” she said again, barely audible now, trembling. “I want to go home.”

The room stilled.

Cassian rushed in behind her, panting, but stopped short as every head turned toward him, and the unmistakable scent of a mating bond hit the air.

Amren blinked slowly. “Well. That’s unexpected.”

Lucien’s eyes widened, but it was Elain who moved first, reaching for Nesta.

Nesta didn’t even see her. She only clung to Idris, silent tears running down her cheeks.

Cassian stepped forward. “Nesta, please—”

“She said no,” Idris growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Someone get us out of here.”

“I’ll do it,” Lucien said immediately, stepping forward and gripping Idris’s arm.

In a blink, he winnowed them just past the city’s borders. Idris didn’t wait. He winnowed again, Nesta still pressed against him.

They landed in the heart of the Forest House, right outside of Eris and Nesta’s rooms, familiar fire filled lanterns along the walls.

Idris knocked once and Eris was immediately at the door. His expression shattered the moment he saw them. “What happened?”

Idris passed Nesta gently into his arms. “I don’t know. Nesta and Cassian were speaking on the balcony. She ran.”

Eris cradled her like she might break, whispering her name as she sobbed silently against his chest. His fingers tangled in her braid, his voice a low, steady murmur as he carried her back into their rooms.

Idris stayed rooted where he stood, watching with sharp eyes. The moment the door closed behind them, he turned, and began planning.

Whatever had happened on that balcony, the damage had been done.

---

Eris held Nesta in silence as he carried her through their room, each footstep heavy with restrained urgency. She hadn’t spoken a word since Idris had brought her back, hadn’t looked up from his chest or let go of his jacket. He whispered to her the entire way, voice low and steady, grounding her as best he could.

When he reached the bed, Eris gently laid her down, her fingers still clutching his sleeve. He didn’t pull away immediately, only knelt at her side, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

She didn’t reply. But her grip loosened just enough to tell him she’d heard him.

Eris didn’t touch the gown. He didn’t dare. Not tonight.

Instead, he reached for the heavy quilt and drew it up over her, tucking it carefully around her trembling form. Then, he knelt there a while longer, just watching her. Her eyes were distant, rimmed in silver, lashes damp with tears that hadn’t stopped since she’d arrived.

He rested a hand lightly on the blanket over her arm, not restraining, only present.

“I’ll be just outside the door,” he said. “If you need me, anything, I’ll come.”

Nesta didn’t move, but her breathing slowed a little. Enough.

Eris shut the door gently behind him and leaned back against it for a breath, fingers flexing as if he were holding himself together by will alone. Idris waited a few paces away, arms still crossed, but there was a subtle tension in his frame, a mixture of protectiveness and unease.

“She’s not speaking,” Eris said quietly, his eyes flicking to Idris. “You said she ran to you. What happened?”

Idris shook his head. “I don’t know. We were all in the sitting room after dinner. Cassian asked to speak with her alone. I said no, just like you told me to.”

Eris’s eyes darkened.

“But she said it was fine,” Idris continued. “She looked… tired. Like she didn’t want to deal with it, but she needed to get it over with. They went out to the balcony. I waited inside. A few minutes passed, and then—”

He ran a hand through his hair, expression tight.

“She came back in, panicked. Shaking. Asking me to take her home. And then—”

He glanced toward the door behind Eris.

“The smell hit us. All of us.”

Eris’s breath hitched.

“Mating bond,” Idris said, voice low. “Cassian followed her in. Tried to speak to her again, but she wouldn’t even look at him. I told someone to get us out, and Lucien winnowed us past the wards. Then I got her back here as fast as I could.”

A long silence followed.

Eris’s jaw flexed. “You didn’t see what he said or did?”

“No,” Idris admitted. “But she looked like she’d been shattered all over again. Not just surprised. Wrecked.”

Eris stared down the hall, eyes blazing as though he were considering setting the entire River House aflame.

“She didn’t want it,” Idris said carefully. “The bond. She didn’t choose it.”

Eris’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I told her she could leave. Even now.”

“She didn’t ask to run, Eris,” Idris said softly. “She asked to come home. ”

That single word settled in Eris’s chest like a weight and a promise. He nodded slowly. “Thank you. For getting her back.”

Idris nodded. “You’d do the same.”

Eris nodded once, then turned back to the door, placing his palm against the wood. “I don’t care what fate says,” he murmured. “She’s mine if she wants to be.”

And then, in a voice only Idris could hear: “And if he hurt her again, bond or not, I will burn that mountain to ash.”

Idris’s brows rose slightly, but he didn’t challenge the threat. He simply nodded.

They stood in silence outside Nesta’s door, two sentinels in shadow and firelight, waiting for the woman they both cared for to breathe easier again.

---

The morning light filtered softly through the gauzy curtains, casting golden streaks across the velvet coverlet. Nesta stirred beneath it, her body stiff, her mind weighted like stone. The events of the previous night hung around her like fog.

She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the light. The silk of her gown clung uncomfortably to her skin, a stark reminder that she’d fallen asleep without changing. But the ache in her chest made the idea of moving feel impossible.

She turned her head, Eris wasn’t in bed. The fire in the hearth had burned low, but it had been tended. And just as she sat up, slow and careful, the adjoining door creaked open.

He was already halfway across the room before she could speak.

Eris’s amber eyes softened when they met hers. “You’re awake.”

Nesta nodded mutely.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, his voice quiet, reverent almost. “I’ve been just outside. You and Idris got back late last night.”

She didn’t answer immediately, her throat tight. Eris crouched beside the bed, careful not to touch her, not yet. He watched her with the same patience he always offered, that steady presence that had become her anchor these past few weeks.

His fingers flexed slightly on the bedpost, but he didn’t reach for her. “Nesta... how are you feeling?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

It came out hoarse, raw.

“I can leave,” he said instantly. “If you need space—”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “No, stay.”

That single word seemed to loosen something in her chest. Her breath shuddered out, and she looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers twisting tightly together.

And then she began to speak.

What happened on the balcony.

Cassian’s confession.

The bond snapping into place like a trap closing around her.

Her panic. Her flight.

The way Idris had held her as she sobbed and begged to go home.

Eris didn’t interrupt once. Not when she said Cassian had touched her hand, not when she repeated, more than once, “I don’t want it. I don’t want the bond.”

She said it like a plea. Like she needed him to believe it. To understand.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered again, throat closing. “I don’t want him. I never did. Not like that. I didn’t choose that. I chose you.”

Eris’s eyes searched hers, but he didn’t question her. Didn’t demand more.

Instead, he reached up and gently touched her wrist, his thumb brushing over the edge of her sleeve. “You don’t have to convince me, Nesta. Not now. Not ever.”

Her breath hitched.

“If you want to leave Autumn,” he said softly, “if you want to leave me… I won’t stop you.”

Pain bloomed in her chest, sharp and hot. “I don’t.”

He blinked, brows lifting.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said, stronger this time. “I choose you, Eris. Not because of duty. Not because I’m running from anything. But because I want you.”

Eris didn’t move for a moment, as if unsure he’d heard her correctly.

And then he nodded once, slow and reverent, and rose just enough to sit beside her. He still didn’t pull her into his arms, still gave her the choice.

Nesta leaned into him.

Notes:

This chapter was definitely more angsty Nesta-wise, but I explore the relationship between the sisters and also Nesta's feelings and reaction to the bond. I am kind of torn on mating bonds because when it comes to a couple who was already in love like Kallias and Viviane, I get it and the bond is just like and added bonus to their already formed relationship. But for some couples, I just don't think they made sense.

Chapter 13: Various Storms & Saints

The sunlight filtering through the curtains was bright and warm, the midday rays catching the edges of Nesta’s hair as she sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in a soft green gown. She stared down at her hands for a long moment before glancing at the open door to the sitting room. She could sense him before she saw him, his magic warm, sharp like clove and cinnamon.

“Eris?” she called softly.

He was there within seconds, stepping into the room like he'd been waiting just beyond the threshold. His gaze swept over her, concerned but not overbearing. “Nesta.”

Nesta nodded. She expected him to ask how she felt. But he simply approached and stood in front of her, offering his hand without pressure.

She took it.

“I want to walk,” she murmured. “In the garden.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue. “Of course.”

---

The garden was quiet, just the soft rustling of trees and the whisper of distant water fountains. Nesta walked beside him with slow, steady steps, her arm brushing against his now and then.

Eris waited until they were out of earshot of the manor before speaking.

“How are you feeling?”

Nesta didn’t answer immediately. She inhaled, the scent of earth and rose blossoms grounding her.

“I still feel... cracked open,” she said finally. “Like yesterday hasn’t stopped happening yet.”

Eris nodded, not pushing her.

She looked down at her fingers. “I never wanted a mating bond. Not with anyone, but especially not with Cassian. I thought maybe the Cauldron was being cruel. Spiteful.”

He was quiet, and when she looked up at him, his expression was unreadable.

“I thought it would break everything,” she said. “Us.”

He stopped walking, turning toward her. “Nesta—”

“I don’t want it,” she said again. “I never did. I want you. ”

Eris exhaled, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “You don’t owe me a choice,” he said. “Not after yesterday. If you ever change your mind—”

“I won’t.” Her voice was firm. “You were the only one who gave me the choice in the first place.”

He took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

---

Beron was gone again for lunch, off on one of his “business” meetings. Their mother had gathered a few court ladies in the solar for their own meal, which left only Nesta, Eris, and his brothers at the long dining table that opened onto the sun-dappled patio.

Idris looked up immediately when they entered. “How are you feeling?” he asked Nesta gently.

“I’m better,” she said, offering him a small but real smile.

Damian, never one to hold back, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “You disappeared and came back before you were supposed to. What happened?”

Cormac was more careful but equally curious, glancing at Eris before asking, “Was it something we should worry about?”

Nesta froze, unsure how much to say, until Eris turned to her, his voice low. “Are you alright sharing it?”

She looked between the brothers—her new family, whether she'd planned it or not—and nodded.

“Yes. They deserve to know.”

There was a beat of silence after Nesta gave her answer, only the clink of cutlery and the rustle of a warm breeze filtering through the terrace.

She set her fork down, folding her hands in her lap. “Cassian pulled me aside after dinner. He wanted to talk.”

Idris tensed subtly beside her. Damian leaned in even farther, eyes sharp.

“He said he still had feelings for me. That he didn’t believe I really wanted to be with Eris. And then he—” Her throat caught, but she forced herself to continue. “He touched me. Not to hurt me, but… in that moment, a mating bond snapped into place.”

Cormac’s brows lifted, his whole body going still. Damian let out a low whistle. Idris was already clenching his jaw like he wanted to winnow straight back to the Night Court and punch someone.

Eris didn’t move, but Nesta felt his hand brush against hers under the table.

“I didn’t want it,” she said firmly. “I still don’t. It felt like being shackled again. Like the Cauldron was trying to take away the only choice I’d ever made for myself.”

“And he just…assumed you'd want it? That you'd accept it?” Damian’s tone was incredulous.

“He was happy at first,” Nesta said. “But when he realized I wasn’t, it turned…desperate. He said we were meant to be. That we belonged to each other.”

“And then?” Idris asked, more gently this time.

“I ran. I couldn’t breathe. I just ran to you.” She met Idris’s eyes, grateful. “You got us out. Thank you.”

He nodded once, quietly placing his hand over hers for a brief moment.

“What happened after you left?” Cormac asked Eris.

“I wasn’t there for the conversation itself,” Idris said before Eris could respond. “Nesta was shaken. She didn’t speak for nearly an hour. Eris brought her back to their rooms.”

“I don't care if he’s the Night Court’s golden general,” Damian muttered. “If he ever lays a hand on you again—”

“Beron would love that,” Cormac said dryly. “Another excuse to drag us into conflict.”

“Let him try,” Eris said, his voice calm but lethal. “We’ll be ready. We have enough problems without letting him twist this into something useful for Briallyn.”

That name dropped like a stone between them all.

“Is she really stirring again?” Damian asked.

“She is,” Eris said. “Azriel confirmed it. Rhysand believes Beron may be making some sort of alliance with her. And if that’s true…”

“Then none of us are safe,” Cormac finished.

They all went quiet for a moment. Nesta felt the shift, the way the mood had moved from personal pain to political danger. It was never just one or the other in this world. But this time, they weren’t letting her carry it alone.

“Whatever happens,” Idris said, his voice low but resolute, “we’re with you.”

Damian nodded. “We’ve got your back.”

Nesta blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. But she managed a breath and a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Eris leaned in, brushing his fingers briefly against hers beneath the table. A silent promise.

They would face whatever came, together.

As lunch ended, Eris told Nesta he had a surprise for her, leading her towards the entrance of the Forest House. The smokehounds met them at the edge of the manor grounds, lounging in a patch of fading sunlight. When Nesta and Eris approached, Aella immediately made her way towards Nesta, the rest of the pack right behind her.

“They’ve missed you,” Eris said, his tone lighter now, one hand brushing along the hound’s flank.

“They’re good companions, more comforting than you would expect,” Nesta said as another hound pressed its head beneath her hand.

“They’re fiercely protective,” Eris murmured, glancing at her. “They know who belongs.”

Nesta didn’t respond right away, just kept walking, her hand resting against Aella's soft fur. The canopy above was thick with color, amber and scarlet leaves falling like confetti around them. The sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of the hounds was the only noise.

After a while, Eris broke the quiet. “Are you…feeling any lighter?”

Nesta looked up at him, the way sunlight slid across his cheekbone and caught in his lashes. He looked tired, but present. Steady.

“I don’t know if lighter is the word,” she said. “But I don’t feel like I’m unraveling anymore.”

He nodded once. “That’s enough, for now.”

They reached a low hill overlooking a clearing where golden light spilled like wine across the grass. The hounds bounded ahead, chasing shadows and each other.

Nesta lowered herself onto a moss-covered stone and exhaled. “Do you ever wonder if this is what peace feels like?”

Eris crouched beside her, his hand brushing against hers. “If it is, it’s quieter than I imagined.”

“I used to think I didn’t deserve it,” she said softly. “Any of this. You. A future.”

His hand curled around hers, warm and anchoring. “You do. You always have.”

Nesta turned to look at him fully. “I know that now. Or…I’m trying to.”

Eris gave her a crooked smile. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

She looked down at their hands. “Even if everything falls apart tomorrow?”

“I’ll still be here.” His voice was rough with sincerity. “Even then.”

The smokehounds circled back, one nosing at Nesta’s knee like a nudge to rise. She laughed, soft and surprised, and Eris smiled at the sound.

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering his hand. “Let’s walk a bit more. We’ll be back before Beron returns.”

Nesta took it without hesitation.

They kept walking, fingers still twined, the forest unfolding gently around them. A few sunbeams broke through the canopy above, dust motes swirling in the golden light. One of the smokehounds gave a soft huff and darted ahead, sending a squirrel skittering up a tree.

Nesta chuckled under her breath, the sound quiet but real.

Eris glanced sideways. “Was that a laugh, my Lady?”

She rolled her eyes. “It might have been.”

He smirked. “Careful. If you keep laughing, I might think you actually enjoy my company.”

Nesta gave him a faux-serious look. “I’m still undecided.”

Eris leaned in slightly, their shoulders brushing. “Then let me convince you.”

She didn’t pull away. “You can try.”

He dipped his head and kissed her, soft and slow, not demanding but offering, like sunlight through the leaves, like warmth seeping into cold places. She leaned into it, her free hand settling on his chest, grounding herself in the solid feel of him.

When they pulled apart, Nesta let her forehead rest against his.

“I’m not good at this,” she whispered. “The softness. The letting someone in.”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” he said. “Just… don’t run from it.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I think I’m tired of running.”

A rustle in the underbrush made one of the hounds lift its head, ears perked, but it was only a deer stepping delicately through the trees, blinking at them with large, liquid eyes before bounding off again.

Nesta watched it go. “It’s strange,” she said. “How everything in this court used to feel like a threat. And now… even the forest feels like it’s trying to make room for me.”

“Because it is,” Eris murmured. “You’re not an intruder here. You never were.”

They stood like that for a little while longer, arms around each other, the smokehounds dozing nearby in the mossy grass. The sun dipped lower, casting long golden beams across the forest floor.

And for the first time in the past days, Nesta felt something close to peace.

By the time they returned to the Forest House, the sky was streaked with rose and lavender, dusk settling into the hills like a soft sigh. The smokehounds peeled away toward the kennels with only a backward glance, and Eris held Nesta’s hand until they reached their rooms, fingers brushing even as they parted.

Nesta changed into a more comfortable gown, one of the soft Autumn silks in a rich amber hue, and was combing her fingers through her loose hair when a knock sounded on the outer sitting room door.

Eris glanced up from where he sat by the hearth, a glass of wine in hand. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Idris poked his head in first, followed by Cormac and Damian. They all looked alert, dressed in casual evening clothes but not relaxed in the least.

Idris held up a small tray of tarts and cheese. “Peace offering.”

“For barging into your rooms uninvited,” Damian added with a smirk, though the edge in his voice made it clear this was no casual visit.

Nesta offered a small smile. “You’re always welcome.”

Cormac was already scanning the windows, his posture tense. “He’s due back tonight.”

“We got word from the outer gate,” Idris said. “Beron crossed the ward line an hour ago. He should arrive before full dark.”

Eris didn’t stand, but Nesta saw the way his fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “Any sign of who he was with?”

“Just his usual guard,” Idris said. “But we all know that doesn’t mean he traveled alone.”

Nesta crossed to Eris and sat beside him, their knees brushing. “What do you think he’ll do?”

Damian gave a humorless laugh. “Scream. Threaten. Attempt to summon fire. Same old.”

“He’ll sense the bond, he’s a High Lord,” Cormac said quietly. “Whether we tell him or not.”

Nesta exhaled slowly. “Then we don’t lie.”

“No,” Eris agreed. “We don’t lie. But we don’t give him more than he deserves, either.”

There was a long silence, the flicker of the fire casting shadows across all their faces. The weight of what might come, what they might have to do, hung heavy in the space.

Finally, Idris sat on the arm of a nearby chair, biting into one of the tarts. “We should have a plan. Not just for what we’ll say, but… for what we’ll do. If he pushes too far.”

Eris nodded slowly. “He will. You know he will.”

Cormac ran a hand through his hair. “If it comes to that—”

“Then we’ll handle it together,” Nesta said, surprising herself. “We’ll protect each other. This court.”

Damian raised a brow, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. “Look at you. Talking like a true Lady of Autumn.”

Nesta blinked. “I am?”

Eris turned to her, something soft and fierce in his eyes. “Yes, you are.”

There was a moment where no one spoke, and then Idris reached for another tart. “Well, if we’re all going to face down a potentially murderous High Lord tomorrow, we might as well eat first.”

Nesta laughed, short but genuine, and the sound eased some of the tension in the room.

They shared a simple meal by the fire, the brothers lingering longer than necessary. No one said it, but no one wanted to be alone either. Not when they didn’t know how the night would end.

When the clock struck the hour and the howl of the ward hounds echoed faintly in the distance, signaling a High Lord’s arrival, the room fell silent.

Nesta’s hand found Eris’s under the table, and he laced their fingers together without a word.

Whatever happened next, they would face it side by side.

Chapter 14: Blinding

The brothers had quickly returned to their own rooms, the empty platters cleared, the fire banked low. Outside the wide windows, night had fully fallen. The stars above the Forest House blinked down through drifting clouds like a thousand quiet watchers.

Nesta sat alone at the window seat, knees drawn up beneath her loose gown, the silk pooling like honey over her bare feet. The glass was cool beneath her fingers as she traced idle lines in the condensation. Her breath fogged the pane faintly, and beyond the glass, she could just see the flicker of torches, someone patrolling the outer grounds. Or maybe preparing for Beron’s imminent return.

She wasn’t afraid. Not quite.

But anticipation has always been its own kind of poison.

The day had given her moments of peace: the forest path, Eris’s lips against hers, laughter shared over simple food. Yet even then, she’d felt it, the approaching storm in her chest, the way calm was only ever a pause before the wind rose again.

She touched the place on her shoulder where the tattoo had once been, long since vanished when the bargain was up and she chose to stay. Still, her skin remembered.

Behind her, the door to the bathing room creaked open.

Eris stepped out, toweling off his damp hair, dressed in loose black trousers and a rust-colored tunic. He looked so casual like this, so real , and yet Nesta could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his movements were just slightly too precise.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked quietly.

Nesta shook her head, not looking away from the stars. “I don’t think sleep is coming tonight.”

He crossed to her and stood behind the window seat, his hand settling lightly on her shoulder. “He’ll come in loud, expecting chaos. He wants us off-balance.”

“He’ll want me afraid,” she said, voice soft but steady.

Eris’s fingers tightened just a little. “Then let him look at you and see exactly how wrong he is.”

A pause. Then Nesta turned her head slightly, enough to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

“Will you be alright?”

His smile was thin. “I’ve been preparing for this moment my entire life.”

Nesta reached up and covered his hand with hers. For a long heartbeat, they stayed like that, two silent figures in a quiet room, watching the dark roll in across the land.

Then came the sound of hounds. A distant howl. Eris exhaled. “He’s here.” Nesta stood. The moment had ended, and so had the waiting.

---

They moved swiftly through the Forest House, slowing at the front entrance, as they stepped into the chill of night to meet him. The air hung heavy with tension as Beron approached, his eyes flicking over Nesta. For a moment, his gaze softened, but it wasn’t the soft gaze of a father, it was the icy detachment of someone calculating a prize. A thing to be taken.

“I see it,” Beron said, his voice dripping with venom. “The bond. It’s as clear as day.”

Eris’s hand tightened at his side, his jaw set hard. “Stay away from her.”

Nesta stilled. Eris’s magic flared hot beside her, but Beron didn’t stop.

“That scent,” Beron drawled, his gaze sweeping over Nesta with the calculation of a predator. “The mating bond. Not my son’s.”

He bared his teeth in a cold smile. “You didn’t tell me, Eris, that your little bride was already claimed. ”

Eris stepped in front of Nesta. “She’s not. She made her choice.”

Beron laughed—harsh, sharp. “The bond exists. Whether or not she accepted it. You think the other courts will accept her beside you when they learn her true tie is to the Night Court? That her mate is Rhysand’s dog?”

“ Enough! ” Eris’s fire snapped, scorching the grass beneath his boots. “She made her choice. And I made mine.”

“Oh, yes. And what a poor one,” Beron sneered. “You don’t see what she is, a timebomb. A political liability. And now, a danger to us all.”

His gaze slid to Nesta again. “I could burn the bond from you myself. Cut the thread clean. Would that be a mercy, girl?”

Nesta didn’t speak. Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling not with fear, but with rising fury.

Eris’s fire burned hotter. “Touch her, and I will destroy you.”

“You’ll try,” Beron hissed, and then it broke, magic surged like a dam shattering.

Flames burst between father and son, colliding midair in a whirlwind of red-gold fury and deep, earthen heat. The ground trembled as smoke and fire lashed in spirals, crashing into trees, lighting branches like torches.

Eris surged forward again with his own fire, a ripple of flame that seemed to burn from the very air around him. He blocked Beron’s advance, but the sheer force of Beron’s attack sent them both tumbling back, the earth buckling and splitting beneath their feet.

“Stay back, Nesta,” Eris commanded, his voice tight with barely restrained fury as he looked at his father.

But Nesta didn’t listen. She couldn’t. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and a cold terror gripped her chest, watching her husband struggle against the onslaught of Beron’s power. She had already lost so much. She couldn’t lose him, too.

Beron’s magic pressed harder. His flames grew brighter, striking toward Eris’s chest. Eris held his ground, but his magic was faltering under the weight of Beron’s millennium-old power.

Nesta’s heart screamed.

She stepped forward, her hands trembling at her sides. Her magic, her silver flames, pulsed beneath her skin, a part of her, yet always so terrifying. Eris had told her she didn’t have to use it. That it was her choice.

But Beron was about to take that choice away. The battle between them was no longer just about the bond. It was about survival.

Nesta closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, calling on the power she had only begun to understand. Her magic swirled inside her, immense and fierce, until she could feel it crackling beneath her skin. This was not the fragile flame of yesterday. This was raw. Untamed. Hers.

And in that instant, it was clear. She didn’t have to choose. She could end this. Now.

Beron’s mocking laugh cut through the air. “It’ll be over before you even realize what you’ve done, girl.”

That’s when Nesta opened her eyes.

Her magic surged, a tidal wave of silver light that exploded from her hands with a terrible roar. Eris’s eyes widened, but there was no time for him to stop her.

She stepped forward, power lashing in her blood, silver and ancient and waiting.

“No,” Eris called. “Nesta, don’t—”

But she already had.

The silver flame burst from her, silent and searing. It washed over the clearing like a tide, not just heat but essence , death and rebirth, a scream forged into light.

The force of it sent Beron reeling, but it didn’t stop there. The power in her veins turned cold and sharp, a biting storm that locked onto Beron, not just burning, but unmaking the High Lord in front of her.

One final pulse of power, and then silence.

Beron’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

The scent of scorched earth lingered in the air even after the flames had vanished.

Nesta stood in the clearing, chest heaving, the silver fire slowly ebbing from her fingertips. The silence that followed the eruption of her power was absolute, unnatural, as if the forest itself had drawn in a breath and refused to release it.

Beron Vanserra’s body lay still, unnaturally still, blackened and crumbling, a heap of charred bone and ash where a High Lord had once stood. His crown, once a gleaming circlet of gold and flame, lay cracked beside him, half-melted, useless.

The trees around them hissed with residual heat. The stones steamed. But the world was quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

Nesta gasped as a sudden pressure burst outward from Beron’s remains, a pulse of old, sacred magic wrenching free from a vessel no longer able to contain it. The raw power of Autumn ripped into the air like a scream without sound. It coiled above the body, glowing like molten fire, ancient and untethered.

It hovered. It searched. And then it turned .

The magic surged across the clearing, not with violence, but with intent. Purpose. Like it had always known where it was meant to go. Nesta barely had time to reach out before it slammed into Eris.

He staggered, falling to one knee as the magic rushed into him, searing red-gold flames that wrapped around his body, then sank beneath his skin. Nesta dropped beside him, catching his shoulder, anchoring him as he grit his teeth against the force of it.

The trees shuddered . The ground hummed. Autumn had chosen.

When the light finally dimmed, Eris was still on his knees, breath ragged. But his eyes… his eyes burned. Not just with fury or adrenaline, but with power.

The power of a High Lord.

Nesta reached for him again. He caught her hand, fingers wrapping tightly around hers. And in the lull that followed, in the hush of something ancient ending and something new beginning, she felt the shift, not just in the air, but in him.

He wasn’t the heir anymore. He was the High Lord.

“You’re alright,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead to hers. “We're safe. He’s gone.”

They held each other there, surrounded by the smoking remains of a tyrant, until the sound of footsteps crunched through the scorched grass.

Damian was the first to arrive, sword in hand and eyes scanning the clearing with soldier’s efficiency. Cormac and Idris followed close behind, their faces tight with worry, until they saw what lay in the center of the clearing.

Until they saw him.

“Is that—?” Damian’s voice broke through the silence, low and stunned.

“Yes,” Eris said, rising slowly to his feet. His voice was steadier than Nesta expected, already reshaped by the mantle he now bore. “He’s dead.”

Idris’s eyes darted between the ash, Eris, and Nesta. His voice was quieter when he asked, “You killed him?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nesta said softly, her voice raw. “But I did.”

There was no horror on Idris’s face. No fear. Only something hard and quiet and long-awaited.

“You did what he’s been threatening to do to us for years,” Cormac said. “You protected yourself. You protected Eris.”

The power in Nesta’s veins still simmered under her skin, but Eris’s presence grounded her, his hand finding hers again without hesitation. “She saved my life.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. The four brothers stood in a circle of scorched earth and smoke, looking at the body that had ruled them with cruelty and fear for centuries. And then Idris, ever the quiet compass of the family, gave a single nod.

“We will help clean up here.”

The forest rustled around them, a breeze sweeping through the clearing like a sigh. The trees, sentient in ways they’d never admit aloud, seemed to bend slightly toward Eris.

They didn’t speak much as they worked. The fire had burned fast and hot, leaving only ash and bone, what little remained of Beron was gently gathered and placed into an obsidian urn, one that Cormac conjured with quiet reverence. No one suggested returning his body to the family crypt just yet. There would be time to decide what a tyrant deserved in death.

Now, back in Eris and Nesta’s rooms, the brothers sat scattered around the space, some in armchairs, others standing near the fire. The air was still tense, thick with what had happened. Nesta sat on the edge of the couch, her hands curled around a cup she hadn’t yet sipped from, her skin still tingling faintly with the memory of flame. Eris stood at the hearth, his silhouette outlined in the flickering light, watching the flames as if they might offer him answers.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps, rushed but still graceful. The door burst open.

Aurelia.

Her chest heaved as she stepped into the room, skirts disheveled, hair tumbling loose around her face. She looked at each of her sons, then at Eris, her gaze catching on the still-glowing mark of power beneath his skin. Then her eyes fell to Nesta.

And something inside her seemed to crack .

“He’s really dead?” she whispered.

No one answered. They didn’t have to.

Aurelia’s breath hitched. Her knees gave out and Cormac was at her side in a blink, easing her down into the nearest chair. But she waved him off with trembling fingers, reaching instead for Nesta.

Nesta rose slowly, unsure, until Aurelia gripped her hand and then pulled her into a sudden, fierce embrace. The older woman clung to her like a storm-tossed survivor finally finding shore.

“Thank you,” Aurelia whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. “Thank you.”

Nesta blinked, startled. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Aurelia said, pulling back enough to meet her eyes. “But you did. You saved my sons. You freed this Court.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks, not just from grief, but from relief. Centuries of survival etched into every line of her face softened, peeled away as she let herself feel the impossible truth.

“He’s gone,” she said again, almost in disbelief. “He’s really gone.”

Eris stepped forward, silent until now. He rested a hand on his mother’s shoulder, grounding her with a quiet strength. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“I don’t need to,” Aurelia said with a bitter, weary laugh. “There was nothing left to say.”

No one knew what else to say, and so they let the silence stretch between them, thick but no longer unbearable.

Idris cleared his throat. “We’ll need to prepare the House. The funeral rites.”

“All the Courts will come,” Cormac added. “They’ll want to see for themselves.”

“To make sure he’s really dead, and to see the new High Lord.” Damian muttered, though his voice carried none of the usual malice, just the weary understanding of how power worked.

Eris met Nesta’s gaze across the room, a hundred thoughts passing between them in that single look. What came next wouldn’t be easy. But it was already beginning.

Aurelia took Nesta’s hand again, more gently this time. “I would have chosen you for him,” she said softly. “If I’d ever had the chance.”

Nesta’s throat tightened.

“You chose each other,” Aurelia continued. “And now…maybe this Court finally has a chance to heal.”

Outside, the wind swept through the trees again, cooler now, gentler. As if even Autumn itself had exhaled.

---

The morning light was soft when Nesta stirred, muted by the thick curtains drawn over the windows. The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and the room had cooled, but Eris’s warmth beside her hadn’t.

He was still asleep, arm slung loosely around her waist, their bodies warm beneath the quilt. His hair was tousled, his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw—unguarded, peaceful. There were smudges of ash still clinging to the edge of his jaw, like the night before hadn’t quite let him go.

They hadn’t spoken much after it happened, after the power had chosen him and the forest had gone still. After they had watched Beron’s body turn to ash and carried what was left of him back through the woods. After Aurelia had walked into the room and begun to cry.

There hadn’t been space for words. Just the quiet pull of shared shock, the weight of what they’d endured. Nesta wasn’t sure who reached for the other first, maybe they both had, but they’d needed comfort. And they’d found it in each other.

Now, Eris stirred beside her, breath catching before he opened his eyes. Still amber. Still burning.

“Morning,” he rasped.

“Good Morning,” she whispered.

He blinked slowly, like he hadn’t expected to wake and find her still there. But he didn’t pull away.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice rough, like it hadn’t been used in hours.

“Like I could scream or fall apart. Possibly both.”

He gave her the ghost of a smile. “We’ve got time for both.”

That surprised a tired laugh out of her.

Eris shifted to sit up slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I keep thinking I should feel different. That everything should feel different.”

“You were made High Lord overnight. I killed your father. That sort of thing usually takes time to settle.”

He glanced down at her, and for a moment, his gaze softened. “You protected me.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said, honestly. 

“I know, but I’m glad you did.”

A long silence passed between them, not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Like neither of them wanted to move yet, didn’t want to break the fragile calm they'd found beneath the quilts and the ashes of last night.

Eventually, he asked, “What do we do now?”

“We take the day,” Nesta said. “Before the court descends. Before the funeral.”

He nodded, and after a pause, murmured, “Will you stay? A little longer?”

Nesta looked at him, truly looked at him. She didn’t know what they were yet, or what they would become. But last night, they had survived something together. And that mattered.

“I’ll stay,” she said.

And she did.

It was some time later before they finally got up. They didn’t speak much as they dressed, the weight of the coming day hanging heavily between them. The reality of the world outside their shared room was impossible to ignore now. The moment they crossed the threshold of the door, it would change.

They walked through the quiet halls side by side, each step leading them closer to the unavoidable task ahead. When they arrived at the dining room, the Vanserra brothers were already seated around the long, polished table, their conversations subdued. Aurelia was there, as expected, her face calm, though her eyes betrayed the strain of the events.

The tension in the air was palpable. Beron’s death was still too recent, too raw, and they had only just begun to grasp what it meant for them all. Eris, now High Lord, was already in the role, but the responsibilities it entailed felt like a foreign weight on his shoulders.

As they entered the room, all eyes turned toward them, and the room stilled for a moment before the quiet conversations resumed, more guarded than before. Nesta followed Eris to the table, her pulse steady but her chest tight, knowing full well that the weight of her new title was just as heavy. Lady of Autumn. She could still feel Beron’s shadow looming over them.

Aurelia looked up from her meal, her gaze briefly lingering on Nesta, sharp with understanding. “You’ll be by Eris’s side tomorrow,” she said, her voice steady and practiced. “It’s expected of the Lady of Autumn.”

Eris nodded, meeting Nesta’s eyes. The question—do you understand what that means?—hung between them, but it was unspoken. She nodded back, once, a silent confirmation.

Idris shifted in his seat. “The story will be simple,” he said, his tone blunt, practical. “Beron returned from his travels ill. He had been unwell for some time, but the journey back only worsened his condition.”

“That’s right,” Cormac added, looking at Nesta. “No one will question the legitimacy of that. No one but the most loyal of Beron’s supporters will ask for details.”

Damian was quieter than usual, his arms still crossed, his brow furrowed in thought. “They’ll want to see the body,” he said, glancing at Eris. “They’ll want proof.”

Eris met his gaze with a steady look, not a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “They can’t. The casket will be closed. We’ll keep it simple.”

Aurelia’s voice was gentle but firm. “It’s customary to allow the court to pay their respects, but we must be careful with how we present things. There can be no mention of anything…untoward.”

“The rites will be private,” Eris added, his voice cool and commanding. “It’s not abnormal, but we don’t need to give them anything to question.”

“And after?” Nesta asked, her voice low, but with a hint of apprehension. “What then?”

Eris looked at her, his thumb brushed against her knuckles. “The court will expect us to follow in his footsteps. But we’ll walk a different path.”

The conversation quieted then, the gravity of the funeral preparations hanging over them. Everyone at the table knew the weight of what had happened, but the rest of the court would not. It was essential to make sure the story was simple, without complications, and without giving anyone reason to look deeper.

“We’ll have the vigil tomorrow,” Cormac said. “The other High Lords will come, and the lords and ladies of Autumn. They’ll show their faces, pay their respects… and then we’ll begin moving forward.”

Eris’s gaze turned to Nesta once more. “You’re Lady of Autumn now,” he said, his voice low. “Whatever comes, we stand side by side.”

But Nesta, for the first time since the previous night, felt the truth of her role settle around her like a cloak. The weight of it, the uncertainty and grief, began to press against her chest once more.

“We’ll do it together,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, but there was resolve in it.

 

Notes:

Oop there goes Beron. I'm so excited to finally get this chapter out because now Eris is finally High Lord and Nesta Lady of Autumn. I'm debating whether to make her High Lady (if so it would not immediately) or just keep her Lady of Autumn. Because Nesta doesn't really seem like someone who wants more power from the books, and you have Viviane, who is Lady of Winter, but it seems like Kallias sees her as his equal and she basically ruled while he was under the mountain, commanding respect even if she is Lady and not High Lady.

Let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 15: Long & Lost

The morning air was still.

Nesta stood at the tall window of their chambers, watching as a thin veil of mist curled between the trees beyond the Forest House. The golden-red canopy of Autumn had dulled in the past days, though whether in mourning or quiet relief, no one could quite say. Even the flame-colored leaves looked dimmer, as if unsure how to honor a High Lord few had loved.

It was too quiet. Even the wind dared not stir.

Behind her, the room remained untouched. The black gown hung from the wardrobe door like a shadow waiting to take form. Her eyes lingered on it a moment longer before she turned and stepped into it without a word.

The material was cool against her skin, the fit precise, tailored just days before with this moment in mind. It flared slightly at the sleeves and hem—graceful without opulence, heavy with intent. Red embroidery wove along the cuffs and collar: winding leaves, thorns, and fire. Mourning in black. Power in red. She had chosen the colors carefully.

Her hair had been pinned back with obsidian combs, the golden circlet resting on her head. She was no longer just a guest of the Autumn Court. She was Lady.

A soft knock came at the door. Nesta turned. It was Ceres.

“No rush,” said the healer gently as she stepped inside, her tone warm with familiarity. “But the great room is beginning to fill.”

Ceres had never lingered where she wasn’t needed, never crowded Nesta in a way that made her feel caged or small. Her presence, quiet and steady, grounded Nesta more than she cared to admit. Nesta nodded once. Ceres gave her a brief smile and stepped back into the corridor. Nesta followed her out and into the silent halls, her gown whispering over stone as they walked.

The great room was cast in muted gold light, softened by velvet-draped windows. The scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves clung to every surface. The hearths had been stoked, but burned low—somber, respectful.

Eris stood at the front, flanked by his brothers, Idris and Cormac on one side, Damian and their mother on the other, all of them grim-faced and still. The casket, dark and closed, rested behind them like a sealed chapter.

Beron Vanserra, laid to rest at last.

Nesta walked to Eris’s side. He glanced at her, eyes lingering on the red embroidery, and gave a barely perceptible nod. Her hand brushed his briefly. A silent exchange. Not of comfort, but of solidarity.

Then they turned together to face the room.

Guests began to arrive.

Some came in quiet pairs, others in formal procession. Lords and Ladies of Autumn with ties both old and opportunistic filed past, offering murmured condolences, curt nods, cautious deference. None lingered too long.

Lord Thorne entered early, his formal attire glinting beneath his dark crimson cloak. He offered Eris a respectful nod before stepping aside to allow the two figures behind him to approach.

Lady Aster was dressed in a gown of deep forest green embroidered with gold, the tones rich but subdued. Beside her stood a tall, wiry male with sharp cheekbones and observant eyes—her brother, Nesta remembered now, though his name escaped her.

Aster’s gaze met hers, calm and steady. “Lady Nesta,” she said, dipping her head in a slight bow, “my house offers our condolences. May the fire guide him into rest.”

“Thank you,” Nesta replied. Her voice did not falter. “And thank you for coming.”

Aster hesitated a moment longer. “There are some who fear what change would bring. But change stirs in Autumn. I suspect you will see it through.”

There was no condescension in her tone, only a quiet recognition. Not quite a challenge. Not quite an offer.

Nesta inclined her head. “Change does not frighten me.”

Aster smiled, brief but kind. “Then we are watching the right lady.”

Her brother gave Nesta a low nod. “Lady,” he said simply, before turning to Eris with a bow, "High Lord." His voice was smoother than she expected, like oiled steel. Then the three moved on, disappearing into the growing sea of guests.

Thesan arrived next, his presence regal and serene. He nodded respectfully to both Eris and Nesta, then offered a few quiet words before retreating to a corner with his delegation. Tarquin followed with his court, formal and courteous.

Then came Helion. Dressed in black lined with molten gold, his golden skin gleamed against the somber fabric. His expression was unreadable, but when he took Nesta’s hand in his and said, “My condolences, my lady,” there was sincerity in the weight of his voice.

Nesta thanked him, and for a moment, thought she saw the flicker of some emotion behind his bright eyes—regret, perhaps, or memory. He gave her a nod and passed on without another word.

The room began to swell with conversation, murmured prayers, the occasional clink of ceremonial glasses. Fires flickered in the hearths. Somewhere, a harpist played a low, slow melody that haunted more than it soothed.

Then the air shifted, and Nesta felt it before she saw them. The Night Court had arrived.

Rhysand entered first, Feyre at his side. He wore black as always, but his power coiled behind his shoulders like a storm bank. Feyre’s expression was tight, but composed. Azriel and Amren followed closely, their gazes flickering across the room like knives.

Lucien came last, and with him, Elain.

Nesta’s heart kicked once in her chest.

Lucien stood tall, chin high. Not defiant, not proud. Just… whole. Whole in a way Nesta had not seen in years.

He met Eris’s gaze directly, and it was Eris who offered the first nod—slow, deliberate.

Lucien returned it, then stepped forward.

“Eris. Nesta.”

“Lucien,” Eris said. “I'm glad you came.”

Lucien hesitated, glancing back once at Elain, who stood silently just behind him. “I’d like to speak with all of you later, if possible. Just to catch up.”

Before Eris could respond, Idris said, “We’ll make time.”

Lucien gave a small smile. “Thank you.” He stepped aside.

Feyre approached then, her fingers twisted together in front of her. Her voice was soft.

“Nesta, may we speak with you privately? Just for a moment?”

A pause stretched.

Eris’s hand brushed hers again. This time, the contact lingered, not a comfort, but a question. A quiet, are you sure?

To her left, Cormac’s jaw tightened. Idris, usually the most easygoing of the three, had gone still, his expression shuttered. Even Damian, who had surprised her lately with his restraint, folded his arms and fixed a sharp gaze on the Night Court entourage.

It was not just wariness in the air now, but distrust. The last time they had come, long ago back at the lake estate, they had questioned her choices, questioned Eris, questioned her place here. That memory hung over them like smoke.

Nesta glanced at them all, and then looked at Feyre. Her sister’s stance was open, careful, but even Feyre couldn’t hide the tension coiled in her shoulders.

Nesta met Eris’s eyes last. He said nothing, but the fire in him spoke clearly: You don’t owe them anything. But she nodded once. Not because she owed them. Because she wanted to hear what they had come to say.

“Yes,” Nesta said, her voice quiet but unwavering. “But only for a moment.”

Eris didn’t stop her. But he didn’t let go of her hand, either, until the last possible second.

Nesta led them away from the main gathering, weaving between quiet clusters of nobles and courtiers, until they reached a smaller alcove at the edge of the great room. The soft light from a nearby window carved lines of gold into the stone floor. It was quieter here, enough for low voices to carry, but still public enough that the Night Court couldn’t press too hard.

Lucien and Elain lingered back at the main gathering, Lucien speaking with an Autumn Noble who Nesta could not recognize from behind, an old friend, most likely.

Nesta turned to Feyre, Rhysand, Amren, and Azriel.

“Well?” she said, keeping her tone neutral.

Feyre stepped forward first, hands clasped. “I just wanted to ask how you're doing,” she said, gently. “How you're…holding up.”

There was a flicker of sincerity in her voice. Nesta didn’t doubt that Feyre cared. But she also didn’t miss the edge of purpose behind it.

“I’m managing,” Nesta said. “We all are.”

Feyre’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “I know this isn’t easy, and I’m sorry. I’m not here to dredge things up but.. it’s about Cassian.”

Nesta’s jaw locked, just slightly.

Feyre hesitated. “He’s not doing well. He hasn’t been, not since you left. And I thought maybe if he could see you. Speak with you. It might help.”

Nesta didn’t flinch, but she didn’t smile, either.

“I’m not sure what good that would do.”

“He’s your mate,” Feyre said softly. “There’s a bond. Whether you acknowledge it or not—”

“I didn’t choose the bond,” Nesta said flatly.

Amren, lounging slightly against the stone column behind Feyre, let out a low scoff. “That’s a selfish thing to say.”

Nesta turned to her slowly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re his mate,” Amren said, voice sharp like steel wrapped in silk. “Whatever your reasons, whatever your choices, he’s suffering without you. And you’re pretending that bond between the two of you means nothing”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Nesta said, her voice rising. “I’ve made my choice. I didn’t ask for that bond. I didn’t want it. I’m married. To Eris.”

A silence fell. Feyre looked stricken. Rhysand's mouth was a line, but he hadn’t spoken once, not yet. Azriel merely watched her, shadows curling subtly at his shoulders, unreadable as ever.

“Even so,” Feyre said carefully, “wouldn’t speaking to him just once—”

“She said no.”

The voice came from behind them.

Nesta didn’t even need to turn to know he was there. Eris stepped into the alcove like he belonged there, hand sliding easily to her waist. She leaned into the touch before she could think to stop herself, drawing steadiness from it.

“My wife said no,” he repeated, calm and unyielding. “I suggest you respect that.”

Rhysand looked as though he might speak, but Eris tilted his head slightly, that calculating glint in his eyes cool and warning. “If you're finished paying your respects,” Eris added, “you know the way out.”

A tense silence.

Feyre gave Nesta a long, almost mournful look. As if Nesta were the one who’d turned her back. As if she was the one breaking something sacred.

Then she turned away, Rhysand and the others following without another word.

Nesta stood still, watching them retreat. Only when they disappeared back into the room did she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Eris’s hand was still on her waist. She let it stay.

The moment the last of them disappeared into the gathering, the tension in Nesta’s shoulders unspooled.

Eris shifted slightly, angling himself toward her. “Are you alright?”

His voice was low. Meant only for her.

Nesta stared at the space they’d left behind. At the subtle imprint of their presence, like soot clinging to clean stone. She didn’t answer at first.

Then, softly: “On Feyre’s birthday, when she invited me to the River House… I thought she was trying to mend things. To make room for us again. For me.”

Her throat tightened. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. Only that it needed to be said.

“I thought… maybe she missed me. Maybe she wanted to understand. But now…” Nesta’s voice went quiet, almost hollow. “Now I see she only wanted me back on her terms. So long as I didn’t cause too many ripples. So long as I didn’t choose anything she didn’t understand.”

She turned her head, met his gaze.

“She chose her new family,” Nesta said at last, voice low. “Today. Again.”

Her hands curled slightly at her sides. “She saw what it did to me, when that bond snapped into place. She saw me fall apart. And still, the first thing she asks today, of all days, is for me to go to him. For him .”

Eris didn’t speak right away. His thumb brushed a slow, grounding circle against her side.

“She won’t choose me,” Nesta said quietly. “Not over her new family, her mate. She never really did.”

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant murmurs of the funeral gathering.

“You don’t owe them anything,” Eris said at last, his voice a murmur of firelight and stone. “Not your pain. Not your loyalty. Not your forgiveness.”

Nesta looked away, blinking hard, and let herself lean into the warmth of his side.

Not a storm. Not a blaze. Just stillness, steady and unyielding. “I know,” she whispered. And this time, she did.

The rest of the gathering passed in a slow, aching blur. Guests came and went, offering their condolences with solemn nods and murmured words, some genuine, some veiled in political performance. The weight of the day pressed on Nesta’s shoulders like damp velvet, thick and heavy.

The casket remained untouched. Still. Waiting.

Eventually, the flow of guests trickled to an end. The great room dimmed as clouds rolled in, gray and bloated above the trees. One by one, the remaining attendees bowed or respectfully nodded in parting. Nesta’s eyes swept the space, now quieter, more sacred. The fire still crackled faintly behind them, the scent of pine and smoke curling through the air.

Lady Aurelia approached with a soft murmur. “It’s time.”

Eris gave a nod, and the brothers stepped forward silently. The casket floating behind them.

Lucien joined them without a word, falling in step like he had always belonged there.

Nesta’s gaze flicked toward the doors where the Night Court had departed earlier, Elain with them, swept away in the tide of diplomatic discretion. But Lucien had stayed. A quiet statement. A choice.

They left the grand room together walking through the winding halls and into the stillness of the forest grove beyond.

The casket was lowered in silence.

No one wept.

There was no body, only an urn resting within, filled with the fine, scorched ash that was all that remained of Beron Vanserra.

Aurelia stood with her hand pressed lightly to her chest, eyes closed. Idris murmured a blessing in Old Fae, solemn and steady, while Cormac, Lucien, and Damian stood on either side of the grave, their gazes fixed ahead, expressionless.

The wind stirred, rustling the leaves like a withheld breath.

Fire lilies—embers of the earth, symbols of passing and rebirth—had been scattered around the stone ring, their petals a vivid blaze against the damp soil. It felt fitting, somehow. Beron had always been more flame than man. Angry, consuming. And now, finally, extinguished.

The silence stretched, reverent and brittle.

Until Cormac muttered, “I can’t believe he’s actually gone.”

Damian snorted quietly. “Can’t believe we didn’t throw a party.”

Idris arched his brow. “This is the party.”

There was a beat. Then Cormac deadpanned, “He won’t be missed.”

The others all tried, valiantly, to suppress their reactions. Nesta bit the inside of her cheek. Eris looked down at the ground like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all year. Aurelia gave them all a sharp side-eye, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.

Lucien chuckled, slow and low. “How’d he go, then?”

They turned to him in unison.

“Stabbed,” Cormac said at once.

“Tripped down the stairs,” Idris offered mildly.

“Got sick,” Damian said, far too casually.

“Spontaneously combusted,” Eris added dryly.

Lucien blinked. Then nodded with a knowing, almost wistful smile. “Sounds about right.”

The family remained a moment longer, just long enough for the wind to settle again, for the scent of the lilies to drift up from the ground.

Then Aurelia turned, gathering her skirts. “Let’s go home.”

---

Dinner was warm and dimly lit, firelight flickering against the carved walls of the Forest House’s dining room. The long table was set in deep reds and golds, simple and elegant, the way Aurelia liked it.

Lucien sat beside Idris, with Eris across from him and Nesta at his side. The others filled in with the ease of familiarity, though the weight of the day still lingered in their shoulders and the quiet between bites.

Aurelia looked positively radiant beside her sons, a hand resting lightly on Lucien’s arm as if she still couldn’t believe he was real. “It’s good to have you here,” she said softly, eyes shining. “Truly.”

Lucien gave her a crooked smile, his amber eye warm. “It’s good to be back. Even under… interesting circumstances.”

They laughed, lighter now. More freely.

“Will you stay?” Eris asked as the meal wound down, voice casual but edged with hope. “Return to Autumn, for good?”

A beat passed. Lucien looked down at his wine, swirling the ruby liquid slowly.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said, but his voice was already softer. Gentler. “A few things to sort through, still.”

But there was no denying the way his shoulders had loosened. The way his smile lingered. Or the way he glanced around the room, like he’d already begun to picture himself there again. Home. 

 

Notes:

The funeral (mainly for appearance bc who really misses beron besides maybe a few of his loyal supporters). The next chapters will be mainly Autumn focused, though at some point the confrontation with Briallyn will come, I'm still deciding how to work that in though! This is the last chapter I had fully prepared so updates might be a bit slower but I'm halfway through chapter 16 and plan to update 1-2 times a week!

Chapter 16: Only If For a Night

Notes:

I just realised I never really explained each brothers role, they’re not insanely important to understanding the chapter but may help.
Idris serves as Autumns emissary, Cormac is basically Eris’s second (helping with all internal court duties), Damian used to help serve as Autumns spymaster and is now taking over Eris’s role as generals over Autumn’s armies.

The morning light slanted through the tall windows of the dressing chamber, illuminating the stone floor in molten gold. Dust motes danced lazily in the still air, and the scent of jasmine and old wood hung gently beneath the crackle of a low hearth fire. The Forest House, usually so shadowed and solemn, felt softer today. As if it, too, had exhaled after the funeral’s weight.

Nesta stood in the center of the room, arms slightly raised as Ceres worked behind her. The new gown was heavier than she was used to, scarlet velvet that hugged her form and swept into a modest train. Gold-threaded vines coiled delicately across the bodice, each line precise but fluid, as though the flames themselves had stitched her into place. Small, ember-bright gemstones winked from the sleeves and collar, catching the light with every breath.

It wasn’t armor. Not exactly. But it was a declaration.

Ceres fastened the final clasp at the nape of her neck and stepped back, the quiet of the room stretching between them like silk. “There,” she murmured. “That’s the last of it.”

Nesta glanced toward the mirror. The woman reflected there looked like someone else, and yet unmistakably herself. Her hair was swept back in a loose twist, small braids pinned like vines through the copper-dark waves. No tiara. No crown. Just the subtle weight of authority in her eyes, and the power beneath her skin that seemed, for the first time, not to tremble or lash out, but simply be .

“You look the part,” Ceres said softly, moving to stand beside her. “But it’s not just the dress.”

Nesta’s throat felt tight. Her fingers twitched at her sides, resisting the urge to fidget with the sleeves. She met her own gaze in the mirror. No waver. No flinch.

“I feel the part,” she said. Then, quieter, almost to herself: “Or I will.”

Ceres reached out and gently touched her elbow. “You already do. You made a court grieve with dignity yesterday. You stood when others wanted to fall apart.”

Nesta let out a slow breath, eyes still fixed on the mirror. “I didn’t know I could.”

“You didn’t have to know. You chose to.”

A silence passed, warm and filled with the kind of trust Nesta had rarely known among women. Not since the war. Not since Velaris. Not like this.

“You’ve been…the first real friend I’ve had here,” Nesta said at last. Her voice wasn’t soft, but it was honest.

Ceres smiled. Not out of politeness, not out of duty, but something truer. “Then it’s a good thing I plan to stick around, Lady of Autumn.”

Nesta laughed under her breath, and it felt like letting go of something old. Her hands relaxed at her sides.

Ceres’s hands were gentle as they adjusted the fall of Nesta’s sleeve one last time. The room was warm with morning light and the subtle scent of cedarwood and smoke drifting through the open windows. Gold thread caught in the weave of her gown shimmered as Nesta turned toward the mirror: regal, composed, and impossibly still.

“You look every inch the Lady of Autumn,” Ceres said, smiling faintly. “They won’t know what hit them.”

Nesta offered a soft thank-you, touched by the quiet sincerity in her voice. When Ceres left, the hush of the room deepened, and Nesta took one last breath before stepping into the corridor. Her footsteps echoed through the stone halls as she made her way to the chamber Eris and his brothers had taken over for strategy.

The mood shifted as she crossed the threshold.

Gone was the still, ceremonial air of her dressing chambers. Here, in this sun-drenched war room of wood and iron, everything thrummed with purpose. Idris looked up from a spread of parchment and sigils marked with the crests of noble houses. Cormac stood near the far window, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Even Damian, leaned over the map table, looked serious, grim, even.

Eris turned as she entered, his amber eyes warming as they took her in.

“You’re here,” he said, and it meant more than just her physical presence.

“I am,” she replied, stepping to his side.

The map before them was scattered with markers—some red, others gold. Nesta’s gaze flicked to the border lines and the names inked in bold script. Acadia. Verenthi. Ashgrove. Houses she’d heard spoken of in the weeks since arriving, murmured in caution or confidence depending on who said them.

Cormac was the first to speak. “We’ve officially summoned all twelve of the Autumn Lords and Ladies to the Forest House, as is customary, to swear loyalty to Eris as High Lord.”

“Not all will come willingly,” Idris added, glancing at the map laid out before them. “Lord Virel, for one, hasn’t responded. Not a single raven, not even a courier. He was Beron’s lapdog for decades, he won’t bend easily.”

“Nor will Lord Barret,” Cormac said, tapping his finger over a territory bordering the northern wood. “He’s long had his eye on expanding his borders into Lady Cerelle's territory. If he sees even a flicker of weakness in Eris’s rule, he’ll strike.”

“And don’t forget sweet Lord Malrick,” Damian added, the smirk on his face anything but amused. “He sent his ‘regrets’ and a rather impressive insult carved into the side of a tree near one of our outposts. He may as well have signed a death warrant.”

“Two of those major landholders,” Nesta murmured, frowning. “And all of them loyal to Beron.”

“Loyalty isn't quite the word,” Damian said. “They were loyal to his brutality. His promise that power meant domination. You take that promise away, and men like them see it as weakness.”

Nesta’s mouth tightened. “So what happens if they refuse?”

A silence fell.

Damian met her gaze without flinching. “Then we make sure they don’t live long enough to start a rebellion.”

“Casualties are inevitable,” Idris added more gently. “But we’re not alone in this. We’re not staging a coup, we’re building a new order. There are also some powerful voices in Autumn standing with us.”

“Lord Thorne,” Cormac said, glancing at Nesta. “Aster’s father. He’s already sent word he’ll be here tomorrow to swear his vows to the new High Lord.”

“Lord Balen as well,” Idris added. “He commands a smaller territory, but his warriors are fiercely loyal. And he’s always despised Beron’s politics.”

“Lady Cerelle,” Damian said with a nod of respect. “Only ruling Lady in Autumn, and not just because of her fathers early death. She’s smarter than half the lords combined. She was one of the first to offer her support.”

Nesta took in their faces—the sharp intelligence in Idris’s, the calm fire in Eris’s, the blunt resolve in Cormac’s, and Damian’s gleaming edge of dark pragmatism. This wasn’t a desperate grab for power. This was a reckoning, years in the making. Decades of quiet resistance gathering momentum.

This wasn’t a game. Nesta had known that, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it real in a new way. These men weren’t just political obstacles. They were threats. And threats in Autumn were burned down before they had the chance to grow.

She turned her attention to Eris, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange, watching, listening. His amber eyes settled on her, and though his posture was calm, Nesta saw the weariness and iron resolve just beneath it.

“What do you need from me?” she asked.

Eris’s answer was immediate, but not rehearsed. “Stand with me. As my equal. Let them see we’re already building something different than what came before.”

“Not as a figurehead,” she clarified.

“Never that,” he said, voice firm. “You’re not here to decorate my side. You’re here to help us shape what comes next, if that is what you wish.”

Nesta held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Good. Because I want in.”

The brothers all looked to her.

“I want to learn everything, how Autumn works, who holds power and why, how they fight, how they manipulate, how they think. If I’m going to help build something better, I need to understand what we’re standing on.”

“Careful,” Damian said, amused, “that’s how we all got stuck doing this.”

But even as he joked, he moved toward a high shelf and returned with a satchel, already filled with well-worn books. “I figured you’d ask eventually,” he said, handing it over. “These aren’t beginner’s texts. But you strike me as someone who doesn’t like being underestimated.”

“Correct,” Nesta said, arching a brow.

He tapped the spine of a slim black volume. “ Fire and Fracture is a record of the last great succession war. Ancient, but every High Lord since has studied it. And The Language of Power , that one’s dense, but it’ll teach you about the intricacies of Autumn’s noble houses, their strengths, weaknesses, and interwoven alliances.”

“I’ll make time in the evenings,” Cormac offered. “Reports come in daily: land disputes, shifting loyalties, whispers from the borders. If you want to see how politics plays out on the ground, that’s the place to start.”

Nesta blinked, surprised. “You’d really do that?”

“You’ve made it clear you’re not just here to wear a crown and play nice. That earns respect.” Cormac shrugged, but there was a glint of something like approval in his eyes.

“I’d like to be included too,” Idris said. “Most of my work’s with the other courts; alliances, diplomacy, treaties, but I keep close to our intelligence channels. I can help you track how the external pieces fit into our internal game.”

“And if you want a good summary of which lords are most likely to try to poison you at dinner,” Damian added with a razor-sharp smile, “that’s more my department.”

Nesta smiled faintly, then looked to Eris again. “And you?”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But the first days of power are always the most chaotic. I won’t have the time I want, but I’ll give you what I can. And I trust my brothers.”

Nesta’s fingers tightened on the satchel. It felt heavier than it was. Not just because of the books inside, but the future it represented. What she was choosing.

She looked at each of them, these brothers who had once been strangers, enemies even. Now…something else.

“I want to help fix it,” she said. “I want to be part of building something better.”

And in the quiet that followed, Eris didn’t speak, but his eyes softened, and something deep and quiet flickered in them. Not fire. Not power. But pride.

---

After the tense and strategic discussion with Eris and his brothers, Nesta needed a moment to herself. She was no stranger to the weight of responsibility, but today, today felt different. With the satchel of books clutched in her hands, she made her way toward the garden, seeking peace among the carefully cultivated greenery. The scent of flowers and the hum of nature provided a soft contrast to the suffocating air of political maneuvering inside.

The garden was still, save for the breeze that fluttered through the leaves. There, on one of the stone benches, Lady Aster was seated, her posture as composed as ever, though her gaze was soft and pensive.

“Lady Aster,” Nesta greeted, settling herself on the opposite end of the bench. She could feel the heat of the books against her side, and with them came the burden of her new responsibilities.

Aster glanced up from her thoughts, her eyes lightening at the sight of Nesta. She tilted her head in greeting. “Lady of Autumn,” she said, her voice calm, but there was a knowing glint in her gaze. “You carry weight today.”

Nesta smiled faintly, allowing the words to sink in. She wasn’t sure if it was the books or the conversation earlier that made her feel so heavy. "Just learning what I can," she said, patting the satchel. “Damian gave me some texts to study. For politics, strategy, that sort of thing.”

Aster’s eyes flicked to the satchel, a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Ah, so you plan to take a more active role. You certainly have the mind for it. Your predecessor…” Aster’s tone shifted just slightly, enough for Nesta to catch the meaning. “Lady Aurelia, she didn’t have the luxury of choosing her role, not with Beron’s interference.”

Nesta’s fingers tightened around the books as the weight of those words settled into the space between them. "I don’t plan to be a figurehead," Nesta said quietly, almost to herself, through her eyes remained fixed on the garden ahead.

Aster nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I suspected as much. It is good to see that you are not content to simply wear the crown, as some would expect."

The silence between them stretched for a moment, the murmur of distant voices in the halls beyond the garden barely reaching them. Finally, Aster spoke again, her voice softer but weighted with understanding. “But there are other matters, too. Some things that you may not yet have considered.”

Nesta turned her gaze toward Aster, sensing that this was a conversation she hadn’t anticipated. “What do you mean?”

Aster’s eyes flicked toward the books once more, then back to Nesta, her expression serious. “You may be thinking about strategy and how best to navigate these waters. But there is more to be done. More for the women of Autumn, for the women in this court, in this land.”

Nesta’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Aster exhaled softly, gathering her thoughts before she spoke again. “The truth is, women in Autumn have not been allowed the freedoms that others take for granted. Many of us still need our fathers’ permission to marry, and not all fathers are kind in that regard. Some, like-minded to Beron, use that law to control their daughters, force them into marriages for political gain or personal convenience.”

“That's... wrong,” Nesta said, her voice cold with anger. "Women should have the right to choose."

Aster's gaze softened with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. “I thought you might say that. But it is not just that. Most women here are kept uneducated beyond the basics of running a household. There are no schools for us, no programs to teach us how to manage lands or read politics, or to take a role in court or society beyond marrying and bearing children.”

The words struck Nesta like a clap of thunder. She had always known that women were restricted in some ways, but hearing it laid out like this, hearing Aster speak from the heart, opened her eyes to a truth that was undeniable.

Her fingers absentmindedly stroked the edge of the satchel, and then, in a sudden flash of inspiration, the idea sparked in her mind. A school. A program. For women.

The silence stretched again, but this time, it was different, charged, filled with the weight of a possibility she hadn’t yet fully realized. Nesta could almost see it: women being taught to read, to write, to govern, to speak their minds. A place where they weren’t bound by their fathers’ choices or the expectations placed on them by the court.

Her breath caught. "We could—" Nesta said slowly, almost to herself. "We could start a school. An education program. One that gives women the chance to learn more than just household tasks. Teach them the skills they need to build a life, a future of their own."

Aster’s eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, Nesta saw a flicker of hope in them. “That’s... exactly what we need. But that’s not all, is it? You’re also thinking of the law. The one that requires women to gain their fathers' permission to marry.”

Nesta clenched her hands tighter. “Yes. I’ll bring it to Eris. We’ll fight to change it. I won’t let women here live as pawns in their fathers’ schemes anymore.” She could feel the fire rising inside her, a sense of purpose igniting in her chest. "I’ll make him listen, and we’ll make sure that women in this court, and beyond, are free to choose their futures."

Aster’s smile deepened, her pride in Nesta evident. “Lady Nesta, you may not have realized it yet, but you are already shaping the future of Autumn. You’re not just here to wear a crown, you’re here to make it matter.”

Nesta exhaled, a sense of resolve settling over her. She had a plan now. A vision. And with Eris at her side, she would make it a reality.

---

The evening was quiet when Nesta returned to their shared rooms, her mind swirling with the weight of her conversation with Lady Aster. As the door clicked shut behind her, she could feel the energy of the day’s discussions still lingering in her veins, especially the idea of changing the law that bound women like chains. She couldn’t shake the anger it stirred in her. The injustice of it. How so many women, trapped by their fathers’ decisions, would never have the freedom to choose their own future.

Eris was already in their rooms, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on his face as he stood by the window, his profile outlined by the moonlight. He glanced over as she entered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Something’s on your mind,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Nesta didn’t hesitate. She walked over to the small seating area near the fire and dropped the satchel of books onto the table. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her mind still a whirlwind of thoughts and frustrations.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “The law. Women here... needing their fathers’ permission to marry. The control they have over their daughters’ lives. It’s wrong . It’s sickening.”

Eris’s eyes softened, his gaze never leaving her as he moved toward her. He didn’t speak at first, but his presence was a quiet anchor, waiting for her to continue.

“I want it gone. I want to do everything I can to see it changed, now. As soon as possible.” Her voice faltered for a moment, a wave of emotion threatening to crack her resolve. "The idea that women can’t choose… that we are nothing more than pawns for the whims of men like Beron, it’s infuriating."

Eris approached her, his eyes full of a fierce kind of pride, the kind he’d shown her before when she stood firm in her beliefs. He reached for her hand, his fingers lightly brushing over hers before closing around it in a firm yet gentle grip.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “It is infuriating. But I’m with you, Nesta. You don’t have to fight alone in this. We will change it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Nesta felt her chest tighten with a surge of gratitude. She nodded, but the words that had been building in her throat came out almost in a whisper. “I need this to happen. For the women here, for every woman who’s ever been forced into something they didn’t want. I need it to be different.”

Eris held her gaze for a long moment before he leaned in closer, “It will be different. And I’m proud of you, Nesta. You’re not just fighting for yourself. You’re fighting for all of them. And I will stand by you. Always.”

His words settled over her like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the weight of the world outside their shared space seemed to melt away. Nesta leaned into his touch, her head resting gently against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, breathing in the steady rhythm of his presence.

“You make it feel like I can actually do this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like I can actually make a difference.”

Eris didn’t say anything more at first. Instead, he leaned over to kiss her forehead softly, a gesture full of tenderness, before stepping back slightly to meet her eyes once more.

“You already are. Just by being here, by standing tall, you’ve already made a difference. And I’ll support you every step of the way.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the world beyond their room forgotten. Then, as if on instinct, Nesta reached for him, pulling him closer. The softness between them was undeniable, the trust and understanding deepening with each passing second.

But as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a faint ache in her chest reminded her of everything they had yet to navigate. Nesta pulled back just slightly, her eyes searching his. There was a vulnerability in her gaze, a hesitation that lingered between them.

Eris, ever perceptive, recognized the shift. He gave her a small, understanding smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No rush,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek again. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Nesta felt her pulse quicken, the connection between them deepening in a way that went beyond the physical. She nodded, and in that moment, she realized that it wasn’t about the timing or the place, it was about trust. And that trust was building, slowly but surely.

Instead of pushing further, she let herself relax into the moment, savoring the closeness, the warmth that radiated from him. “I’m ready for whatever comes next,” she said softly.

Eris pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “And I’ll be here for all of it.”

The night stretched on, filled with quiet exchanges and soft touches, each moment growing more intimate, but the weight of their shared mission remained: clear, resolute, and unspoken. As they sat on one of the sofas by the fire, Nesta settled into his arms, her mind still turned with plans for change, knowing that tomorrow would bring its own challenges. But for tonight, she allowed herself the peace of simply being with him.

Notes:

Omg this one took me a bit longer to finish mainly because I couldn't decide on where to go with politics in Autumn, but its here! Also considering everything we know about Beron, I can't imagine women having a great amount of freedoms in Autumn, and considering I went to an all girls school for high school thats something I immediately wanted to incorporate, bc based on everything with the Valkyries Nesta def supports women. Speaking of them, I haven't forgotten about Gwyn and Emerie, they will make their appearance later on!!

Chapter 17: Third Eye

Notes:

I know people have definitely been waiting for the last scene. That's my first time writing a scene like that and its definitely not my area of expertise so I had some help from my friend who edits so thank you to her. Definitely give feedback!

The council chamber buzzed with a low, simmering tension.

Nesta stood beside Eris at the head of the long, carved table, her hands folded neatly in front of her. The sunlight slanting through the tall windows caught the glint of her circlet, the crimson of her gown.

Eris’s voice cut through the murmurs, cool and unshakable.

"Marriage shall be the daughter’s choice alone. No father or family shall claim authority over her will."

Silence answered him.

Nesta let her gaze sweep the room.

The two lords who had once resisted Eris’s rule sat stiffly among the gathered nobility, their faces carved from stone. They had, however reluctantly, sworn their loyalty. Beside them, in the seat once held by the late Lord Malrick, sat his son: younger, sharper, and far more willing to embrace change. Across the chamber, others shifted in their chairs, some hiding their discontent better than others.

The words would be written into law by nightfall. Copies sent to every corner of Autumn. Posted in village squares. Read aloud where even the smallest voices could hear them.

Nesta lifted her chin. She wanted to believe it would be enough. That the law would stand between women and the cages others would build for them. But doubt coiled in her gut, cold and sharp. Some would obey because they must. Others might find ways to twist or ignore the decree when no one was looking.

She felt Eris’s gaze brush over her, a quiet touch, as sure and steady as his hand finding hers beneath the table, the pad of his thumb tracing a grounding line across her knuckles. A private promise, silent and certain: You are not alone.

By early afternoon, scribes were already at work, ink flowing over parchment, the words sharp and deliberate.

Messengers saddled their horses beneath the still-warm sun, riding hard and fast from the Forest House to every village, every estate, every distant holding that answered to the Autumn Court.

Far from the great halls and carved thrones, a slip of parchment was nailed to a village square post. A woman with rough, work-worn hands paused before it, her basket of herbs slipping to her elbow. She read the words once, then again, and a slow, quiet smile pulled at her mouth.

Nesta watched the messengers ride from a window in the council chamber. She watched the sun drift lazily toward the horizon, casting its soft amber light over the sweeping lands of the Autumn Court.

Change did not come all at once.

It began with words. With a single letter nailed to a single door. With a single woman standing a little taller, her future her own.

And Nesta, standing here, hand still lightly brushing Eris’s under the table, understood: Even the smallest of actions could reshape a land that had not moved in centuries.

As the last of the messengers rode down the long roads stretching from the Forest House, their figures growing smaller against the bright afternoon light, Nesta felt the quiet stir of something deep within her; a certainty that, while small, this was the start of something vast.

Eris’s presence beside her was a quiet anchor, his hand still resting lightly on hers. In the span of a few days, everything had changed, yet there was so much still ahead.

She knew now that true change would not be declared in a single day. It would be built slowly, woven into the roots of Autumn with patience and determination. It would require more than willpower, it would require knowledge.

---

She found herself in the library not long after, tucked into a sun-drenched alcove with a heavy volume balanced across her knees.

One of the books Damian had sent to her rooms earlier that day, A Concise History of the Autumn Court’s Governance and Law , was dense and dry, but not without its glimpses of something deeper. Every so often, Damian’s precise handwriting lined the margins: brief notes, pointed observations, and occasionally a small, wry comment that made her lips twitch.

Nesta turned another page carefully, her quill scratching lightly over the parchment beside her as she made notes of her own. Questions. Thoughts. A few things she needed to ask Eris or Damian about later.

It wasn’t glamorous work, there were no battles won or thrones overturned with the study of trade laws and ancient oaths. But this, understanding the foundations they were trying to rebuild, was necessary. It mattered.

The library around her was golden with the slanting light of late afternoon, the great windows casting long bars of warmth across the sprawling shelves and carved wood. The silence of the library, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages.

Nesta shifted in her chair, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders, and glanced down at her notes, a modest beginning, but a beginning all the same.

A quiet knock broke the stillness.

Nesta looked up from her notes as Cormac stepped into the library, a thick leather-bound ledger tucked under his arm.

"Ready to begin, Lady Nesta?" he asked, his tone careful, but not unkind.

Nesta rose, slipping her notes into the book to mark her place. She arched her brow. "If by 'begin' you mean reading until my eyes bleed, then yes, I’m thrilled."

Cormac huffed a laugh under his breath.

As she crossed the room to meet him, Nesta added, with a small, wry smile, "Just Nesta. We're family now, aren't we?"

Cormac dipped his chin in a nod, almost formal, but there was a flicker of something warmer in his eyes.

Nesta met his steady gaze, her voice quieter but certain, "I am."

The work began at one of the smaller tables near the windows, the light fading to dusk as they sifted through ledgers and trade reports. Cormac was patient, if a bit dry, explaining the meanings behind the numbers, the patterns to look for, the subtle signs of trouble or growth hidden in columns of figures.

Nesta took notes with a steady hand, though her mind occasionally snagged on some detail, a village name she didn’t know, a tithe she didn’t understand the reasoning for.

By the time the candles were lit and the stars blinked faintly into view beyond the tall windows, Nesta was rubbing the cramp from her writing hand. She closed the ledger they’d been working through with a quiet thud.

Cormac leaned back in his chair. "You’re picking it up faster than most would."

Nesta offered him a crooked smile. "Flattery won't save you if you assign me more homework."

Another faint huff of laughter from him, but he rose and gathered the books, not pressing her further. As she watched him go, Nesta let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of it all settle over her. Not just battles and bold declarations. Understanding this court and its people, its roads and markets, its fields and merchants, would take more than strength. It would take patience. Care. Strategy.

She was no longer a sword in someone else's hand, a weapon for a Court she had since left behind. Now, she was a hand helping to shape the future.

Even if it overwhelmed her now and then, she would master this, too. Nesta gathered her notes and the heavy book Damian had sent for her and slipped them into her satchel, her movements automatic. The hour was late, the halls quiet when she stepped into them, but not empty.

Eris was waiting, leaning lazily against the archway outside the library door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the golden pin at his collar glinting in the low light. His eyes met hers, a spark of amusement, a glimmer of something warmer.

Eris straightened from his lean as she approached, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth. He said nothing at first, simply falling into step beside her as they started down the hall, the low-burning sconces casting their shadows long and golden along the stone.

Nesta glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Were you lurking?"

He gave a low, quiet chuckle. "Perhaps. I figured you might need an escort after wrestling with Cormac’s love letters to bureaucracy."

"An escort or a rescue?"

"Both."

She snorted under her breath, shifting her satchel on her shoulder. They walked a few more steps in companionable silence, the hush between them easy now, worn into something almost comfortable. 

It was Eris who finally broke it, voice softer, "I was nervous too," he said. "Not of the law we passed. That was necessary. Centuries overdue, really." He stared ahead, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. "But… change isn't always welcomed. And Autumn —" he exhaled, slow and steady, "Autumn is very good at pretending it doesn’t need anything to change at all."

Nesta slowed a little, her fingers brushing his as they walked. A silent offer. He took it, his hand twining with hers, their steps never faltering.

"Not all of them will welcome it," she said. "Some won't listen unless they're made to."

A flash of teeth, a real smile, quick and genuine crossed Eris’s face.

"They’ll learn," he said quietly. "Change doesn't ask for permission."

She squeezed his hand lightly. "And we’re not doing it alone."

He looked at her then, something raw and bright in his gaze. "No," he agreed. "Not alone."

They walked the last stretch to their rooms without speaking, the corridor narrowing, darkening. At their door, he paused, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch light, reverent.

"You chose this," he said, wonder threading through his voice.

Nesta nodded once, slow and sure, leaning into his touch slightly, her eyes meeting his without flinching.
"I did," she echoed, "I chose you."

Something in him broke a little at that, not visibly, not loudly. But she felt it in the way he exhaled, the way his thumb swept slowly across her cheekbone. The way he leaned down and kissed her, once, lightly, before pushing open the door. And she stepped inside, hand still caught in his.

The room stayed dim, lit only by the faint glow of the hearth. Shadows pooled in the corners, softening everything into gold and grey.

Nesta stood by the door for a breath, heart pounding steady and sure in her ribs. And when Eris reached for her, he did it carefully, as if she were something rare, something precious. His fingers brushed her cheek, trailed down the line of her jaw, his thumb resting lightly against her mouth.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough, low.

Nesta looked up at him, her husband, the first person since she became fae who had given her space to grow, to choose, and nodded once. “Yes," she said. Not just for tonight. For every step forward. For every part of the life she was building with him.

That was all he needed. He kissed her then, slow and lingering, his mouth coaxing rather than taking. Nesta melted into it, her hands sliding up his chest, finding the familiar heat of his skin beneath the fine layers of his clothes.

They undressed each other between kisses, unhurried. Eris’s hands never pushed, only offered, tugging free a sleeve, a fastening, waiting for her to nod or move closer before he continued. Every inch of her he revealed, he touched with reverence, tracing the line of her shoulder, the soft dip of her spine, the curve of her waist.

When she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, when she loosened the ties at his shirt and let it fall away, it was with the same tender awe. He was devastating. Not just in body, though the strength of him was enough to steal the breath from her lungs, but in the way he looked at her. As if she were a universe he intended to worship.

Eris walked her backward, their mouths meeting again and again, until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. Nesta went down first, pulling him with her, laughing into his mouth when he stumbled a little. Eris caught himself on his hands, framing her, his hair slipping loose from its tie to brush her cheeks.

"You’re dangerous," he murmured against her throat, his breath hot against her skin.

"So are you," she breathed back, tilting her head to grant him better access.

Eris kissed a line down her neck, across her collarbone, pausing at the soft swell of her breast to suck gently at the sensitive skin. Nesta gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

He mapped her body with his mouth and hands, slow and thorough, worshipful.Every kiss, every touch, was a wordless promise: I see you. I want you. I choose you.

When he finally slid down her body, his hands gripping her hips, his mouth finding the most intimate parts of her, Nesta arched off the bed with a soft, desperate sound. Eris groaned against her, savoring every trembling reaction he drew from her, not to control, not to claim, but because her pleasure undid him.

He kissed his way back up her body, his mouth warm, his smile soft. Nesta cupped his face and kissed him hard, uncaring of anything but him.

And when he finally entered her, slow and deliberate, Nesta’s breath caught in her throat. He moved carefully at first, waiting for her to adjust. Their bodies finding a rhythm, slow and deep, every thrust sending sparks of sensation through her. Eris’s hands framed her body as they moved together, his forehead pressed to hers, his breathing ragged and unsteady.

Nesta clutched at his shoulders, his back, grounding herself in the solid, aching reality of him. Her silver flames flickered at the edge of her awareness, not in fear or violence, but in something closer to joy.

He whispered her name, over and over, a prayer, a promise, as she unraveled around him, her body tightening, trembling, pulling him down with her.

Eris groaned her name as he followed, holding her like he never wanted to let go. And then they simply stayed like that, breathing each other in, neither willing to break the fragile, sacred moment.

---

The fire had burned down to embers, casting a soft amber glow across the bed.

Eris lay beside her, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other tracing idle circles along the bare skin of her back. Nesta rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring thud of his heart.

Outside, the stars stretched endless and bright across the sky.

Nesta watched them through the open window, feeling something unfurl slowly in her chest. A sense of peace. Of certainty. No bargains bound her, no cages trapped her.

She stayed because she wanted to. Because she loved him. Because she had finally learned to love herself, too.

Eris shifted, pressing a soft kiss to her hairline. "I’m yours," he whispered against her skin. 

Nesta closed her eyes, breathing him in, “And I’m yours," she whispered back.

The stars watched over them as they drifted to sleep, not as strangers to fate, but as partners who had fought tooth and nail for their right to choose . And they would keep choosing each other, for as long as the stars burned.

---

The first thing Nesta felt was warmth. A solid weight against her side, an arm slung heavy across her waist, the slow, steady rise and fall of Eris’s chest behind her. Morning light was creeping through the curtains, painting the room in soft light, and she could feel, more than hear, Eris breathing.

For a moment, she stayed still, letting herself exist only in this, the unfamiliar comfort of waking not alone, but safe.

Eris stirred against her, his nose brushing the back of her neck. A soft, almost inaudible grumble left him, like he was protesting the idea of morning itself.

Nesta bit back a smile. "You're terrible at pretending to be asleep," she murmured.

The arm around her tightened slightly. "You're terrible at letting a man sleep in peace," Eris mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

She twisted just enough to glance over her shoulder. His hair was a mess, fiery strands mussed and falling across his forehead, and his eyes were still half-closed, the sharpness he usually wore nowhere to be seen.

"You look ridiculous," Nesta said, voice light, teasing.

Eris cracked one eye open, the corner of his mouth lifting lazily. "And you," he said, tugging her a little closer, "are still here."

The words were so soft, so quietly full of wonder, that her teasing faded. Nesta shifted to face him fully, resting her hand against his chest where his heart beat steady beneath her palm.

"I'm still here," she echoed.

And in the golden hush of morning, with the world waiting just beyond the heavy doors, they stayed tangled together a little longer, letting the day wait for them.

Notes:

In the next chapters, I'll definitely be getting back into more Autumn Court politics before Briallyn reappears and it switches back to Prythian as a whole!!

Chapter 18: Heartlines

The library was eerily quiet, save for the soft scratch of Nesta’s quill against the parchment. Books and scrolls were scattered around her, many of them containing histories of the Autumn Court, complex political strategies, and detailed records of past reforms. It felt as if she had only skimmed the surface, each page a promise of more tangled webs to untangle.

The conversation with Aster lingered in her mind, a steady pulse beneath her thoughts. The realization that the court was not just a place of law and order, but a battlefield of alliances, power plays, and secret motives had struck her deeply. She had been so focused on the one reform, changing the forced marriage law, that she hadn’t considered the other layers beneath the surface.

Nesta frowned as she scanned a section of a book on Autumn’s power dynamics. The political structure was like a house of cards, one slight shift, and the whole thing could crumble. There were alliances, backdoor dealings, and long-held grudges. The idea of passing a reform seemed almost naive now, especially when the powerful families within the court saw their own interests at risk.

She gripped the edge of the table, staring at the words in front of her but barely seeing them. Could she really bring about change here? Would they let her?

A soft knock at the door startled her, breaking her thoughts. She straightened, wiping a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, then called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and a maid entered, her soft steps gentle on the wooden floor. She was holding a small silver tray, on which rested a folded note. "Lady Nesta," she said politely, "Lord Eris sent me to inform you that lunch is ready."

Nesta glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing how much time had passed. She had been immersed in the books for hours. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Thank you. I’ll be right there."

The maid gave a nod and left as quietly as she had come. Nesta gathered the books together, stacking them neatly on the desk. The weight of the task ahead lingered in her chest, but she knew she couldn’t delay lunch any longer. With a quick glance at the shelves of knowledge surrounding her, she stood, smoothing the folds of her dress before heading to the dining room.

---

The dining room was warm, sunlight streaming through the large windows and casting a golden hue on the wooden table laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and a variety of cheeses. It was a sharp contrast to the tension of the previous weeks, and Nesta was grateful for it. As she stepped into the room, the chatter of the Vanserra brothers paused, and they all turned toward her with matching expressions of mild surprise.

Eris, sitting at the head of the table, smirked. "Ah, so the study session didn’t break you? I thought we might need to send in a rescue team."

Nesta raised an eyebrow, but the playful tone in Eris's voice softened her usual sharp edge. "I survived. Barely," she replied, taking a seat next to him.

Idris, across the table, grinned, "We were starting to wonder if you’d become one with the books and never return."

Cormac leaned back in his chair, his voice light. "I could’ve sworn I heard a muffled scream a few minutes ago. Should we check for any bookish casualties?"

Damian, who had been quietly eating, looked up with a smirk. "Nah. I’m sure Nesta’s fine. She’s probably plotting how to outsmart us all while we’re busy filling our bellies."

Eris shot a teasing glance at Damian. "You’re just upset because she’s getting more of the family attention than you are."

Damian grinned. "Well, I did tell her I was the best option for a teacher, but it seems she’s talking to you three instead. Can’t blame her."

Nesta couldn't help but chuckle. "I think it’s because none of you have tried to make me faint with boring lectures. Yet."

Idris raised his hands in mock surrender. "We’re trying to make sure you stay awake, Nesta. Politics is brutal, but there’s no need to make it as painful as Cormac’s speeches on duty."

"Hey!" Cormac said, feigning offense. "My speeches are insightful and motivational."

"Motivational at putting people to sleep," Damian added, before taking another bite of his food.

Nesta smirked. "Well, at least it’s not as bad as your culinary skills, Cormac."

"Excuse me?" Cormac shot her a sideways glance, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I’m a fantastic cook."

"Is that why I just had a bite of roasted lamb that tasted suspiciously sweet?" Nesta asked, lifting her fork to her mouth with a raised eyebrow.

Eris burst out laughing. "What do you mean, ‘suspiciously sweet’?"

Nesta pointed to the bowl of salt. "This is supposed to be salt, but I think Cormac might have swapped it out for sugar. It’s either that or he’s trying to convince me that lamb can be dessert."

The entire table went quiet for a moment before Idris snorted with laughter. "That explains the taste. I thought it was just me."

Cormac, clearly amused, shrugged. "You can’t blame me for trying something new. Who says you can’t add a little sweetness to life?"

Damian’s smirk widened. "Maybe next time, we should switch the sugar and salt on purpose and see who notices first."

Eris chuckled, shaking his head. "I think the lesson here is that you shouldn’t trust Cormac with the seasoning."

Nesta rolled her eyes but smiled. "I’ll make sure to keep my distance from the saltshaker."

"You’ll thank me one day," Cormac said, grinning. "Lamb coated in sugar might just be the next big thing."

Idris laughed. "Yeah, after we’ve all gotten used to it being a joke."

The banter flowed effortlessly, and Nesta couldn’t help but enjoy the ease with which she had fallen into this rhythm. As much as they were steeped in the politics of the court, their personal lives seemed to revolve more around teasing each other, shared meals, and the occasional family squabble. It was... nice. Refreshing, even.

"I’m still waiting for one of you to teach me the art of diplomacy," Nesta said, her tone half-serious, half-joking. "Seems like you all have a knack for it."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "You think this is diplomacy? Wait until we take you to the next court gathering. That’s when the real fun starts."

"Fun?" Nesta asked with a smirk. "I’m starting to wonder if you all have different definitions of fun."

Idris laughed, leaning forward. "That’s not diplomacy, that’s survival."

Damian shrugged. "Sometimes you have to make sure people know you’re not the one to cross. A little threat here and there works wonders."

"Great," Nesta muttered under her breath, but she was grinning. "I’m sure that’s helpful."

"I think you’ll do just fine," Eris said softly, though there was a spark of pride in his eyes.

Nesta caught the look and met his gaze for a moment before turning her attention back to the brothers. The banter, the teasing, it was more than she had expected. Beneath all the politics, beneath the sharp edges of power struggles, they were a family. And despite her earlier hesitation, she was starting to feel like part of it.

---

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting the gardens in a soft golden hue as Nesta strolled alongside Lady Aurelia. The garden was peaceful, with flowerbeds in full bloom and the scent of jasmine in the air, a stark contrast to the often tense political atmosphere of Autumn Court.

Aurelia had insisted on a walk after lunch, claiming that fresh air would do Nesta good. At first, Nesta had hesitated, there were still many things on her plate, but the older woman’s gentle insistence won her over. Aurelia had seen more of the world than Nesta could imagine, and any advice was valuable, especially with the intricate politics of the court.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their boots the only sound. Aurelia broke the quiet first.

“You’ve made a strong start, Nesta,” Aurelia said, her voice warm but thoughtful. “The reform you’re pushing, the changes to the marriage laws, it’s a brave thing. It will change lives.”

Nesta glanced at her, surprised by the praise. “I didn’t think it would be so... complicated.”

Aurelia nodded. “Of course it is. The laws, those are easy. It’s the people, the power struggles, the centuries-old grudges that make real change difficult.” She sighed lightly, as if a heavy memory had slipped into her thoughts.

They turned onto a path that led toward a small fountain, surrounded by low stone benches. Aurelia gestured for Nesta to sit, and they both settled down.

“I know about duty and marriage, Nesta,” Aurelia continued, her voice quieter now. “I was bound to Beron, chosen for my family’s magic, for power. At first, I thought marriage might be enough. But that changed when I met my mate, Helion.” She paused, her eyes distant. “He wasn’t meant to be mine, not in the way I wanted him. But the heart doesn’t listen to politics, does it?” She let out a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Beron never forgave me for it. When he found out, everything changed.”

Nesta nodded, understanding the weight of Aurelia’s words. “But... what happened then?”

Aurelia’s expression grew sadder. “I stayed, of course. Duty always came first for Beron, and I couldn’t escape it. But after that, I became nothing more than a prisoner in my own life. Beron never saw me as anything but a tool to use, never as a person with my own desires. I suspect... he suspected more than just my affection for Helion. Perhaps that’s part of why Beron grew so cold, treated Lucien so cruelly, why everything soured.”

The suggestion hit Nesta like a bolt of lightning, Lucien might be Helion’s son. The thought rattled her, but before she could ask further, Aurelia was already moving on, her face taking on a more serene expression.

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” Aurelia said softly. “I was never given the choice to choose my path, Nesta. But you and Eris, yours is different.”

Nesta’s heart fluttered. She hadn’t expected Aurelia to see their relationship so clearly, so kindly. It made her feel... seen.

“We’re still learning,” Nesta said quietly, her voice filled with emotion she hadn’t fully expressed to anyone else. “Our marriage started for political reasons, yes, but we’ve grown together. I never expected... never thought I could find love like this. But now, we’ve both chosen it.”

Aurelia’s eyes softened, her gaze warm and approving. “That’s the difference, Nesta. You and Eris are partners, equals. You’ve chosen each other, and that’s what matters. Not duty. Not power.” She smiled, the hint of a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “It’s clear to me that your bond is real. Stronger than anything political or forced.”

Nesta felt a warmth in her chest at the words. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them until now.

“I think... I think we’ve both chosen each other, in spite of everything,” Nesta said, her heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

Aurelia stood, stretching her long limbs as she gestured toward the house. “And that’s exactly how it should be. I see how Eris looks at you, how he respects you. He sees your strength. You’re both building something solid, something that will last.”

Nesta’s heart fluttered at the thought of Eris. Her bond with him had started out of necessity, but it had become something deeper, something real. Something she hadn’t known she could have. They had found love in each other, not shaped by duty but by choice.

“I’ll remember that,” Nesta said softly.

Aurelia smiled, her expression full of understanding. “I know you will.”

---

The garden was still warm from the late afternoon sun, the gold light threading through the trees and catching on the shifting red leaves. Nesta and Aurelia walked slowly along a stone path, their earlier conversation lingering between them in a quiet, comfortable way.

The sound of footsteps reached them first, light, sure, familiar. Aurelia turned sharply, and before Nesta could say a word, Lucien appeared, rounding a bend in the path.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Lucien’s bright russet eye softened immediately when he saw them. Aurelia didn’t wait, she crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

Nesta stood a little further back, watching. She didn’t miss the way Aurelia's arms wrapped around Lucien tightly, the way she pressed a kiss to his temple as if she had been waiting years for this moment. There was no mistaking it, the fierce, unguarded love of a mother seeing her son safe and home again.

A pang echoed in Nesta’s chest, sharp and sudden. That kind of love, that kind of family, was something rare and precious. Something she would fight to protect, for herself, for this place she was beginning to call home.

"I didn’t know you were back," Aurelia said, voice thick with emotion, pulling back just enough to cup Lucien’s face in her hands.

"Only just," Lucien said, his grin boyish. "Idris and Cormac dragged me into about five conversations before I could even breathe. I escaped."

Aurelia laughed softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "I’m glad you’re here."

Lucien’s gaze slid past her to Nesta, offering a respectful nod. "Lady Nesta."

"Lucien," she said with a small smile. "It’s good to see you."

An easy silence stretched between them. Then, carefully, Nesta asked, "Have you seen Elain recently?"

Something flickered in Lucien’s face, a subtle hesitation that a few months ago Nesta might have missed, but not now. He looked away for a breath, his voice casual when he replied, "Briefly."

But Nesta caught the way his fingers curled slightly, the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"There’s a lot... she hasn’t been told," he added, almost as if speaking more to himself than to Nesta. "The Night Court protects her, in their way. But sometimes... sometimes protecting someone looks a lot like keeping them in the dark."

Nesta’s heart clenched, but she only nodded. She wouldn’t push. She had her own complicated love for Elain, and it warmed her, strangely, to see that Lucien seemed to feel the same.

Aurelia, clearly sensing the shift in the air, looped her arm through Lucien’s. "Come," she said warmly. "Walk with me. Tell me everything."

Lucien's eyes softened again. "Only if you promise to tell me what you’ve been up to."

With a final smile toward Nesta, Aurelia and Lucien disappeared down another path, their voices low and animated.

Nesta watched them go, a small smile on her lips, before turning and making her way toward the sitting gardens on the west side of the Forest House.

The western gardens were quieter this time of day, shadows growing long beneath the rose-draped trellises. Nesta found Lady Aster seated on a carved stone bench, sunlight catching in the fall of her dark hair.

Aster looked up as Nesta approached, her face lighting with a genuine, if slightly mischievous, smile. She rose and dipped a graceful curtsy. "Lady Nesta. I was beginning to think you'd been kidnapped by the library."

Nesta huffed a soft laugh. "Not today."

They settled on the bench together, the worn stone still warm from the afternoon sun. For a while, they simply sat, the scent of late-blooming roses filling the air.

"I heard Lucien is back," Aster said lightly, glancing sideways at Nesta.

"He is," Nesta replied. "His mother looked as though her heart had finally been set right."

Aster smiled at that, a little wistfully. "Families can be complicated here. Harder to hold onto than they should be."

Nesta made a noncommittal noise. She understood all too well.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Then Aster said, her voice low and earnest, "I meant what I said before, you’re doing good here. It’s not easy to come into Autumn and change anything, let alone start with something as bold as overturning Beron's old laws."

Nesta looked down at her hands. "I didn’t do it alone."

"You chose to," Aster said firmly. "You and Eris both." She smiled again, softer this time. "It matters. More than you know."

A soft breeze stirred the petals at their feet. Nesta felt the words settle into her bones, anchoring her a little more to this place, to these people who had begun, in small ways, to trust her.

Before she could answer, the sound of hurried footsteps drew both their gazes to the path ahead.

A young woman approached, her strawberry blonde hair slightly mussed, her cheeks flushed as though she'd been running. Her gown, though finely made, was wrinkled and askew at the hem.

Lady Ione, Lord Virel’s daughter.

Nesta straightened, the easy peace between her and Aster fracturing under the weight of the girl’s obvious distress.

Ione slowed as she neared them, her hands twisting in her skirts. For a moment, she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if afraid she had been followed.

When she spoke, her voice was a tremulous whisper. "Lady Nesta. Lady Aster. I... I need your help."

The words hung there, trembling in the cool, golden air.

Nesta rose from the bench, heart already beginning to pound, not in fear, but in something colder, sharper. A sense that whatever peace they'd built was about to be tested.

Badly.

Notes:

The Night Court special, keeping information from others to protect them/for the greater good! Also, the next chapter will have Nesta stepping into her role as Lady of Autumn more as shes helping Lady Ione so I can't wait to finish and post that!

Chapter 19: Ships to Wreck

Lady Ione hurried toward them, nearly tripping over the heavy skirts of her gown. Her hands twisted the fabric, fingers white-knuckled with tension. In the golden afternoon light, her face was pale, drawn tight with fear.

Nesta stopped immediately, reading the signs with a sinking heart. She waited, patient, as Ione opened her mouth, then closed it again, trembling.

“My father...” Ione said finally, voice fraying apart like threadbare cloth. “He... he is still insisting I marry a Lord from our territory. Lord Halric. He’s cruel,  and I have never wanted this marriage.”

Beside Nesta, Aster stiffened visibly, the soft rustle of her gown loud in the garden’s hush. Nesta kept her face calm, though her heart gave a hard, furious thud.

“I thought the law—” Aster began, voice sharp.

“It is law now,” Nesta said firmly. “No marriage can be forced. No woman, no one, can be compelled against their will in Autumn.”

Ione nodded shakily, twisting her hands tighter.
“But in Ashgrove... in my father's territory... the law is being... ignored.” She swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “He has threatened me. Said he would disown me, exile me. And worse, that I would bring shame to our family if I defied him.”

The garden seemed to still, the air itself holding its breath. Cold, clean fury coiled inside Nesta, sharp as a blade.

“Does he know the consequences?” she asked quietly.

Ione gave a broken laugh. “He doesn’t care. He thinks no one will stop him. That Ashgrove is too far away, not large enough for the court to notice.”

“He’s wrong,” Nesta said, her voice low and certain.

For the first time, Ione lifted her head and met Nesta’s gaze, a flicker of hope piercing through the fear clouding her features.

“There’s more,” Ione whispered. “Other villages in Ashgrove, not just mine, are refusing to enforce the new law. Girls are still being... married off. Traded like cattle.” Her voice broke on the last word, ragged with pain.

Aster swore under her breath. Nesta only straightened, her hand curling loosely at her side, as if already reaching for a sword she did not need.

“We’ll handle it,” Nesta said, each word a vow. “You’re not alone.”

Without waiting for a reply, Nesta turned sharply on her heel. The gardens blurred around her, the golden light, the flowers, the careful beauty of it all, none of it mattered now. Aster and Ione hurried after her as she strode back toward the estate.

Eris needed to know. And he needed to know now.

---

She found him in his office, bent over a sprawling table littered with maps and thick stacks of parchment. His red hair caught the sunlight pouring through the tall windows, a glinting crown of flame.

At the sharp knock on the door, Eris looked up, immediately alert when he saw Nesta’s face.

“What is it?” he asked, already straightening.

Nesta didn’t waste time. “Lord Virel is already ignoring the law. He’s trying to force Lady Ione to marry a man from Ashgrove, a cruel man. He’s threatened her, said he’d disown her. Worse, there are villages in Ashgrove still selling girls off into marriage like cattle.” Her voice was even, but the fury underneath it trembled like a blade.

For a moment, Eris said nothing, absorbing the words. Then he cursed under his breath and pushed a hand through his hair.

“I’ll go with you,” he said immediately. “We can leave later today.”

But as he said it, his gaze flicked back to the desk, to the mess of documents scattered there. Nesta followed his gaze: army reports, updates on Briallyn’s movements, trade agreements awaiting his seal.

He swore again, softer this time. “I can’t leave. Not right now. Not when everything is balanced on a knife’s edge.”

She could see the fury in him too, the frustration at being bound here when everything in him demanded he act.

Eris raked a hand through his hair again, then said roughly, “You can handle it. You’re Lady of Autumn.”

Nesta lifted her chin. “I will.”

A sound from the doorway, they turned to see Damian leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed.

“If Nesta’s going,” Damian said, “she’s not going alone.”

Nesta opened her mouth to protest, she could more than protect herself, but Eris cut her a sharp look, one she understood instantly. Not because he doubted her strength. But because appearances mattered. And because Ashgrove would need to see that the court backed her fully.

Damian pushed off the doorframe with an easy shrug. “Besides,” he added, a smirk tugging at his mouth, “someone’s got to scare the stubborn old bastards into obeying the law.”

Nesta snorted softly. Eris only said, serious and low, “Go. Speak for us. Make it clear, Autumn will not allow this.”

Nesta nodded once, fierce and sure. And together, with Damian at her side, she strode out to ready for Ashgrove.

---

The world solidified around them in a breathless moment. They winnowed to the grand entrance of Ashgrove Manor, the cool air cutting through the space, snapping with the sharpness of their arrival.

Nesta landed gracefully, her gaze sweeping across the looming, ancient doors that loomed before them, cold and indifferent. Beside her, Damian’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his amber eyes narrowing as he scanned the entrance and surrounding grounds for any immediate threat. Lady Ione, pale but resolute, appeared a heartbeat after them, standing firm between the two of them as they took in the old stone walls of her home.

The heavy oak doors groaned open at their arrival, and a handful of guards filed out, startled by the suddenness of their presence. Some reached instinctively for their weapons, but hesitation flickered across their faces when they saw who had come. Recognizing their Lord’s daughter, and Nesta and Damian, their hands faltered before settling back to their sides.

Nesta didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, her posture proud, unshaken, the Lady of Autumn, as she was, every inch of her a force unto herself. Damian moved in sync with her, his gaze as vigilant as ever, a lethal calm settling over him.

“You’d think they’d be a little more welcoming,” Damian muttered, his voice low, though his lips curled in faint amusement.

Nesta’s lips didn’t shift. Her fingers brushed over the hidden dagger strapped beneath her gown, its weight familiar and comforting, the dagger she had forged herself, once a gift from Eris, now a part of her, a reminder of the bond they shared. She didn’t need it, not with the raw, immense power that lay at her fingertips, but it was always there, ready if needed.

She led the way toward the manor’s doors without a word, every step a mark of authority as she held herself like the Lady she was. Damian trailed a few paces behind, ever watchful, the quiet hum of danger surrounding them both.

Lord Virel waited for them in the main hall of the manor, the space grand but hollow-feeling, the air heavy with something stale and oppressive. The lord himself stood tall, silver-threaded hair gleaming in the muted light, his embroidered tunic rich but his expression sharper than any blade. His pale green eyes, so like Ione’s, glinted with disdain as they approached.

Nesta let the silence stretch, unbothered by the weight of it. She stood tall, Damian a step behind her, Ione close at her side.

“My daughter,” Lord Virel said at last, voice clipped, “seems to believe she may disobey the will of her family, of me , without consequence.”

“She’s correct,” Nesta said smoothly. “Under the new law, no marriage may be forced. Not by you. Not by anyone.”

The lord's mouth curled into a sneer. “You bring these court decrees here as if they are gods' words. Ashgrove has governed itself for centuries. We will not be dictated to like unruly children.”

Nesta smiled, but it was a cold thing, honed and dangerous. “You misunderstand,” she said lightly. “This is not a suggestion. It is law, and it is binding. And you are subject to it, Lord Virel, no matter how far you believe your influence reaches.”

The temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees.

“She is my blood,” he said, voice rising slightly. “My daughter owes me her duty.”

“She owes you nothing,” Nesta said, each word a dagger. “You would do well to remember that.”

Beside her, Ione trembled slightly, but Nesta didn’t look away from the lord, and didn't allow a flicker of hesitation to show.

“And if I refuse?” Lord Virel asked, stepping closer, towering but not intimidating.

Nesta’s hand brushed lightly against her skirts, where the dagger she had forged, small and wicked-sharp, was holstered beneath the folds of her gown. She did not draw it. She didn’t need to.

“You’d be violating the laws of Autumn Court,” Nesta said quietly, but every syllable pulsed with power. “And the consequences for such a crime will not be light. The High Lord, my husband , has little patience for those who defy the law.”

Lord Virel’s nostrils flared. For a heartbeat, Nesta thought he might do something reckless.

Instead, he bowed his head stiffly, a bow in form but not in spirit. “As you command, Lady of Autumn,” he gritted out.

Nesta inclined her head once in icy acknowledgment.

Then she turned, glancing at Ione, who still stood near the doorway, her face pale but determined.

“You’re coming with us,” Nesta said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ll be safe under my protection until this matter is fully resolved.”

Ione’s breath caught, but she nodded at once, relief mingling with disbelief in her wide eyes.

Damian stepped forward with a slight, grim smile. “We’ll keep her close,” he said. “And make our rounds through the villages.”

Nesta’s gaze snapped back to Lord Virel. “She’s under my protection now. If you have any objections, you may take them up with the High Lord himself.”

Lord Virel’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.

Good.

Without another word, Nesta led Ione and Damian back through the manor’s heavy doors. She didn’t look back, didn’t give Lord Virel the satisfaction of a parting glance. She felt his furious gaze follow them out, though.

At the entrance of the estate, where the carved ashwood gates swung heavily on their hinges, Nesta took Ione’s hand lightly on her own. “Ready?” she asked.

Ione gave a tiny nod.

Damian rested a hand on Nesta’s elbow. “We’ll winnow together. Safer that way.”

Nesta gave a curt nod of agreement. With a crack of magic, the world blurred, and they winnowed from the estate grounds, shadows pulling them through space.

They reappeared just beyond the village that Ione told them was having the most issues following the new law, a place called Hollow’s Crossing. Small cottages dotted the grassy plain, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. The fields were rich and green... but even from here, Nesta could feel it: an undercurrent of something wrong, something sour.

At the sight of them, the Lady of Autumn, a Vanserra lord, and a noblewoman cloaked in courtly authority, the villagers began to gather. Whispers filled the air. Curious. Wary. Some faces were merely surprised. Others darkened, suspicion hardening their gazes.

Damian glanced at Nesta. “How do you want to play this?”

Nesta drew herself up, letting the power of her station settle over her like a second skin.

“We’re here to remind them who the law protects,” she said coolly. “And who the law can punish, should they choose not to follow it.”

And with that, she began walking toward the gathered villagers, head high, power thrumming just beneath her skin.

The villagers gathered in a loose, wary circle as Nesta, Damian, and Ione approached. Children peered from behind their mothers’ skirts, men stood with arms folded across their chests, and a few elders leaned heavily on canes, faces closed and suspicious.

No one spoke.

Until Ione’s soft gasp broke the heavy silence.

“Marla,” she whispered.

A slender girl, no older than eighteen, stood near the back of the crowd. Her russet hair was braided neatly down her back, her brown eyes wide with fear, and bruises darkened her wrists where she clutched her skirts. She froze at the sound of her name, color draining from her face.

Nesta followed Ione’s gaze, and understood. This wasn’t just anyone. This was someone Ione knew. Someone she cared about.

Ione stepped forward, but Nesta laid a gentle hand on her arm, grounding her. She turned instead to face the crowd, her voice ringing clear across the village square.

“We are here to enforce the new law of Autumn,” Nesta said. “No marriage may be forced. No person may be sold, traded, or compelled against their will.”

Murmurs broke out. Disbelief. Scoffing. Fear.

A man stepped forward, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his cheeks ruddy with anger. His hand clamped hard around Marla’s thin wrist, making the girl flinch.

“This is my daughter,” he spat. “And she'll marry where I tell her, same as her mother did, and those before her did.”

Marla’s face crumpled, her eyes pleading.

Nesta’s heart burned cold and furious.

Before she could speak, Damian stepped to her side, his voice low and deadly. “Unhand her.”

The man sneered, and yanked Marla closer instead. “You think you can come here and tell us how to live?” he snarled, chest puffing up. “You think we’re scared of your pretty court games?”

Nesta’s power shimmered at her fingertips. She did not move, not yet.

But the man did.

He lunged, right at Nesta, spitting curses.

A flash of movement, and Damian was there, moving faster than the human eye could track. The man crashed to the ground with a thud, gasping for breath, Damian’s hand planted firmly on his back, pressing him into the dirt.

Shock rippled through the gathered crowd.

Nesta didn’t smile. She only stared down at the man as Damian straightened, yanking him to his feet with casual strength.

“Lay a hand on another in defiance of the law again,” Damian said in a quiet voice, “and you’ll answer to the High Lord and Lady personally.”

The man, red-faced and wheezing, didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.

Nesta turned her gaze back to the villagers. “Hear this, and understand: the High Lord of Autumn has decreed that no more shall daughters be sold, no more shall marriages be forced, no more will cruelty be accepted as tradition. Anyone who disobeys will be punished. And next time...” She let the words hang in the air, letting her power seep out enough that the stones at her feet vibrated. “It will not end so gently.”

Ione stepped forward then, reaching Marla with slow, careful steps. She touched the girl’s hand lightly, and to Nesta’s quiet pride, Marla clung to her immediately, desperate and trembling.

“We’ll protect you,” Ione said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Whispers tore through the villagers. Some faces turned thoughtful. Others ashamed. More than a few looked, for the first time, afraid, not of Nesta, but of the realization that the world had changed and that their actions now had consequences.

Nesta caught Damian’s glance: approval, fierce and proud..

The rumor of this confrontation would spread faster than wildfire through the other villages. Already, Nesta could feel the tide shifting, the old ways breaking apart at the seams. And they were only just beginning.

---

The Forest House buzzed with quiet life as Nesta led Marla through its winding halls, the late afternoon light slanting through tall windows, gilding the wood and stone in gold.

Marla clutched her small satchel close to her chest, her wide eyes flickering from tapestry to vaulted ceiling to the distant shapes of courtiers who passed with curious but not unkind glances. She walked close to Nesta's side, her steps small and hesitant.

They rounded a corner, and Lady Aster appeared, sharp-eyed and elegant in a simple gown of deep red, a book tucked beneath her arm. She paused when she saw them, and a bright smile bloomed across her face.

“Nesta,” Aster said warmly, then turned her keen gaze on Marla, immediately sensing something. “Who is this?”

“This is Marla,” Nesta said, resting a light hand between Marla’s shoulder blades. “She’ll be staying here at court for now. But I hope, eventually, to find a place nearby, somewhere safe and welcoming, where women who need shelter and time to heal can go.”

Aster’s eyes lit up, fierce and quick. Without hesitation, she tucked the book under her arm and extended her hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Marla,” she said gently. “And if Nesta is building such a place, I want to help.”

Marla blinked rapidly, a flush rising to her cheeks, but she managed a small, tremulous smile as she clasped Aster’s hand.

Nesta’s chest loosened slightly. One brick laid.

“I thought you might,” Nesta said, a little wryly. “And... we still have the idea for the school.”

Aster gave a low laugh. “One project at a time, but I’m with you.”

They spent a few minutes walking Marla through the east wing of the Forest House, pointing out the main library, the sun-drenched garden courtyard, and the various sitting rooms. Courtiers peered curiously from doorways and alcoves, interested, as they always were, in the new presence in the Forest House.

Finally, Nesta led Marla to a room on the East side of the Forest House, overlooking the gardens. Pale green curtains fluttered at the windows, and the bedding was soft and clean.

“This is yours for now,” Nesta said quietly. “Your own key. Your own space. No one will enter unless you invite them.”

Marla ran her fingers over the coverlet, something in her posture easing for the first time. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Nesta squeezed her hand once, then said, “Rest. Tomorrow, if you want, you can meet with Aster and me. We’ll start planning what comes next when you're ready.”

Leaving Marla to settle in, Nesta made her way back through the quieting halls, her skirts whispering over stone. She found Eris exactly where she expected: in one of the study rooms, a thick stack of reports spread across the table, his russet hair mussed from dragging his hands through it.

He glanced up when she entered, and the relief, the warmth, that crossed his face made something in her chest tug.

“Tell me everything,” he said immediately, pushing the reports aside without a second thought.

Nesta crossed to him, bracing her hands on the table as she leaned forward. “It went well, mostly. Lady Ione is staying in Ashgrove, she wants to help the other villages transition to the new laws.”

Eris nodded, but his gaze sharpened as she continued, “And we met someone. A girl named Marla, she worked in one of the villages. Her father tried to force her into a marriage she didn’t want, one that would have continued the old... traditions.” Her mouth tightened. “When he got angry, he tried to attack me, Damian intervened.”

Eris’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent, letting her finish.

“Marla’s safe now,” Nesta said. “She’s here at court for the time being. I thought...” She exhaled slowly. “I thought she might help me with something I want to build.”

Eris leaned back in his chair, arms folding. “And what is that?”

Nesta lifted her chin. “A refuge. A place, maybe near Jora, so it is not far from a city and the Forest House, somewhere women like Marla can go if they need safety. Somewhere that belongs to them.”

She hesitated, then added, “And Aster and I are planning something else. A school. Not just for survival skills, though that will be part of it,  but for a real education. Reading, writing, law, history. Everything that only a handful of noblewomen have ever been taught in Autumn. We want it to be for everyone. ”

For a long moment, Eris only stared at her,  no mockery, no games, just something fierce and burning in those ember-bright eyes.

Finally, he said, “Ambitious.”

Nesta’s mouth curved faintly. “You did say I could make Autumn better.”

He rose then, moving around the table until he stood before her. His hand lifted, not to touch, but to simply hover a breath away from hers.

“You’re already doing it,” he said roughly.

Nesta met his gaze unflinchingly, and whispered, “Not alone.”

Eris leaned back in his chair, the firelight catching in his red hair. For a long moment, he said nothing, just studied her with that sharp, assessing gaze. And then he smiled, slow and genuine.

“I'll start looking,” he said simply. “There are a few unused estates not far from the Forest House. I’ll send a list to your office by tomorrow.”

Nesta blinked, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening. He wasn’t questioning her. He wasn’t doubting her.

He believed in her.

“And,” Eris added, tapping a finger thoughtfully against the arm of his chair, “you should speak to Idris. He’s been pushing for more reforms, and I know he'd be interested in helping you. He has a way of charming the old houses into loosening their purse strings.”

He paused, a considering gleam in his eye. “Lucien as well. He’s been settling into Autumn better than expected, and I think he’d appreciate the cause. You’d have to ask, but I doubt he’d say no.”

A wry twist of Nesta’s mouth. “You think he’ll help me?”

Eris chuckled under his breath. “I think he would. He’s family, after all.” His voice softened. “And he knows better than most what it’s like to be overlooked, or unwanted.”

Nesta nodded slowly, ideas already swirling in her mind. Marla could help her build the refuge. Lady Ione could keep an ear to the ground in Ashgrove. Idris could help with the political side. Lucien, too, could lend support, he had a way with words, one Nesta knew could turn even stubborn minds to their side.

And Eris, Eris would be there, steady and fierce beside her, helping her turn the impossible into something real.

She rose from her chair. “Thank you.”

Eris only looked up at her, a spark of something like pride flickering in his eyes. “You’re Lady of Autumn, Nesta. It’s your court too.”

Notes:

Actually dying because I finally was allowed to skate again today (I'm a figure skater) after a minor injury and now I have to get surgery in a month, for an unrelated issue, but hey, at least I'll have more time to write! Also I'm writing the next few chapters and I can't wait to get to the High Lord's meeting. One of Eris and his brothers favorite hobbies (much to Nesta's dismay, and amusement) is antagonizing the Night Court.

Chapter 20: Dog Days are Over

The corridor was quiet this time of morning, golden light spilling across the stone floors from tall windows nestled between ancient tapestries. Nesta’s steps echoed softly as she made her way toward the sitting room Eris had converted into a war room of sorts, though today, there would be no talk of borders or battle formations.

Today was for building.

Her fingers brushed the wood-paneled wall as she passed, grounding herself in the present. These halls, once cold and unwelcoming, had begun to feel familiar. Not quite home, not yet, but closer than anywhere else had ever come.

She’d woken early, a strange anticipation curling in her chest before her eyes had even opened. Not dread. Not the icy grip that had once made rising unbearable. Just a quiet sense of purpose. Direction.

She thought of Marla. Of the hundreds, thousands, of women like her in Autumn, walking through life with ghosts on their heels and nowhere safe to rest. Nesta could not erase what had been done to them. But she could help carve out a space where healing might begin.

Not for herself, not anymore. She had her home, her hearth, her husband. But this? This was about more than just safety. It was about choice. Dignity. The kind of power that came not from magic or violence, but from a locked door and a warm bed and the promise that no one would hurt you again.

She reached the carved oak door and paused, hand on the handle.

A life built of purpose. Of golden mornings like this one.

Nesta pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The sitting room was warm and sunlit, a fire crackling low in the hearth despite the mildness of the day. A table at the center had already been claimed, cluttered with scrolls, inkpots, and a worn map of the Autumn Court. Idris lounged in an armchair with an apple in one hand, Lucien stood with one hip against the table, and Aster, as always, had taken the most strategic vantage point, back straight, eyes sharp.

Marla sat beside her, visibly uncertain but trying her best to appear composed.

Lucien straightened as Nesta entered. “Morning, Lady Autumn.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, and he grinned. “Had to try.”

“Let’s get to it,” she said, settling into the empty chair between Aster and Idris. “Where are we?”

Aster gestured to three circled locations on the map. “These estates were vacated decades ago, families either moved closer to Jora or couldn’t afford upkeep. Structurally sound, accessible roads, wells still functional.”

“And all within a day’s ride of Jora,” Idris added. “Close enough to get supplies, connect with city programs. But far enough that no one will just stumble across it.”

“It’s more open-minded than many of the villages,” Aster said, glancing at Marla. “That matters, I think.”

Marla gave a small, tentative nod. “We’ll need healers. Skilled ones. And a trade program. Not everyone will want to leave, but they’ll need a reason to stay. A way to build something.”

Lucien leaned forward, eyes scanning the list. “This one,” he said, tapping a name. “Ravenshore. It’s only not far from the Forest House either, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Idris confirmed. 

Nesta studied the notes. Large manor house, multiple outbuildings. Orchard, stream-fed well, land for expansion. No immediate neighbors. Her heart tugged.

This could work.

They talked for a while longer, refining the logistics, repairs that would need to be made, how they might staff the sanctuary in its early stages, what kind of protections would need to be in place. Idris mentioned reaching out to a few trusted builders. Lucien offered to visit Jora and begin discreet inquiries about training partnerships.

Through it all, Nesta mostly listened, watching Marla’s growing confidence, the quiet strength in Aster’s voice as she suggested defenses, the casual ease with which Idris and Lucien traded ideas.

Nesta had peace now, Eris, and his family that was becoming hers too. But she remembered too well what it was to be unmoored. To be drowning in silence. And she knew, without question, how many women still were.

This was for them.

And maybe, just maybe, it was for the girl she used to be, too. A girl who never would have believed she could one day be someone who built sanctuaries. Someone who helped build futures.

---

The manor stood at the edge of a sprawling golden field, its silhouette framed by ivy curling up pale sandstone walls. Nestled just beyond the city limits of Jora, with the shimmer of forest visible in the near distance, it had once been a family estate, and might be again, in a different form.

Nesta and the others arrived in a quiet flash of power, winnowing onto the sun-dappled drive. The air was warm and dry, scented faintly with wildflowers and the memory of hearth smoke. The cobblestone path was overgrown at the edges, grass and moss softening its shape, but the stones held steady beneath their feet.

Lucien gave a low whistle, surveying the grand, silent house. “Well, it’s got presence.”

“It needs updates,” Idris said beside him, brushing a hand along the railing, worn smooth by time but unbroken. “But it’s solid. Looks like someone walked out a couple decades ago and just never came back.”

Aster was already making her way up the steps, sharp eyes cataloging the windows, the porch, the slightly slanted shutters, and the collapsed carriage house at the edge of the trees.

Marla lingered at the edge of the path, her arms wrapped tight across her chest.

Nesta noticed, and moved quietly to her side. “You okay?”

Marla didn’t look at her at first. Her voice was steady, but low. “It’s just... it’s real now. More than sketches and talk. I don’t know if I ever imagined it would be real.”

Nesta didn’t press. She simply said, “It’s alright if you need time. Just because we’re here doesn’t mean you have to be ready.”

Marla let out a long breath and gave a small nod. “No, I want to see it. I need to.”

Together, they ascended the steps and entered the manor.

Inside, dust motes danced in the air, disturbed by the shift of warm breeze through cracked windows. The ceilings soared above them, and beams of light cut through torn curtains. A wide staircase curved toward the second floor, where Nesta could just glimpse doors leading to what must have been bedrooms, offices, spaces that could become rooms of rest, of rebirth.

Lucien was already pulling open tall doors that led into a large room with a fireplace, wide enough to gather hundreds of people in its center.

“This would make a good communal space,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Nesta and Marla.

Idris nodded from where he stood at one of the rear windows. “Kitchen’s through there, and there’s a pantry big enough to stock half the city.”

Marla followed slowly, taking it all in. Her eyes were wide, but her steps steadied. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, running her fingers along the edge of a long-abandoned chair. “It’s not perfect, but maybe that’s better.”

Nesta trailed her hand along the wall as she walked. She could see it, curtains pulled back to let in light, rooms filled with soft laughter and healing silence. Women sitting together, working, building. A place where fear couldn’t reach so easily.

This wasn’t for her. She had a home now, one built of golden afternoons and quiet evenings tangled in Eris’s arms. But women like Marla existed across Autumn. Across Prythian. Women who needed this.

They moved room to room, Aster occasionally pausing to take notes or suggest modest renovations. She spoke of clearing out a back hallway for a bathing suite, of adding reinforced locks to doors without making them feel like it is a place they cannot leave.

“It can’t be a cage,” Aster said. “We’re not building walls to keep anyone in, we’re building ones that keep the worst out.”

Lucien gave her a faint smile. “Well said, my lady.”

In a sunlit room near the back, likely once a study, Nesta found herself standing beside Marla again. The woman stared at the empty hearth, at the cracked shelves and water-stained floorboards.

“I think this one could be mine,” she said softly. “If... if it’s all right.”

Nesta looked at her, not the same frightened figure who she had met just days ago, but someone who was beginning to bloom, wary and strong. “It’s yours,” she said. “If you want it.”

Outside, Idris and Lucien had already begun walking the perimeter, discussing supply chains and transport routes from Jora. The city would offer jobs, apprenticeships, and a bridge to independence. And the Forest House, not far, would be their safeguard until this place could stand fully on its own.

As the sun dipped slightly westward, casting long shadows over the overgrown gardens, Nesta stood on the manor’s front steps. Marla beside her. Aster just behind.

She could almost hear the voices that would someday fill this place. Could almost feel the warmth of fires lit in those cold hearths.

And for a moment, Nesta allowed herself to hope that this, this was the beginning of something more.

---

The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the lush gardens as Nesta and Aurelia strolled along the stone path. The late summer air was warm but not oppressive, and the soft fragrance of blooming jasmine mingled with the earthy scent of the garden. Aurelia walked beside her in a contemplative silence, her posture a little more rigid than usual, her gaze fixed on the path ahead.

After a few moments, Aurelia spoke, her voice low and tentative. “I’ve been debating for some time now... whether or not to write to him.”

Nesta glanced over at her, brow furrowed. “To Helion?”

Aurelia nodded, her lips pressing together in thought. “It’s been centuries, Nesta. I’ve buried so much of myself to survive under Beron’s rule. I never thought I would be able to... reach out. But now, I wonder if it’s too late. If he’s moved on.”

Nesta slowed her pace slightly, her eyes softening with understanding. She knew all too well what it was like to suppress parts of herself, to put up walls for survival. She stopped, turning slightly to face Aurelia.

“If it’s what your heart wants, I think you should reach out,” Nesta said, her voice quiet but firm. “You’ve lived with so much weight for so long. It’s not too late to seek the peace you deserve. And Helion…” She hesitated, her gaze steady. “I don’t think he would fault you for ignoring your bond to survive. You did what you had to do.”

Aurelia let out a long breath, her eyes glistening with unshed emotion. “You really think so?”

Nesta gave a small, reassuring smile. “I do. You shouldn’t carry that burden anymore. Your life has changed, and so can the choices you make.”

Aurelia’s expression softened, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. “I think I’ll try, Nesta. I don’t know what will happen, but… I think I’ll try to write to him.”

Nesta’s heart gave a small, approving flutter as she nodded. “I’m glad. You deserve a chance at something for yourself, something that’s yours.”

With that, Aurelia smiled, the first truly relaxed smile Nesta had seen in some time. “Thank you, Nesta.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle between them, the quiet sounds of the garden creating a peaceful backdrop. Then, with a final smile, Aurelia nodded.

“I think that I’m going to try to write to him now,” Aurelia said softly, her voice still touched with uncertainty but also hope.

“I’ll be here if you need anything,” Nesta replied, her tone warm.

Aurelia turned and walked back toward the house, her steps lighter than when she had come. Nesta watched her go, a sense of contentment settling in her chest. Aurelia was taking a step toward something that had been denied to her for far too long.

As the sound of Aurelia’s footsteps faded, Nesta turned back toward the house as well, making her way to the library. She still had some reading to do before dinner. A small part of her wondered about Aurelia’s letter, but she knew that whatever happened next would be up to her.

---

Eris was leaning over the map table in his office, the edges of the parchment curling from wear, when the door swung open without warning.

Damian stepped inside, his expression dark. He didn’t bother with the usual salute.

“Eris,” he said curtly. “We have a problem.”

Eris straightened. “What kind of problem?”

“A patrol squad, one near the southern range. They’ve gone silent. It’s been over a day since their last report, and they missed their scheduled contact. We sent a small team to investigate. There’s no trace of them.”

Eris’s brows drew together. “Which squad?”

Damian hesitated. “One of yours. From your time as general. The squad you led through Solstice drills three years ago.”

That made Eris go still. He remembered them clearly, solid fighters, disciplined and loyal. He’d trained them himself, every step. His voice came quiet and sharp. “Where?”

Damian stepped forward, pointing to the southern curve of the borderlands. “Here. Just above the ravine stretch where the terrain starts to level toward Summer Court.”

Eris studied the location, jaw tightening. “Any signs of struggle?”

“None. No blood, no gear, not even disturbed tracks. It’s like they vanished.”

“And the scouts?”

“They picked up something unusual. A magical residue, faint, but wrong. Warped.”

Eris’s head snapped up. “Wrong how?”

Damian’s eyes were grim. “It didn’t feel like Autumn magic. It was twisted. Bitter. Like something left to rot. We tested it. Whatever it is, it doesn’t match anything our casters have recorded. But it bears… similarities. To Briallyn’s magic. Not exact, there was something else. But close enough to make us pause.”

Eris stilled. “You think it’s her?”

“I think it could be someone tied to her. Or using what she left behind.”

A long silence.

Then Damian added, “There’s more. I’ve had quiet words from contacts in Summer. Two of their border patrol soldiers disappeared last week. Same kind of terrain. No signs, no sounds, just… gone.”

Eris exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling across his shoulders. “And no one connected it until now.”

Damian shook his head. “They assumed it was rogue fae or shifting terrain. But now, with this… they’re not so sure.”

Eris’s eyes returned to the map. “Send two of our squads. I want eyes on the ground and in the trees. No uniforms, no insignia. I want them quiet, I want them clever, and I want them safe.”

“I’ll see to it,” Damian said. “And if it is Briallyn?”

Eris didn’t answer right away. He stood for a long moment, staring at the border like he could burn it into memory.

“If it’s her,” Eris said, voice cold but steady, “then the other High Lords need to be warned. This isn’t just Autumn’s problem.”

Damian gave a sharp nod, the severity in his expression matching Eris’s own. “I’ll see to the teams personally.”

Eris rolled the edge of the map back into place and extinguished the nearest candle with a quiet puff of breath. “Let’s go.”

They left the study side by side, the door clicking shut behind them. The corridors of the Forest House were hushed at this hour, lit by the soft glow of faelights nestled in sconces along the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the polished floors, the only sound in the stillness.

Neither spoke until they reached the end of the corridor, where the warmth of firelight spilled from the sitting room just ahead.

Eris paused with his hand on the doorframe. “They need to know,” he murmured, and Damian gave a single, firm nod, as they stepped into the sitting room.

The scent of cedar and old books hung in the air of the sitting room, softened by the quiet crackle of a low-burning fire. Idris lounged on the rug, flipping through a deck of enchanted cards that shuffled themselves at his command. Cormac nursed a glass of brandy by the hearth, half-listening to Lucien, who was mid-story, gesturing animatedly with a lazy grin.

Nesta sat curled into the corner of the settee, a book balanced on her knees, though she hadn’t turned the page in several minutes. Her gaze had drifted to the flames, her mind lingering on the day’s plans, the manor, the future it might offer. Marla had retired early, visibly tired but more at ease than Nesta had ever seen her.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, sharp and purposeful. Eris entered with Damian just behind, their expressions instantly shifting the room’s mood.

Lucien sat up straighter. “What happened?”

Eris’s eyes met Nesta’s first. She closed her book slowly, setting it aside.

“A squad of soldiers is missing,” Damian said. “One of ours. They were stationed near the eastern border. Routine patrol.”

Idris frowned, cards forgotten. “Which squad?”

“One Eris trained himself, years ago,” Damian replied grimly. “Solid men. Experienced. They wouldn’t just vanish.”

A beat of silence. Cormac set down his glass with a quiet clink .

“There’s more,” Eris said. He crossed to stand near Nesta, his hand brushing her shoulder briefly. “Damian found traces of an unusual magic signature in the area. It was faint, but wrong, twisted.”

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. “You think it’s Briallyn?”

Eris nodded once. “Or someone working with her. There’ve also been quiet rumors of Summer Court soldiers disappearing near their southern border. Nothing official. But the timing is too close.”

Nesta felt her spine stiffen. “Have you spoken to Tarquin?”

“Not yet,” Eris said. “If it’s her, or her allies, the other High Lords need to be made aware. This isn’t isolated.”

“We’ll need more than rumors,” Cormac said. “If we approach them with half-formed suspicions—”

“Then we’ll gather proof,” Eris cut in, sharp but calm. “Damian is assembling two teams tomorrow to investigate the site.”

“I can reach out to my contacts in the other courts,” Idris offered, already considering names. “See if anything strange has crossed their radar.”

Damian gave a short nod. “We’ll wait to see what we find before acting further.”

Without another word, he turned and left to make preparations, his steps brisk and sure.

The room quieted again, the warmth of the evening fully drained away, replaced by a simmering, focused tension.

Nesta exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to Eris, then to the rest of the brothers. Whatever ease they’d found tonight would have to wait. War, in one form or another, had a way of returning to all of them.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter took so long, I've been so busy with final exams but I am almost done!

Chapter 21: No Choir

Notes:

omg I am sorry this took so long, I was so busy with the end of my classes, but I'm finally done.

The sun had barely started to break over the horizon, the first light of day casting pale streaks across the sky. The morning air was crisp and fresh, the scent of pine and dew heavy in the atmosphere as Eris stood by the large window of his study, watching the world awaken. A few scattered birds began their morning songs, a quiet contrast to the weight of the moment.

Damian was at his side, leaning over a large map spread across the table. The flickering flames from the hearth cast long shadows across their faces, but their focus remained unwavering.

"We can’t afford any more missing soldiers," Eris muttered, his voice low, commanding. His fingers hovered just above the map, tracing the lines of Autumn’s borders where the squad had gone missing, deep within the northern territories. "We need to make contact every morning, every evening, to ensure there’s no further loss."

Damian nodded, his jaw set tight. “I’ve already sent out a team to retrace their steps. I’ll lead another myself, we’ll track every potential route they could have taken.” His voice was firm, but there was a shadow of concern in his eyes.

"We don’t know what we’re dealing with," Eris said, his mind flickering to the possibility that this was more than just a simple disappearance. "And if it is Briallyn or her allies... we need to be cautious. I’ll leave it up to you to report back with updates, at least until we have a clearer picture. I don’t want anyone else getting caught in whatever this is."

Damian gave a sharp nod, his determination clear. "Understood. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. And I’ll make sure we contact you the moment we uncover something."

Eris’s gaze lingered on the map for a moment longer, his thoughts far away, before he stood straighter, his shoulders stiffening with the weight of what needed to be done.

"If it is her," Eris said finally, the words heavy with a sense of finality, "then this isn't just an Autumn problem. The other High Lords need to be warned. But we’re not rushing into anything just yet. We’ll gather information first, then proceed."

"Agreed," Damian replied, and with a last glance at the map, he turned toward the door, preparing to leave.

"Keep me updated," Eris said as Damian reached for the door handle. "I’ll be in touch later."

As Damian stepped out, Eris stayed behind for a moment, watching the dawn light creep over the landscape. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table, the quiet ticking of time in the room the only sound.

He didn’t like the uncertainty that hung over them now. But he knew this, he would not allow Autumn’s soldiers to vanish into nothingness. Not without answers.

The sitting room crackled with warmth from the hearth, but the atmosphere inside was taut, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the polished floor.

Idris entered, shrugging off his cloak with a flick of his fingers, embers flared briefly, and the dampness vanished into steam. “Tarquin agreed,” he said, brushing damp curls from his forehead.

Nesta leaned forward, picking up the parchment. The Summer Court’s crest gleamed at the top, a shining sun embossed in gold. “That was fast.”

“I sent word as you asked,” Idris said to Eris, settling into an armchair with a tired sigh. “He’d already begun an internal investigation into his missing patrols. When I told him what happened here, he said it’s time that all of you speak directly.”

Eris nodded slowly. “What did he propose?”

“A meeting in Adriata. He’s invited you and Nesta,” Idris replied, glancing at her. “As soon as you're able.”

Nesta turned the scroll over in her hands, the paper still cool from the journey. “You think it’ll help?” she asked quietly.

“I think it’s a start,” Eris said, voice low. “He’s the only one who’s seen what we have, and if he’s ready to talk, we can’t afford to wait. Whatever Briallyn is doing… if someone else is involved, someone older, we need to know who.”

Nesta met his eyes. “Then we will go.”

Idris gave a short nod, the shadows deepening beneath his eyes. “I’ll also start reaching out to my contacts in the other courts. Quietly. If this thing’s spreading, someone else might have seen the signs.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he said only, “Good.” Then to Nesta, more gently, “We can leave in the morning.”

---

Adriata shimmered like a jewel above the ocean, its spires rising from the cliffs in white marble, sun-bleached stone, and luminous pearl. The turquoise sea glittered far below, waves crashing against jagged rocks and stretching toward a bustling harbor filled to the brim with ships. Bridges arched gracefully between the city’s islands and the mainland, their stone spans gleaming under the searing sun. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing faintly against the gleaming domes and red-tiled rooftops that cascaded down the slopes toward the sea.

The heat wrapped around Nesta and Eris the moment they winnowed onto the sun-warmed steps of the palace. The air was humid and heavy, despite the breeze that tugged at the edges of Nesta’s skirts. Courtiers lined the mosaic-tiled hallway as they entered, their gazes sharp and assessing. The cool interior of the palace offered relief from the heat, but not from the tension coiling in the room like a drawn bowstring.

At the far end of the hall stood Tarquin, robed in sea-glass blue, his dark eyes steady beneath a circlet of silver coral. Beside him, Cressida stood tall and poised, her deep blue gown glinting like sunlight on water. Her posture was regal, and her expression unreadable, but her gaze was anything but indifferent.

“High Lord Eris, Lady Nesta,” Tarquin said, his voice calm but cool.

“Just Eris,” he replied smoothly, brushing a speck of dust from his crimson sleeve. “We’re not here on ceremony.”

Cressida’s gaze slid to Nesta, lingering on the delicate circlet woven into her braid, the crisp tailoring of her jade green dress, trimmed in the faintest hint of gold. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Cressida said, her voice clipped. “We don’t need another Archeron stealing from us.”

The comment landed with the sharpness of a blade drawn in public, a pointed reminder of Feyre and Rhysand’s past theft of the Book of Breathings. Several courtiers stiffened, some turning their heads slightly to watch the response.

Nesta’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. She took one step forward, her voice steady. “It’s a good thing I’m no longer an Archeron, then.” She paused, just long enough to let the words settle. “I’m here in good faith, as the Lady of Autumn.”

The room held its breath for a heartbeat.

Cressida’s gaze lingered on Nesta’s face. And though her expression didn’t soften, something in it shifted, like a tide pulling back from the shore. A flicker of reassessment passed through her eyes. She gave a short nod, not quite a welcome, not quite an apology.

“I see,” Cressida said simply.

Eris, ever attuned to changes in temperature, literal or otherwise, stepped in, his voice measured. “We’ve come to discuss the missing soldiers from both Autumn and Summer Courts. We believe there may be a connection. And perhaps a deeper threat.”

Tarquin didn’t react outwardly, but the briefest flicker of concern crossed his features. He turned, gesturing down a long corridor of glass-paneled windows that overlooked the sea. “Let’s speak inside. There’s much to discuss, and little time to waste.”

They followed him through the grand hall, the polished marble beneath their feet echoing with each step. Fountains whispered in alcoves, salt clung to the air, and the city of Adriata stretched out beyond the windows—glittering, sunlit, and ancient. A place where beauty walked hand-in-hand with memory.

Cressida lingered a step behind, her gaze still fixed on Nesta’s back, measuring, calculating. But this time, there was a glint of something else behind her scrutiny. Not suspicion, but curiosity.

The meeting room was quiet, its arched windows open to the coastal breeze that carried the scent of salt and sun-warmed stone. Light pooled across the marble floor, the hush inside so complete it felt as though the sea itself listened through the walls. A long table stretched through the center of the space, its surface gleaming beneath the sunlight. Across it, the Summer Court’s map was unfurled, marked in careful symbols and annotated in multiple hands.

Tarquin stepped forward, his fingers gliding over the parchment. “They disappeared here,” he said, pointing to a stretch of land just off the southern coast. “Two squads. No signs of struggle. No wreckage. Just gone.”

Nesta moved to his side, her eyes scanning the notations—dates, tides, positions. The markings didn’t sprawl across the map but clustered tightly around that one region of Summer Court. There was no obvious pattern, just those two spots on the map. “They were together?” she asked.

“Separate patrols, but dispatched within hours of each other,” Tarquin replied. “We thought perhaps they’d encountered something natural, storms or rogue currents. But our recovery squads found no trace.”

Eris leaned on the opposite side of the table, his expression grim. “That’s consistent with what we’ve seen. One of our own patrols went missing near the Eastern border. Clean vanish. No footprints, no magic residue that we could track.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened. “It’s like the sea swallowed them whole.”

They bent over the map for the better part of an hour, comparing notes and routes. Tarquin’s men had searched tirelessly, the coast and cliffs, while Eris’s scouts had combed every stretch of Autumn’s eastern rivers. They layered their findings, marking intersections and narrowing the search perimeter. Nesta listened carefully, asking questions when necessary, noting the strange lack of pattern, the absence of clear motive.

“Their assignments weren’t even connected,” Nesta murmured, eyes narrowing at the clustered points. “Different regions, different courts. No overlap, just disappearance.””

“It doesn’t make sense,” Eris agreed. “If this was an enemy targeting our courts, why not leave a message? A sign of strength?”

Tarquin shook his head. “And there’s no trace of them in the currents. No wreckage. It’s as if they vanished into thin air, or something pulled them out of it.”

Nesta’s fingers tapped against the edge of the map. “So we’re not looking for a strategic pattern. Just... an opening. An opportunity someone took.”

“The magic feels wrong,” Eris added after a beat. “Not chaotic, just off. Like something old, buried deep.”

Tarquin’s expression darkened. “If Briallyn is behind this, or one of her allies… we need to act fast. Before more of our men vanish.”

Eris nodded. “Quietly. We don’t have enough to bring this to the other High Lords yet. And panic won’t serve anyone.”

They spoke a while longer; strategy, surveillance, the logistics of sharing information without letting word leak to unfriendly ears. When the meeting concluded, Tarquin drew Eris aside to speak privately, leaving Nesta near the map with Cressida.

“You spoke well,” Cressida said, her voice smooth but sincere.

Nesta turned slightly, surprised to find no judgment in the other woman’s gaze, only watchfulness. “Thank you.”

“You asked the right questions,” Cressida continued. “Not to impress anyone, but because you were listening.”

Nesta inclined her head. “I’m not here to posture.”

“No,” Cressida agreed. “You’re here because you care. That much was clear.”

The breeze stirred the silken sleeve of her gown. Sunlight traced shifting patterns across the floor, and Nesta suddenly felt the quiet press of the moment, how strange it was to stand here, not as a guest, not as a liability, but as someone others were listening to.

“I can tell you care deeply for Autumn,” Cressida said, more softly now. 

“I do,” Nesta said. “I won’t abandon it. Or the people in it.”

Cressida studied her a moment longer, then offered a faint smile. “Then when this threat passes, if you ever return to Adriata… I’ll show you the real city. Not just the palace halls.”

Nesta blinked at the unexpected invitation. “I’d love that.”

Cressida nodded. “Good. We can always use more strong minds, and strong hearts, in Summer.”

And then she stepped away, leaving Nesta alone beside the map. The waves continued their eternal hush beyond the windows. And Nesta thought, not for the first time, that alliances were sometimes forged not in battle, but in quiet conversations, and offered trust.

The tide had begun to recede, dragging the scent of brine and sun-warmed stone with it as Nesta and Eris stood once more at the entrance to the Summer Palace. Adriata shimmered behind them, its white marble spires blazing gold beneath the setting sun, gulls circling high above in the salt-washed sky. The ocean sang below, the same quiet, eternal rhythm that had carried through their meetings.

Tarquin and Cressida stood at the top of the palace steps. There was no ceremony this time, only the silence that came after difficult truths.

“We’ll let you know if we uncover anything,” Cressida said, her voice calmer now, her eyes on Nesta with something like respect.

Nesta met her gaze. “And we’ll do the same.”

Tarquin inclined his head. “For the sake of our soldiers. For both our courts.”

Eris offered his hand, and Tarquin clasped it firmly. “Thank you,” Eris said. “This cooperation, it matters.”

Cressida’s gaze lingered on Nesta one last time. “Don’t forget the offer,” she said, quieter. “Adriata is more than its palace. When you return, I’ll show you the rest.”

Nesta allowed a small, genuine smile. “I’d like that.”

Then Eris’s arm wrapped lightly around her waist, and flame curled around them, the warmth of Summer falling away into the chill-green quiet of home.

They reappeared on the shaded path just beyond the Forest House, where towering trees loomed overhead and the moss-soft ground muted their steps. The smell of pine and fresh growth filled the air, familiar, grounding. Birds rustled in the branches, and somewhere distant, the river whispered its low, steady song.

Nesta breathed it in. The sea had glittered like fire, but this forest, this was where her roots had begun to take hold.

Eris didn’t let go of her hand immediately. The amber light of evening filtered down through the canopy, catching on the copper strands of his windblown hair.

“We’ll send another letter to Tarquin tomorrow,” he said. “Let him know what Damian finds, if anything.”

Nesta nodded. “Hopefully it’s something. Even a trail.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, just full of everything they still didn’t know.

“I should go,” Nesta said at last, glancing toward the manor. “They’re waiting to finalize the sanctuary plans.”

Eris gave a soft grunt, but his lips tilted faintly. “Tell Aster her garden will be built, whether the architect likes it or not.”

Nesta gave a small laugh, and before she could pull away, she stepped in and kissed him.

When she pulled back, his hand lingered at her jaw, warm and certain. A breath passed between them. Then Nesta stepped back, straightened her shoulders, and smiled.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

And with that, she turned and walked up toward the Forest House, the golden light catching in her braid and on the parchment she carried, ready to build something lasting.

Nesta walked the last stretch alone.

Eris had peeled off just moments earlier, murmuring that his advisors were waiting, that there were reports to read, letters to draft, decisions to make. He’d squeezed her hand once before turning down the eastern corridor of the Forest House, the rich crimson of his cloak vanishing into shadow.

The quiet of the manor greeted her like an old friend, cool and thoughtful. The scent of parchment, sun-warmed wood, and the faintest trace of blooming roses hung in the air. Her footsteps echoed lightly as she moved through the hallways, the warmth of Eris’s presence lingering like a second heartbeat.

She entered the old banquet hall to find it transformed. Gone were the faded banners and dust-covered chandeliers. In their place stood long tables covered in scrolls and sketches. Soft early evening light poured in through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the ancient stone floor.

Idris looked up first. “You’re back,” he said, standing straighter.

Lucien offered a brief nod from where he leaned over a corner of the table. “Good timing. We were just about to start.”

Nesta stepped into the room fully, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the sea air. “Let’s.”

Marla unfurled a fresh scroll. “The new architect can begin next week,” she said, tapping the detailed drawing. “She specializes in magical structures: wards, soundproofing, safe zones.”

“Good,” Nesta replied. “The sanctuary needs quiet spaces. Places where they can feel safe without being watched.”

Aster leaned forward, her eyes shining with purpose. “I want a healing garden. Somewhere open. With fountains. Something that grows.”

Lucien straightened. “And patrol paths around the outer walls. Silent, hidden. The kind no outsider can see.”

Idris reached across the table, tapping a corner sketch. “We’ll need enchanted thresholds. No one gets in unless they mean no harm. I can oversee the spellwork.”

Nesta scanned the plans. They weren’t just structures, they were intentions, hopes cast in ink and parchment. A sanctuary not just in name, but in feeling too. 

“This place was once only a ruin,” Aster murmured, “Now look at it.”

Idris smiled faintly. “It’s becoming what it should have always been.”

They spent the next hour adjusting plans, discussing everything from food stores and armory layouts to guest accommodations and emergency escape routes. Aster proposed a glass conservatory for seasonal plants. Marla suggested hiring fae-trained trauma counselors. Lucien pointed out ways to reinforce the perimeter with Autumn’s sentries, quietly, discreetly.

Nesta took it all in, her mind sharp, making notes, pushing back when something didn’t sit right. And the others listened, not because she demanded it, but because she earned it.

By the end, the table was scattered with updated notes and adjusted lines.

“We’ll meet again in two days,” Nesta said, tapping a finger on the blueprints. “I want updates on the thresholds and patrol plans by then.”

Lucien gave a short nod. “I’ll have my notes ready.”

“Aster and I will speak with the architect tomorrow,” Marla added.

The others murmured their agreement, and the meeting began to shift from discussion to quiet organization, the beginning of a long road, but one they were already walking.

The meeting wound down with the rustle of parchment and the soft scrape of chairs being pushed back. Nesta remained at the head of the long table for a breath longer, watching as Marla rolled up the blueprints with practiced care.

“Get some rest,” Nesta said as Marla tucked the last of the scrolls under her arm.

Marla offered a tired but genuine smile. “You too, Lady.”

Nesta gave a short nod and turned away, her steps echoing lightly as she exited the banquet hall. The quiet of the corridor greeted her like an old friend, cool and still beneath the glow of hanging lanterns. She walked in silence, the weight of plans and possibilities settling behind her ribs.

By the time she reached their chambers, the halls were empty, the manor subdued with the hush of late evening. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open.

Eris stood just beyond the threshold of the balcony, half-shadowed, a wine glass in hand, the breeze toying with his crimson hair. The scent of spring rain and blooming dogwood lingered in the air.

She crossed to him without a word and leaned on the stone railing beside him.

“Good meeting?” he asked, not looking at her.

She exhaled through her nose. “As good as it could be.”

He took a sip from his glass, his eyes still trained on the moonlit horizon. “I had a feeling you’d still be thinking about the plans.”

“They’re good plans,” she said quietly. “But even good things feel heavy sometimes.”

He hummed in agreement.

After a beat, Nesta added, “Cressida invited me back. To see Adriata properly.”

Eris glanced at her, one brow arching. “Will you go?”

“I think so.” She looked up at the stars. “It was strange. Being taken seriously.”

“You earned it,” Eris said. “Every step of it.”

She glanced at him. “Do you think we’ll ever be finished with this, able to live in peace?”

He didn’t look away from the stars. “Maybe. One day. We’ll keep moving forward, see where it takes us.”

Nesta was quiet for a moment, her fingers brushing the cool stone under her palm. Then, without thinking, she reached for his hand. He took it easily, their fingers lacing together with familiar ease.

“We can talk to the others tomorrow,” she said softly. “Start planning the next steps. Get the reports from Damian. Reach out to Summer again.”

He nodded. “And if we need to escalate, we’ll do it together.”

Their hands remained joined, not as a promise, but as a shared understanding.

Nesta leaned her shoulder lightly against his. “I’m glad you’re not doing this alone anymore.”

Eris’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly. “Neither are you.”

And in the silence that followed, beneath the stars and the soft hush of the forest beyond, they stood side by side: wary, watchful, and ready. Whatever came next, they would face it. Together.

---

The next morning, the breakfast table was alive with soft conversation and the clink of cutlery, golden light pouring in through the tall windows of the Forest House. The morning was cool and clear, a light mist still lifting from the garden beyond. Trays of fruit, warm bread, spiced porridge, and honeyed tea were spread out across the long table.

Lucien was half-lounging in his chair, gesturing animatedly as Idris rolled his eyes beside him. Cormac, across from them, was halfway through his bowl of porridge, listening with a brow arched in amusement. Damian sat near the end of the table, his dark hair still damp from his early patrol briefing, flipping through a stack of scouting reports.

Eris stood at the head of the table, one hand wrapped around a cup of steaming tea. Nesta sat to his right, quietly sipping her own as she listened, enjoying the rare sense of camaraderie that threaded through the meal.

Aurelia entered a few minutes later, a folded letter clutched in her hands.

She paused by the window, scanning the room, her face radiant in a way Nesta hadn’t seen in weeks.

“He wrote back,” Aurelia said, holding up the letter like proof of something fragile but real.

The table quieted.

“Helion?” Eris asked, his voice gentler than usual.

Aurelia nodded, moving to stand near the table. “He invited me to Day. Said there would be music, and warmth, and no expectations. Just light.”

Lucien gave a small, startled laugh. “That sounds exactly like him.”

Aurelia met Nesta’s gaze. “He told me I could stay for as long as I needed. That I didn’t have to decide anything yet.”

Nesta stood, stepping toward her. “You should go.”

Aurelia hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around the letter. “What if I want to stay?” she said quietly. “What if I don’t want to come back?”

Idris set down his fork. “Then we’ll come visit. We’re not vanishing just because you’re in Day.”

Cormac gave a half-smile. “Honestly, it might give us an excuse to enjoy a little more sunlight.”

Lucien raised his cup. “To Day Court wine and long vacations.”

Aurelia laughed, the sound full and real. She looked back at Nesta.

Nesta smiled. “You deserve to see what the sunlight feels like. And you deserve to choose what comes next.”

Aurelia folded the letter again, but there was a lightness to her now, as if her decision, whatever it would be, had already begun to set her free.

“Maybe I do,” she murmured.

The brothers returned to their chatter as the moment passed, but the warmth lingered in the room. A turning point, quiet but sure, had arrived, and no one missed its weight.

Chapter 22: Big God

The morning mist still clung to the trees like a veil, soft and silver in the early sun. The Forest House stood in quiet splendor, the dew-soaked gardens catching the light with every breeze, scattering it like glass across green leaves and fresh blossoms. Just beyond the main hall, at the edge of the clearing where the stone path opened to the wider woodland, the Vanserra family stood gathered.

Aurelia’s golden hair was swept back in a loose twist, a travel cloak of deep sapphire draped over her shoulders. The sunlight kissed her cheeks, drawing warmth to a face that had been far too shadowed in recent months. Her hands were bare, fingers curling and uncurling as she looked at each of her sons.

Lucien was the first to pull her into a hug, his tone teasing but soft. “Don’t forget to write. Day Court wine is only tolerable if we hear all your scandalous stories about it.”

Aurelia laughed, a sound like wind chimes in sunlight. “You’ll have to visit if you want the best ones.”

Cormac stepped forward next, offering a rare smile. “Take your time, Mother. No rush to return to this lot.”

“I’ll send for you if Helion drives me mad,” she said, brushing his shoulder affectionately.

Idris lingered behind the others, but when she turned to him, he pulled her into a firm hug, murmuring something only she could hear. She pulled back and cupped his cheek, nodding. Whatever passed between them, it left Idris blinking a few times too quickly.

Then Damian approached, his usually stern expression softened by something like nostalgia. “Be safe,” he said simply. “And enjoy the sun.”

She smiled. “You, of all people, telling me to enjoy myself? Has the world turned upside down?”

Nesta stood beside Eris, watching them all. And when Aurelia finally turned to her, Nesta stepped forward without hesitation.

“I’m glad you’re going,” Nesta said. “You deserve somewhere warm.”

Aurelia’s gaze warmed. “You’ve brought more warmth to this court than you realize, Nesta. But I think I will enjoy the sunlight.” She reached out and took Nesta’s hands, squeezing them. “Thank you.”

Eris remained last, as always. He stepped forward, not offering a bow or gesture, but something quieter, his hand, extended palm up. Aurelia took it.

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him. “I’ll be back when I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be,” Eris said softly. “If Day becomes home, let it.”

Her lips trembled slightly, and she looked away, blinking. For a heartbeat, the quiet morning seemed suspended, as if the whole court paused to witness this small, private moment between mother and son.

Eris squeezed her hand gently. “You’ve earned your peace, Mother. Take it.”

She nodded once and released him, stepping back as the sunlight wrapped around her. Her gaze lingered, memorizing the faces of her family one last time. And then, with a shimmer of light and a breath of still-cool morning air, she winnowed.

Gone.

Nesta watched Eris closely, catching the briefest tightening around his eyes, the subtle shift from calm to quiet melancholy. In that small, guarded expression, she saw fragments of a past she had yet to fully understand.

Lucien was the first to speak, clearing his throat. “Well. That’s the last of the goodbyes. Now what?”

Eris turned toward the house, his expression unreadable once more. “Now we get to work.”

Nesta lingered a moment longer, her hand brushing Eris’s gently as they followed the others inside. The morning sun rose higher above the forest, carrying with it a quiet promise of change.

---

The formal meeting room in the Forest House was cast in morning gold, sunlight streaming through high, arched windows carved with twisting branches and thorns. The walls were paneled in dark cherrywood, polished to a rich gleam. Tapestries depicting ancient Autumn Court battles hung alongside newer emblems, symbols of peace, of rebuilding.

Nesta sat beside Eris at the head of the table, posture straight but calm. Across from them, the council had gathered, their varied expressions betraying the subtle tensions that shaped Autumn Court politics.

To Nesta’s right, Idris and Cormac flanked them, both sharp-eyed and alert. Several established lords occupied the remaining seats: Lord Thorne, loyal and steadfast, watched proceedings carefully, nodding occasionally at points he approved. Lord Fenric of Fallentree remained as distant and cool as always, offering only a crisp nod when he briefly caught Nesta’s gaze. Lord Balen of Emberhall sat comfortably, openly supportive, his attentiveness clear and reassuring. Lady Cerelle of Acadia studied the parchment before her with quiet intensity, clearly engaged with the reports presented.

Opposite her, Lord Virel of Ashgrove sat stiffly, his mouth pressed into a thin line, tension radiating from every movement. Beside him, Lord Barrett wore an expression of mild distaste, his fingers tapping impatiently against the table’s polished surface. But it was young Lord Malrick, newly installed after his father's death, who drew Nesta’s attention. Unlike his late father—once bitterly opposed to Eris’s rule—this new Lord Malrick was thoughtful and attentive, occasionally offering quiet murmurs of agreement. His open-mindedness had surprised many, a promising sign of the new generation.

Completing the assembly were Lords Edric of Bramblekeep, Torren of Mistwood, Hale of Redoak, and Garron of Staghaven, their gazes sharp and calculating. Edric seemed quietly neutral, watching carefully without betraying favor. Torren’s eyes gleamed with cautious optimism, while Lords Hale and Garron exchanged subtle glances, clearly still evaluating their new lady’s capabilities.

“The trade routes through the southern villages are holding steady,” Idris reported clearly, his tone steady and reassuring. “No delays. No interference.”

Cormac leaned forward, glancing down at his ledgers briefly. “Revenue confirms it—twelve percent increase in goods moving east. Stability is finally returning.”

Nesta absorbed these details carefully, noting how Lord Thorne and Lord Balen both nodded approvingly at the news. Lady Cerelle offered a subtle, encouraging smile.

Ione spoke next, her voice clear, confident, but with an edge of caution. “The sanctuary law is ahead of schedule. Two villages already have drafted expansion proposals. Training for trauma-focused healers has begun, with promising numbers.”

Lord Virel’s expression darkened visibly. He exchanged an irritated glance with Lord Barrett before speaking up, his voice sharp. “We should be careful. Such passionate laws rarely survive practical reality.”

Nesta didn’t flinch. She held his gaze evenly, knowing exactly why he opposed her efforts. Ione’s arranged marriage, one she herself had stopped, was still fresh in Lord Virel’s memory, a humiliation he clearly hadn’t forgiven.

“Passion isn’t a flaw,” Nesta replied calmly. “It’s what gives our people hope. And from what I’ve seen, hope survives practicalities quite well.”

Lady Cerelle’s lips twitched slightly in approval. Lord Balen openly smiled, and even the reserved Lord Malrick seemed quietly impressed.

Lord Barrett leaned forward slightly, mild disdain coloring his tone. “Hope is well enough, Lady Nesta, but we must still tread carefully. We have traditions that shouldn’t be disrupted without good cause.”

“Protection of our people is always good cause,” Eris replied smoothly, voice firm, clearly signaling support for Nesta. “And we will tread carefully, without sacrificing those who need our help.”

Lord Thorne gave a subtle, affirming nod, clearly aligning himself with Eris’s stance. Lord Barrett fell silent, clearly reluctant to push further.

Cormac broke the quiet. “We've also received letters from the outer settlements requesting a seasonal harvest council. The recent frost damage to crops has raised concerns. We may need cooperation from Spring Court.”

“Reach out quietly,” Eris ordered firmly. “Our pride won’t feed our people.”

This drew murmurs of approval even from the neutral Lords Edric and Torren, clearly impressed by the High Lord’s pragmatic leadership.

The discussion continued, careful alliances and subtle tensions emerging through whispered asides, pointed looks, and shifting body language. Nesta carefully observed every interaction, absorbing the intricate dance of power around the table. Politics, she thought, was as much observation as it was participation, and she intended to master both.

When the session ended, sunlight had shifted across the polished oak table, highlighting the finality of the meeting. Eris stood and thanked the council courteously, his authority effortlessly reasserted.

Nesta rose slowly, collecting her notes, her mind already analyzing every subtle nuance of the meeting. She caught Lord Malrick’s gaze briefly, offering him a faint, appreciative nod. The young lord returned it respectfully, affirming their tentative alliance.

Stepping out into the corridor, the door shut gently behind them. Eris glanced sideways, admiration clear in his eyes. “You handled Virel well.”

Nesta arched her brow slightly. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to care about his opinion.”

A low chuckle escaped him, genuine and warm. “Precisely.”

Together, they moved toward the gardens, leaving the whispers and murmurs of court intrigue temporarily behind them.

Outside the meeting room, Nesta paused, inhaling softly. “Walk with me?”

Eris tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “A garden stroll? How unlike me.”

“Exactly,” Nesta replied simply. “You need it.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Lead the way.”

The late afternoon sun bathed the gardens of the Forest House in soft, honeyed light, casting gentle shadows along the winding stone paths. The garden was alive with autumn colors: russet chrysanthemums, deep purple asters, and clusters of vibrant marigolds spilling from beds edged by neatly trimmed boxwoods. Ivy climbed stubbornly over trellises, its leaves edged with shades of scarlet and gold, rustling softly in the cooling breeze. The faint scent of fallen leaves and crisp air gave the garden an almost nostalgic warmth.

Nesta moved leisurely along the familiar path, the hem of her brown high-necked gown brushing quietly over the stone walkway. The delicate gold embroidery on the sleeves and neckline glimmered subtly in the afternoon sun, accentuating the quiet grace with which she walked.

Eris moved beside her, hands clasped lightly behind his back, a calm expression on his face. It wasn’t often he joined her here, in her quiet refuge from the constant demands of the court. He usually preferred the orderly warmth of the study or council chambers. But today, he'd accepted her invitation without hesitation.

Nesta glanced sideways, her lips curving slightly. “I half-expected you to say no.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile appearing. “I considered it. But you were persuasive.”

She laughed softly, a rare and gentle sound. “It was just a walk.”

“With you, it’s never just anything,” Eris said simply, without flourish. Just a quiet truth that hung comfortably between them.

Nesta’s gaze drifted over the autumn blooms, their petals vivid even as the rest of the court seemed to prepare quietly for the colder months ahead. She hadn’t planted them or tended the beds herself—those careful touches belonged to others, gardeners and groundskeepers who knew exactly how to coax beauty from the land. Nesta simply enjoyed their efforts, finding peace in the quiet symmetry of the garden, the delicate interplay of color and shadow.

They paused near a low stone bench, shaded by the fiery leaves of a towering maple. Nesta sat, smoothing her skirts, looking out over the path they'd just taken. Eris sat beside her, his posture relaxed but alert, gaze thoughtful.

“I sometimes forget how calming it is here,” Eris murmured quietly, eyes tracing the path of leaves drifting slowly to the ground.

“That’s why I come,” Nesta admitted softly. “Everything slows down, just a bit.”

He glanced at her, thoughtful. “I understand now why you come here so often.”

Nesta’s lips curved slightly upward, though she didn’t look at him directly. “Everyone needs to breathe occasionally. Even you.”

Eris laughed quietly, the sound rich and genuine, echoing lightly in the stillness of the garden. “You sound dangerously like someone who cares.”

Nesta met his eyes, something gentle softening her expression. “Maybe I do.”

Eris’s gaze lingered on her face a heartbeat longer, warmth brightening his amber eyes. “I’m glad for it.”

The silence returned, easy and companionable. They watched the leaves fall in a quiet dance, scattering lightly across the pathway, an endless pattern of reds and golds. Nesta leaned slightly toward him, allowing the comfortable quiet to wrap gently around them both.

The silence returned, easy and companionable. They watched the leaves fall in a quiet dance, scattering lightly across the pathway in patterns of red and gold. Nesta leaned slightly toward him, allowing the comfortable quiet to wrap gently around them both.

After a long, peaceful moment, she finally murmured, "We should head back."

Eris gave a gentle nod, his gaze lingering on the garden a moment longer. He rose slowly, offering his hand. Nesta took it, feeling the reassuring warmth of his grip as she stood beside him. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, quiet and tender.

Together, they turned from the garden's tranquility and moved slowly back toward the Forest House, the fading sunlight following gently in their wake.

---

The Forest House library had a quiet elegance to it, a hush that felt ancient, almost reverent. Morning light slanted in through tall mullioned windows, gilding the rows of dark-wood shelves and the spines of centuries-old books. High above, a painted ceiling whispered of constellations and court history, its muted tones softened by time and candle smoke.

Nesta stood near one of the long tables, a set of papers spread out before her. Her fingers traced the edges of a parchment that had been passed around during the council meeting earlier that day. It was covered in small, elegant script, notations about Autumn Court trade routes and updated ledger reports. Despite her determination, some of it still left her uncertain.

Across from her, Cormac leaned against the table’s edge, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the burnished copper of his hair catching in the filtered light. His expression, usually more guarded, was open and focused, his voice low and even as he explained the finer points of the Autumn Court’s grain and wine exports.

“We had a bottleneck in the south last year,” he was saying, gesturing toward the trade map they’d unrolled. “Flooding took out two bridges, and for a while we had to divert shipments through the central valleys. Slower, but the terrain’s more stable. The new routes we proposed in the meeting, that’s to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Nesta nodded, absorbing his words. “And the advisors seemed pleased.”

“Some of them,” he said wryly. “The older ones like to grumble. It’s a sport to them.”

Her lips quirked. “I noticed.”

Cormac’s mouth tilted upward, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze grew more serious as he shifted a few pages closer to her. “You held your own, Nesta. Even when Lord Virel made that dig about your law. You didn’t flinch.”

“I’ve dealt with worse than arrogant men in meetings,” she replied, and the edge in her tone made him glance at her, thoughtfully.

“Still,” he said, “it’s clear they’re beginning to respect you. Not all of them will admit it yet, but they see it.”

Nesta looked down at the page again, her voice quieter. “Do you think it’s working? What Ione and I are building?”

“I know it is,” Cormac said simply. “The sanctuary’s getting attention from places I never expected. Even Day Court sent a letter of interest.”

Nesta’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?”

Cormac nodded. “They want to know how it’s structured, how the protections work, who qualifies for entry. Helion himself sent the inquiry.”

She smiled faintly, a rare flicker of pride curling in her chest. “That’s… a lot.”

“You’re doing more than most ever tried,” Cormac said, his tone quiet but sincere. “And it’s starting to shift things.”

The weight of those words settled over her, unexpected, grounding. She looked at him then, properly. “Thank you.”

He gave a half shrug, then pushed away from the table. “Just facts.”

As he moved toward the door, Nesta gathered the papers into a neat stack, still thinking about his words.

“Cormac,” she called before he reached the threshold.

He paused, glancing back.

“I meant it. Thank you.”

A nod. Not formal, not stiff. Just a quiet acknowledgment between equals.

And then he was gone, and Nesta remained in the warm silence of the library, her eyes returning to the work she’d once thought she’d never want.

---

Evening had begun to settle gently over the Forest House, the sky deepening to a dusky indigo beyond the windows. Inside, the soft flicker of candlelight chased away the growing darkness, casting warm shadows across the polished furniture and rich tapestries lining the walls of the smaller sitting room where Nesta sat.

She’d chosen this room deliberately, the fireplace smaller, the atmosphere cozier, hoping the comforting space might ease the tension that had been slowly building throughout the day. But even here, an undercurrent of unease seemed to linger, as if the old house itself sensed the uncertainty hovering over them.

Lucien occupied the chair opposite hers, the firelight playing across his face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw and the steady gaze of his russet eye. He cradled a glass of spiced wine in one hand, swirling it idly, though he hadn’t taken a sip.

“You’ve helped change this place,” Lucien said quietly, breaking the silence. “I almost don’t recognize it.”

Nesta looked around the sitting room. She had chosen new cushions, softer blankets, warmer colors. Even now, the space smelled faintly of honeyed tea and something floral, comforting scents she’d requested specifically. “I wanted it to feel more like home,” she admitted softly. “For all of us.”

Lucien’s lips curved upward faintly. “It worked.”

Nesta’s smile was gentle. “You don’t regret staying?”

His gaze shifted to the fire, thoughtful. “Not for a second. But sometimes it feels like borrowed peace, doesn’t it?”

Nesta sighed. “Always.”

Lucien studied her carefully, his expression softening. “You surprised me, you know. At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect from you.”

Nesta arched a brow lightly. “Did you think I’d ruin everything?”

He chuckled, a quiet, genuine sound. “I thought you’d burn the place down. Turns out, you rebuilt it.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the crackle of the hearth. Nesta felt the ease of it, the quiet camaraderie with Lucien that had slowly begun to form into something stronger, steadier.

And then the door burst open, shattering the calm.

Damian strode into the room, cloak swirling behind him, snow still clinging to his boots. His face was pale, eyes haunted by something raw and unsettling. He paused, taking in the room quickly. “Where’s Eris?”

Lucien was on his feet instantly, placing his glass down. “He’s coming. What happened?”

Damian exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Get everyone. Now.”

Within moments, they’d gathered in Eris’s study, the five Vanserra brothers, tense and alert, their faces cast into harsh lines by the low firelight. Nesta sat by the window, rigid, fingers laced tightly in her lap. Eris stood by the hearth, the flames reflecting across his crimson jacket, his posture taut.

Idris sat cross-legged in one of the velvet chairs, a coin flicking nervously between his fingers. Cormac leaned silently against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark. Lucien perched restlessly on the edge of the desk, leg bouncing slightly as the heavy silence settled over them..

“Well?” Eris’s voice was calm, controlled.

Damian’s eyes swept quickly over them, lingering briefly on Nesta’s face. He drew a breath. “No sign of the missing patrol. Not a single footprint. It’s like they were swallowed whole.”

Idris swore softly under his breath, the coin clenched tight in his fist.

Damian tugged off his gloves, his hands visibly trembling. “No blood. No scent. Nothing at all.” His voice lowered ominously. “Except something... old.”

“Magic?” Eris’s voice sharpened instantly.

“Older than Briallyn’s,” Damian confirmed grimly. “Older than any of us. It sank into the land as if it’s always belonged there, as if it was waiting.”

Silence stretched thickly, stifling.

Nesta felt dread curl deep in her gut, cold and heavy as stone. Her eyes met Eris’s, and she saw the same realization reflected back in their amber depths.

“She’s not working alone,” Eris murmured. “She’s found something else.”

The room remained silent, but their shared understanding screamed louder than any spoken words could: the fragile peace they’d begun to forge was already fracturing, splintering under the weight of something ancient and far more dangerous.

Their borrowed calm, it seemed, had finally run out.

---

Eris’s private office was bathed in a warm amber glow from the crackling fire in the hearth. Shelves lined with meticulously organized leather-bound books covered the walls, and an ornate map of Prythian dominated the wall behind his heavy, polished desk. Candles flickered gently from sconces, casting elongated shadows across the plush rugs and dark wood furniture.

At his desk, Eris sat forward, shoulders tense beneath the crimson jacket he still wore from earlier. His attention was fixed entirely on the parchment spread out in front of him, pen poised delicately between his fingers. Every stroke of ink was precise, each word carefully considered. But beneath the calm precision was a tension, a restless energy simmering just beneath the surface.

Nesta sat quietly in a chair near him, angled slightly toward the fireplace. The flames reflected softly in her eyes as she watched the logs crackle gently. Her hands rested in her lap, loosely clasped, her expression thoughtful and quietly supportive. She’d said little since arriving, instinctively knowing Eris needed quiet to think, to phrase his words with care.

Eris paused, glancing briefly up from the parchment. “Do you think it’s clear enough?” he asked quietly, almost to himself, tapping the pen softly against the paper.

Nesta turned her head slightly to face him, eyes calm. “Tarquin will understand. He trusts you, he knows you wouldn’t write unless it was important.”

He nodded slowly, letting out a small breath. “And the others? If it comes to calling the High Lords together—”

“Then we’ll handle it,” Nesta interrupted gently. “But one thing at a time.”

Eris’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, softening. “You’re right.”

He returned his attention to the letter, ink flowing swiftly now, lines taking shape clearly. Nesta didn’t ask for details, she knew them already. Damian’s discovery, the ancient magic, the quiet alarm now rippling through their court.

When Eris finished writing, he carefully folded the letter, sealing it securely with a wax stamp bearing the Vanserra crest. He held it briefly, his expression thoughtful, heavy with quiet determination. Rising smoothly, he moved toward the hearth, where the fire was still glowing warmly.

Nesta turned her chair slightly to watch him, feeling a quiet tension ripple through her chest. They were sending more than words. They were sending trust, vulnerability, uncertainty, things neither of them was accustomed to sharing lightly.

He held the letter over the fire, fingers steady despite the weight of the moment. Magic tingled faintly in the air as the flames rose, catching the parchment in a blaze of amber and gold, whisking it swiftly toward Summer Court.

Eris remained staring into the flames for a long, quiet moment after the letter vanished. When he finally turned, his expression was more guarded again; calm, collected, the High Lord of Autumn once more.

Nesta stood, stepping toward him until she was close enough to lay a gentle hand on his sleeve. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replied quietly, looking down at her hand. “But the right thing rarely feels easy.”

She nodded slowly. “We’ll handle whatever comes next.”

His gaze met hers again, the warmth from the fire reflected softly in his eyes. “Together?”

Nesta tightened her grip slightly, reassurance firm in her touch. “Always.”

Chapter 23: Howl

The morning air was cool and still, the sky outside the Forest House heavy with clouds that threatened rain but never quite followed through. Inside Eris’s study, however, the fire was already burning low and steady, casting gentle warmth through the richly paneled room. The air smelled faintly of old cedar and ink, the kind of quiet, solemn comfort found only in spaces used for thinking, for weighing decisions too heavy for even war rooms.

Nesta stood by the window, her arms crossed, watching the barest flickers of light filter through the clouds and onto the distant treetops. Behind her, Eris’s chair creaked as he leaned back, the leather sighing beneath his shoulders.

“He agreed,” Eris said simply.

Nesta turned slightly, her brows lifting.

“Tarquin,” he clarified, fingers tapping once against the desk before stilling. “He sent word this morning. Quietly. But his support is clear.”

She stepped away from the window, the echo of her footsteps muffled by the thick rug as she crossed to stand beside his desk. “Support for what exactly?”

“For a meeting,” Eris replied. “One where all the High Lords will be expected to attend, no political excuses, no emissaries in their place.”

Her gaze sharpened. “And the reason?”

“We keep it focused on the resurgence of old magic,” he said. “Ancient forces stirring, regions destabilizing, missing patrols, unusual weather patterns. Briallyn, yes, but perhaps more. No one will want to admit concern, not openly. But they’ll come.”

Nesta leaned her hands on the desk, her fingers grazing the map unfurled there, Prythian drawn in precise detail, its borders delicate and shifting under the weight of power. “And where?”

Eris’s gaze lingered on the map as well. “Tarquin suggested Summer, but I reached out to Helion.”

Nesta looked up in surprise. “You did?”

“Day Court is more central,” Eris said. “Neutral. And Autumn—” He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. “Autumn is still raw. Too many of the other courts will see Beron’s death as an opening. I won’t risk hosting here and giving them a reason to question our stability.”

Nesta’s voice softened. “That’s smart.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Helion agreed?” she asked.

“Immediately,” Eris said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother had something to do with it.”

Nesta’s brows rose.

“She’s not subtle,” he added dryly. “And she’s not above nudging Helion if it means getting this court the breathing room it needs.”

Nesta smiled faintly, but her gaze returned to the map, tracing the border between Autumn and Day. “When do you send the summons?”

“I already have,” Eris said. “This isn’t the kind of thing you wait on. If even one of the High Lords hesitates, it may already be too late.”

Nesta straightened, her jaw setting. “Then let’s hope they listen.”

Eris stood too, the study suddenly feeling smaller now, more charged. He looked at her, something burning beneath his calm. “Whether they do or not, we’re preparing.”

And Nesta, matching that fire with her own, nodded once. “Good.”

The hallway outside the study was quiet, the scent of woodsmoke and rain-damp stone lingering faintly in the air. Nesta walked slowly, the cool air brushing her skin as she passed beneath high arched windows streaked faintly with mist. Morning had not yet surrendered to midday, but the light filtering through was soft, uncertain, like the world itself was waiting to see what came next.

The weight of the meeting lingered in her chest, not in fear, but in anticipation. Something was shifting in Prythian. She felt it in the bones of this old house, in the unease that hovered just behind Eris’s careful control, in the way even the forests seemed quieter than usual.

At the end of the hall, she paused at one of the narrow windows that overlooked the eastern gardens. Dew clung to the last of the autumn roses, their crimson petals heavy with morning silence. Somewhere below, she thought she heard the soft footfall of boots, perhaps one of Eris’s brothers walking the perimeter, or a courier moving quietly between wings.

Nesta’s gaze drifted outward, but her mind was already pulling toward Ashgrove.

She thought of Ione, proud, steadfast, and quieter than most. A woman who had stepped away from her father’s shadow not with noise, but with deliberate, lasting action. And she thought of the towns and villages scattered through Ashgrove, through all of the Autumn Court, where girls like Ione were still being watched, still being warned who they could and could not be.

Not anymore, Nesta thought. Not if they keep building.

The wind shifted slightly, and she closed her eyes, gathering her magic to her hands with ease.

She would not stay long. Just enough to check in. To remind those resisting the law that it was not a passing idea, it was a promise. A new future. And to see for herself what had begun to grow in the place where so much had once been broken.

With a final breath, Nesta turned from the window and winnowed into the still-gray light, the soft rush of air carrying her away.

The midday sun filtered through high clouds, casting soft, golden light over the hills of Ashgrove. The region was known for its gently sloping terrain, dotted with maple groves and winding streams that shimmered between patches of forest and farmland. It was cooler here than in the heart of the Autumn Court, with crisp winds that smelled of woodsmoke and damp moss.

Nesta winnowed directly to the edge of a village tucked along one of Ashgrove’s northern ridges. Small stone cottages lined the path into the town, their roofs steeply pitched to withstand autumn rains and the heavy snows that followed. The scent of freshly split firewood hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of baking bread. A handful of townspeople turned their heads at the sudden appearance of a Lady in their midst, but most offered quiet nods of recognition. She had been here before, just once, but long enough to be remembered.

Ione was already waiting near the town’s small meeting hall, a tidy structure with ivy curling around its timber beams. Her cloak was fastened high at her throat, the rich maroon velvet flecked with dust from travel. Her blonde hair was braided back simply, and though she carried no visible weapon, her posture was one of quiet alertness, a woman accustomed to watching, assessing.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come yourself,” Ione said as Nesta approached, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Nesta returned the smile, her boots crunching over fallen leaves. “I needed to see it. Not just read reports.”

The two women fell into step, walking slowly along the edge of the green. Children’s laughter echoed faintly from a nearby schoolhouse, while a pair of farmers moved past with sacks of grain over their shoulders, too focused on their work to do more than glance at them.

Ione’s expression turned more serious. “The last two villages I visited had no obvious violations, but I still had to step in.”

Nesta glanced sideways. “Someone tried to force a marriage?”

“Not exactly,” Ione said grimly. “In both cases, the families were attempting to... stall. Hoping that if they didn’t officially record the union, no one would notice. The girls weren’t told they had a choice.”

Nesta felt a cold knot settle in her chest. “And the local elders?”

“They’re adjusting,” Ione replied. “Slowly. Most are relieved to have clarity, but a few, older and stricter, think we’re interfering with tradition.”

“Tradition is not an excuse to ruin someone’s life,” Nesta said, her voice sharp with quiet fury.

“I know.” Ione hesitated. “But you and I both know my father doesn’t see it that way. I’m making progress, but I’ve been careful not to draw his attention.”

There was a bitter edge to her voice, one Nesta understood all too well. Lord Virel’s disapproval was no small thing. He had made it clear from the start that he didn’t support the new law, especially not after Nesta’s intervention had annulled the engagement he’d tried to force on his daughter.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said softly. “That it had to come to this. That you’re stuck in the middle.”

Ione gave her a measured look. “Don’t be. I would’ve ended up trapped in a loveless marriage if you hadn’t interfered. My father won’t forgive me for that, but I can live with it. What I couldn’t live with was letting it happen to someone else.”

They paused near a weathered fence that bordered a quiet orchard, the trees still clinging to the last of their amber leaves. The wind rustled through the branches, sending a few spinning down like pieces of flame.

“You’re doing more than just visiting villages,” Nesta said. “You’re protecting them.”

Ione’s mouth twisted slightly, not quite a smile, not quite sorrow. “I’m trying. That’s all we can do, isn’t it?”

Nesta nodded. “For what it’s worth, you’re not alone in this.”

A long silence stretched between them, but it was not uncomfortable. The orchard whispered around them, the wind playing with their cloaks.

“I’ll be staying in Ashgrove for another week,” Ione said eventually. “The town of Stillmere has requested a formal review. There’s talk of a forced engagement there, and I want to get ahead of it before it escalates.”

“Do you need anything?” Nesta asked. “Resources, messengers, more support?”

Ione shook her head. “Just knowing you’ll stand behind me is enough.”

Nesta’s throat tightened slightly at the words. She knew what it cost Ione to admit that, just as she knew what it meant, for a noblewoman raised under the thumb of a powerful and controlling father to stake her name on something her court was still struggling to fully accept.

As they turned back toward the road, the sun caught in Ione’s braid, lighting the strands like pale gold.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Nesta said softly. “And if anyone stands in your way… send word.”

Ione didn’t answer, but the look she gave Nesta was steady. Loyal. Grateful.

And then Nesta stepped back, let the wind curl around her, and vanished into it, leaving behind only the lingering echo of her promise, and a field of scattered autumn leaves.

---

The early afternoon light spilled softly through the tall windows of Nesta’s study, slanting in golden rays across polished wood and the gentle curves of ivory drapes. A quiet breeze stirred the edges of a sheaf of parchment on her desk, rustling the papers with a hush that only deepened the stillness in the room.

Nesta sat in the window seat, knees tucked beneath her, a thick knit blanket drawn over her lap. A book lay closed at her side, long forgotten. In her hands, she held a letter, its seal already broken, the smooth paper gently creased where her fingers had lingered. She read it again, though the words had settled firmly in her memory the first time through.

Not because they were shocking. But because they weren’t.

Because they were thoughtful. Surprising in their tone. Honest in a way that made something tight in her chest loosen, just a little.

Nesta let the parchment rest against her thigh, staring out at the woods beyond the glass. The trees blazed with the last fire of autumn, leaves clinging to branches in shades of crimson and rust and honey gold. It was peaceful here. Familiar. And yet, this small letter in her lap had shifted something inside her.

She hadn’t expected it from Cressida. Not after the way their first conversation had gone in Adriata. But there had been something there, even then, a challenge, a curiosity behind Cressida’s sharp tongue. And now… now it had become something else. A gesture. A beginning.

Nesta turned the letter over in her hands. She did not need to know Cressida’s entire heart to understand the meaning behind the ink. An offering had been made. And for once, Nesta did not feel the need to second-guess it.

She smiled, faintly. Not the kind meant for anyone else. Just for herself.

Then she rose, crossing to her desk. Her steps were slow, unhurried. She pulled a clean piece of parchment from the stack, sat down, and reached for her quill.

She didn’t know where this would lead, not precisely. But she knew what it could become.

And for once, Nesta Vanserra was willing to find out.

---

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the western windows of the Forest House, brushing everything in gold. Nesta leaned against the stone balustrade just outside the dining hall, arms folded lightly, her gaze drawn to the flickering edges of the woods where evening crept closer. A breeze stirred her hair and whispered through the thinning autumn leaves, carrying with it the faintest scents of woodsmoke and spice.

She heard the door open behind her, soft footsteps approaching. Eris didn’t speak right away, just came to stand beside her, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.

“Tired?” he asked at last, his voice low.

“A little,” she admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

He gave a quiet hum. “Longer still, if we’re to survive dinner with all my brothers in one room.”

Nesta smiled faintly. “You act like it’s a battle.”

“It is,” he said dryly, and she huffed a laugh.

They stood a moment longer in silence. The sun dipped further, setting the sky ablaze in crimsons and rose golds. And still, despite everything—the politics, the looming danger, the tension beneath their calm—this quiet, right here, felt like peace.

Eris turned to her, offering his arm. “Shall we go to war?”

Nesta took it, fingers curling into the crook of his elbow with a wry smile. “Lead the way.”

The dining room in the Forest House was bathed in golden light as the day slipped into early evening, the sun casting long shadows across the polished floors and gilded wall sconces. A fire crackled gently in the hearth at the far end of the chamber, adding its warmth to the room’s rich autumn palette, deep ochres, reds, and umber hues that echoed the woods just beyond the tall windows.

The long table had been set for six, though the arrangement felt more familial than formal. Candles flickered in carved brass holders along the center, their glow catching in the crystal glasses and illuminating the copper-rimmed plates. Platters of roasted vegetables, herb-crusted pheasant, and warm rolls sat in abundance, the scent of cloves, rosemary, and baked apples drifting through the air like an invitation.

Nesta entered beside Eris, and for a moment, she paused to take in the sight. Idris was already at the table, lounging in his chair with a glass of something honey-colored in hand, flicking a slice of roasted squash onto his plate with little ceremony. Cormac stood at the hearth speaking with Damian, the firelight playing off their identical copper-red hair, though Cormac’s expression was lighter than usual, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. Lucien leaned against the windowsill, silhouetted by the dying light, his russet eye catching the reflection of the trees outside.

It looked like a family.

Not perfectly stitched. Not without its shadows. But real.

“Dinner is served,” Idris called, raising his glass dramatically as he caught sight of them. “And I, for one, am starving.”

“Your appetite is the one constant in this court,” Damian muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

“Speak for yourself,” Idris replied, sliding into his seat and making a show of reaching for the rolls.

Eris moved to the head of the table with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. He didn’t need to say much. The others fell into their places with practiced familiarity. Nesta took her seat to his right, feeling the warmth of him beside her even as she reached for the wine.

“You’re late,” Lucien teased as he settled in across from her, pouring himself a drink. “Did she drag you through another garden stroll, brother?”

“She asked nicely,” Eris said, glancing sidelong at Nesta with a faint, amused smile.

“I bribed him with the promise of dessert,” she replied coolly.

That drew a bark of laughter from Idris. “Gods, you two are becoming insufferably domestic.”

“Just because you eat like a raccoon doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have manners,” Cormac said, slicing into the pheasant.

Damian snorted. “A raccoon would have better table etiquette.”

They fell into an easy rhythm after that, quips thrown back and forth, laughter sliding beneath the clink of silverware and glass. It wasn’t always like this. Nesta had seen them argue. Had seen the deep fault lines that history had left across their family. But tonight, the tensions had ebbed. Perhaps the shared worry about the patrols had made the mood more fragile, but it had also made it more precious.

Lucien raised his glass again halfway through the meal, a wry glint in his eye. “To Nesta, then. For somehow not murdering any of us yet.”

“And for making Lord Venric’s eyebrows twitch today,” Idris added, raising his own glass with a grin.

“That was impressive,” Cormac said seriously, nodding toward her. “I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten him that flustered in public.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but raised her glass all the same. “If that’s my legacy in this court, I’ll accept it with pride.”

Eris leaned in, voice low against her ear. “That’s not your legacy, Nesta. Not even close.”

She glanced at him, heart fluttering in her chest, but said nothing. Just smiled, quiet and real.

As the meal wound down, the room softened. Wine loosened the sharp edges of their jokes. The fire dwindled to embers. The laughter faded into the hush of clinking glasses and the scraping of forks against porcelain.

Nesta found herself watching them, Idris laughing at something Lucien said, Cormac gently elbowing Damian when he reached for the last of the rolls, Eris refilling her wine glass without asking.

She hadn’t grown up with this.

She hadn’t known this could exist.

But here, at this table, surrounded by the Vanserras, her husband at her side, Nesta realized something with a pang so fierce it nearly stole her breath.

She felt like she belonged.

And gods help anyone who tried to take that from her now.

---

The Forest House had quieted, its halls dimmed and hushed under the weight of nightfall. Outside their bedroom window, the forest whispered softly, branches rustling in the cool breeze, the occasional flutter of wings overhead. The stars glimmered faintly between the leaves, distant silver pinpricks in a dark velvet sky.

The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced lazily along the carved wooden walls. Nesta stood in front of the mirror, unfastening the clasps at the back of her gown, the heavy autumn fabric whispering over her skin as it slipped to the floor. She moved slowly, methodically, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around her like a soft cloak.

Eris was already in bed, propped against the pillows, his eyes tracing her with quiet admiration. He didn’t speak, not at first, just watched her with a look that was equal parts reverence and familiarity.

Nesta crossed to him barefoot, the rug soft beneath her feet, and slid beneath the covers with a soft sigh. He shifted to make room, drawing the blankets up around them both. The warmth of his body met hers immediately.

“You were remarkable today,” he said, his voice a murmur against her hair.

“So were you,” she replied quietly. “And tomorrow we keep going.”

A soft press of his lips to her temple was his answer.

They didn’t say more. They didn’t need to. Sleep came easily after that, wrapped in warmth, in love, and in the soft rhythm of a home finally beginning to feel like one.

Dawn spilled slowly into the Forest House, a soft gold mist curling through the windows and pooling across the wooden floors like spilled honey. Birds called in the trees beyond the glass panes, their songs bright and unbothered. The scent of morning dew mingled with the faint smoke of the kitchen hearths beginning to stir below.

Nesta stirred beneath the covers, blinking slowly as pale light touched her face. For a moment, she simply breathed, letting the hush of the early hour settle around her like a second blanket. The sheets were warm, the bed soft, and the arm slung around her waist unmistakably Eris’s.

He was still asleep, his features softened in rest. In sleep, his face lost some of the sharpness he carried during the day, less High Lord, more fae. More hers.

Nesta carefully untangled herself and sat up, her bare feet finding the cool floor. She padded toward the wardrobe, tugging it open to reveal a row of neatly hung gowns in deep forest tones and autumn golds.

Today, she selected a high-collared gown of dusky plum velvet, embroidered at the cuffs and hem with intricate golden leaves. As she dressed, the fabric hugged her closely before flaring at the hips into a graceful sweep. Her fingers paused at the final clasp near her throat, her gaze flickering briefly to the window.

The day of the High Lord’s meeting approached.

Behind her, Eris stirred. She turned to find him blinking awake, red-gold hair tousled against the pillows.

“Running away already?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“Just getting ready,” she said, reaching for her hairbrush. “I don’t think today will wait for us.”

He sat up slowly, stretching. “Then we’ll face it together.”

Nesta smiled faintly and crossed to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before moving to the mirror to fasten her earrings, small polished garnets that caught the morning light. Behind her reflection, she caught the way he watched her, not as the court’s Lady, not as a warrior or a name with power, but as his wife.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted the moment. A messenger, they both knew.

Eris rose and reached for a dressing robe. “Let’s see what news the day brings.”

---

By the time Nesta and Eris had read the note delivered to their door,  a reply from Tarquin confirming his support for the upcoming High Lords meeting, the sun had crested the tree line, casting long golden beams over the gardens. The letter had been brief, its tone warm and direct. Tarquin’s words made it clear: he trusted Eris’s judgment, and he believed a summit was both necessary and overdue.

With Helion already agreeing to host in Day Court, a suggestion that had likely come with a nudge from Aurelia, the plan was in motion.

With Eris in his study catching up on some reports, Nesta had stepped out for air.

The garden welcomed her with open arms.

Autumn draped itself proudly across the grounds, heavy blooms of dusky chrysanthemums and sunset-orange marigolds bowed under the weight of dew. The winding stone paths glistened faintly, still wet with morning moisture, while scarlet ivy curled around wrought iron arches overhead, fluttering like banners. A soft wind stirred the trees, the scent of damp moss and fallen leaves curling into every breath Nesta took.

She walked slowly, her steps unhurried, letting the silence stretch around her. The velvet of her plum gown brushed lightly against the trimmed hedges. Her thoughts were still turned over Tarquin’s letter, the feeling of responsibility knotting lightly in her chest.

She didn’t hear footsteps behind her until she reached the small grove near the east wall, where the trees grew close and the garden opened briefly to a wild tangle of nature. A familiar voice called softly:

“You always come out here when something’s weighing on you.”

Nesta turned to find Lucien walking toward her, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket. His copper hair gleamed like struck metal in the early light, and a crooked smile pulled at his mouth.

“I didn’t realize I had habits that were noticeable,” she said.

“You do,” Lucien replied, falling into step beside her. “You just pretend you don’t.”

They strolled in companionable silence for a while, the gravel crunching underfoot. The trees rustled gently above them. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried.

“Tarquin’s letter came this morning,” Nesta said at last.

“I figured. Eris’s study door was open, and he looked like he was planning the next ten steps before he’d even finished breakfast.”

Nesta gave a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s happening faster than I thought.”

“That’s how it usually goes,” Lucien said, tone softer now. “One letter, one agreement, and then everything begins to move.”

They reached the small marble bench beneath a sugar maple ablaze with fire-orange leaves. Nesta sat, smoothing her skirts absently, and Lucien dropped onto the low stone wall beside her.

“You worried?” he asked, his gaze searching hers.

“I’m not sure,” she said truthfully. “It’s not fear. Just… pressure. There’s so much to get right.”

“You’ve done more than most already,” Lucien said. “And you’re not doing it alone.”

She glanced at him, a small smile ghosting across her face. “You’ve all made sure of that.”

A moment passed, and Lucien looked out over the garden, the vines curling along the stone, the gold light catching in the leaves.

“Elain used to love mornings like this,” he said suddenly, quietly. “When the world felt clean. New.”

Nesta stilled, her hands folding slowly in her lap. “She still might,” she said after a moment. “But I don’t think she sees them much these days.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened faintly. “That’s because they keep her inside. Distracted. Comfortable enough not to ask questions.”

There was no need to name they . Nesta knew who he meant, and her stomach twisted with the same unease that had haunted her for weeks now.

“She hasn’t written,” Nesta said. “Not since the wedding.”

“She thinks you’ve cut her off,” Lucien murmured. “That you chose not to stay in touch.”

Nesta turned sharply to him. “That’s not true.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But someone’s made sure she thinks it is.”

The silence between them stretched, not cold, but heavy. Filled with things unsaid.

“I don’t know how much longer she’ll believe them,” Lucien added. “She’s not blind. Just… too willing to see the best in people.”

Nesta looked down at her hands, at the garnet ring Eris had given her resting elegantly on her finger. “She’ll find out eventually. And when she does…”

Lucien nodded grimly. “It won’t be pretty.”

They sat a while longer, the weight of family and fractured truths settling around them.

But the garden remained warm, the air touched with earth and leaf and light. And the fact that they could sit here, Nesta and Lucien, so far from where they began, felt like a small defiance against whatever shadows still lay ahead.

When they finally rose, it was together.

Not with all the answers.

But with the quiet understanding that neither of them would stop fighting for the truth, and that maybe, just maybe, there was still time to rebuild what had been broken.

Lucien had peeled off toward the archery yard with a lazy wave, and Nesta had lingered in the garden, not quite ready to return indoors. The paths meandered deeper toward the orchard and greenhouses, the air cooler beneath the rustling canopy of deep red and copper leaves.

Her steps slowed as the quiet was broken by soft voices.

Just beyond a patch of wild asters and golden-leaved elderberry, Aster and Marla stood by the edge of a stone balustrade, peering over what would soon become the sanctuary’s central courtyard. Though the structure still bore scaffolding and skeletal frames of carved stone and wood, its shape was coming into focus — open, layered, intentional.

The sound of hammers and distant spellwork echoed faintly as builders moved in the distance, barely visible beyond the rising walls.

Aster spotted Nesta first. “Lady Nesta,” she called with a smile, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?” Nesta asked, joining them and brushing a leaf from the sleeve of her brown dress. The gold embroidery on her cuffs glinted in the low sun.

Marla pointed. “The outer ward-stones were laid this morning. I checked the protective enchantments myself, they held.” Her face, usually so serene, was lit with quiet satisfaction.

Nesta stepped to the edge and gazed down at the sanctuary’s heart, not yet filled with gardens or fountains, but the foundation stones gleamed faintly, magic humming beneath them like the beginning of a heartbeat.

“It’s becoming real,” she said softly.

Aster nodded, arms crossed as she leaned on the railing. “The wards, the healing wings, the private rooms. And the garden space—”

“With fountains,” Nesta added, glancing at her.

Aster grinned. “Of course.”

Marla turned slightly, her eyes clear and calm. “We’ve had letters already. Inquiries. A few from nobles. But most… from girls. Women. A mother of four. A widow. A young fae who left her family behind. They’re watching. Waiting.”

Nesta swallowed. “It’s not even open yet.”

“That’s how much they need it,” Marla replied. “That’s how much you’ve already changed.”

Nesta shook her head slightly. “Not just me.”

Aster tilted her head. “You could have done nothing. You could’ve stayed comfortable, remained untouched by it all.”

“I didn’t want comfort,” Nesta said. “I wanted choice. And I wanted others to have it, too.”

Marla offered a small, knowing smile. “You gave us that. Gave me that.”

The breeze stirred around them, gentle but sharp-edged, scented with cloves and crisp leaves. A small flock of sparrows darted overhead, wings flashing silver between the branches.

“When the sanctuary opens,” Aster said softly, “we’ll need someone to lead it. Someone steady. Who understands both politics and pain.”

Nesta looked at her. “You mean you.”

“I mean Marla,” Aster said, with only the hint of a grin. “But I’ll help her however I can.”

Marla didn’t deny it. She simply looked out over the rising walls and the land that would soon hold hope and rest for those who had none.

“I’ll still check in,” Nesta said. “But my place is... bigger now.”

“And because of that,” Marla said gently, “you’ll make sure this place is protected. Even when you’re not standing inside it.”

The three of them fell quiet, watching the morning grow warmer. A group of fae stone-masons passed by below, one of them lifting a hand in greeting.

Nesta raised her hand in return, and something deep within her steadied.

This would be more than a building. It already was.

A place shaped by rage and love, by scars and survival. By women who had fought to choose, and would fight again to protect those who hadn’t yet found their voice.

The sanctuary was rising.

And soon, it would open its doors to those who needed it most.

---

The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the stone floor of Eris’s private study. Outside, night had fully settled over the Forest House, the halls quiet but for the occasional creak of old wood or rustle of leaves at the windows. It was late—past dinner, past any final check-ins or duties. The hour when most of the household had gone to bed.

But Nesta and Eris remained.

She sat in one of the worn velvet chairs angled near the fire, her legs curled beneath her, a book forgotten in her lap. Eris stood at his desk, the candlelight catching in his hair as he folded the last letter with precise, practiced hands. Wax and seal followed—a golden ember pressed to the deep red crest of Autumn.

“Do you really think they’ll all come?” Nesta asked, her voice quiet against the crackling fire.

Eris didn’t look up right away. He pressed another seal closed before turning. “Tarquin has already agreed. Helion offered to host, it’s neutral ground, and Day Court is central. It gives the rest less room to make excuses.”

“And the others?”

“Kallias and Viviane will come. Thesan too, he listens before he judges.” He hesitated. “Tamlin is a risk. And Rhysand…”

Nesta didn’t push. She simply nodded, gaze fixed on the flicker of firelight along the edge of the desk.

“It’s Feyre I’m more worried about,” she said after a moment. “You know how they are, how they talk to Elain. What they’ve told her about me.”

Eris crossed the room, setting the sealed letters aside. He leaned on the back of her chair, his voice low and calm. “You haven’t seen her since Beron’s funeral.”

“No. And I’m not sure what version of me they expect to find. Maybe the one they keep telling Elain I still am.”

He didn’t speak for a beat. Then, “Elain will find out the truth eventually. They can’t shield her forever.”

Nesta’s hands tightened around the fabric of her dress. “They’ll bring up the bond.”

“You never wanted it.”

“And they never listened.”

Her voice was soft, but the pain beneath it was not. Eris circled to face her, crouching slightly so they were eye level.

“You don’t owe them anything. And if they try to make you feel otherwise—” His jaw tensed. “They’ll have to deal with me.”

She almost smiled. “You’re always so dramatic.”

He arched a brow. “Only when it comes to you.”

A pause settled between them, the weight of it more comforting than heavy.

“Do you think this meeting will help?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But we’re stronger with the truth out in the open. With Tarquin supporting us, Helion hosting, and you by my side, there’s a chance.”

Nesta nodded slowly, absorbing his steadiness, grounding herself in it.

“Damian, Lucien, and Idris will come with us,” Eris said. “Cormac will stay to run things here.”

“And what do we say, if they ask about the missing soldiers?”

“The truth,” he said. “That something ancient is stirring. And if we don’t act together, it won’t stop with Autumn.”

And in the quiet of the firelit study, with the cold pressing against the windows and the future shifting just out of reach, they stood side by side as the first stones of the next battle were laid.

Chapter 24: Spectrum

Summary:

The long awaited High Lord's meeting, or at least the start of it...

It had been four days since the letters to the High Lords were sent. In that time, the Forest House had been steeped in preparation. Morning turned to night in a haze of meetings and strategy sessions, meals eaten in council rooms, scrolls unrolled like battle maps across long tables. The sanctuary, though still unfinished, was drawing closer to completion with each passing day, and the new law on no more forced marriages was beginning to take root across the Autumn Court. Despite quiet resistance from a few noble houses and their territories, word from Ashgrove and other territories showed that progress was being made. Change, slow but certain, was in motion.

The breeze curled gently through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the scent of turning leaves and the faintest trace of chimney smoke from distant villages. From the terrace that stretched along the Forest House’s eastern wing, the view swept out across the golden canopy of the Autumn woods. The trees below shimmered with sun-dappled light, their leaves beginning their slow shift from green to rust and crimson.

Nesta sat curled into a wrought-iron chair with a thick wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders, nursing a cup of tea that had long gone lukewarm. Across from her, Marla sipped from a delicate porcelain mug, boots propped against the balcony railing. Aster had pulled over a footstool and was arranging parchment on her lap, the edge of her deep maroon skirts fluttering with each breeze.

“This spot always catches the morning sun,” Aster remarked, glancing over the stone balustrade. “It’ll be shaded by noon, but for now…” She trailed off with a small smile, clearly savoring the warmth.

“It’s peaceful up here,” Marla murmured, brushing a fallen leaf from the armrest of her chair. “I forget how loud the court gets until I’m away from it.”

Nesta nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on a hawk wheeling high above the trees. “We won’t have many quiet mornings like this in Day Court.”

Aster laughed softly. “Helion’s palace is beautiful, but restful? No.”

They all shared a knowing look. The Day Court was many things, warm, radiant, impossibly rich in color and architecture, but serene was not one of them.

Marla leaned forward slightly, setting down her mug. “The sanctuary's almost ready, you know. The builders think it’ll be finished by the next full moon, maybe even sooner if the weather holds.”

Nesta’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Good.”

“It’s already drawn interest,” Aster added, unrolling one of the scrolls on her lap. “A few healers wrote asking if they might offer their services once it opens. Mostly from Spring and Dawn, but there was one from Winter too.”

Marla chuckled. “Probably trying to escape the cold.”

Nesta managed a faint smile but didn’t look away from the trees. “Have there been any issues?”

“Not with the construction,” Aster said. “The locals seem… wary. But not hostile. They’re watching.”

“As they should,” Marla said, firm but not unkind. “It’s a change. A good one. But that doesn’t mean everyone will welcome it right away.”

Nesta exhaled through her nose. “We’ll prove it deserves to be there. And that the women who choose it will be safe.”

Aster touched her arm gently. “You already have.”

Nesta met her eyes then, those bright, unshaken hazel eyes that had stood beside her through every hard-won battle in the court. Aster wasn’t prone to flowery praise, but her words were sincere.

Marla rose, stretching. “We should let you get ready soon. I assume you still need to pack.”

Nesta glanced down at her still-untouched pile of folded garments and books in the corner of her room just inside. “We leave this evening.”

“Then you’ve got time for one more cup,” Aster said, already reaching for the teapot.

The three of them fell into a quieter rhythm again, refilling cups, watching the light shift across the treetops, enjoying the fleeting stillness.

It wasn’t a grand strategy session, or a council meeting, or a momentous decree.

But it was a connection.

And Nesta found, more and more, that such moments mattered most.

---

The sun stood high by the time Nesta made her way to the dining hall. The warmth from the terrace still lingered on her skin, but it was the sound of voices, deep and familiar, that drew her forward now.

The dining hall in the Forest House was built of smooth cedar and oak, the long windows open to the autumn air and sunlight. Vines clung to the outer stones, and a few curling leaves had snuck their way inside, drifting along the polished floor. A wide table stretched near the far hearth, ringed with high-backed chairs and already set for a midday meal. The scent of roasted squash and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, and somewhere in the kitchens, the sound of clanging pans and cheerful whistling echoed faintly.

All five of the Vanserra brothers were already there.

Lucien leaned casually back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankles, slicing through a honeyed pear with his dagger. Idris sat beside him, sleeves rolled, recounting something with wild gesturing, probably about a near-disaster in the stables if Lucien’s barely-suppressed grin meant anything. Damian was pacing near the window, arms folded, sharp eyes flicking every so often to the woods beyond. Eris sat at the head of the table, half turned to speak to Cormac, who looked amused and vaguely annoyed, as always.

As Nesta entered, five pairs of eyes turned toward her.

“There she is,” Eris said smoothly, standing. “Lady of Autumn and late to lunch.”

“I’m only five minutes late,” she replied, arching a brow as she made her way toward him. “You just miss me when I’m not in the room.”

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. “She’s got you there.”

Eris pulled out the chair beside him and kissed her cheek before she sat. “More than I care to admit.”

Nesta settled in, accepting a steaming mug of cider from one of the attending staff. The warmth soaked into her palms as she glanced around the table. It was rare, these days, to have all the brothers in one place without war councils or trade briefings or some manner of looming crisis. She took a quiet moment to absorb it, the ease between them, the familiar teasing, the natural way they leaned toward one another.

This, she thought, was what peace could look like.

“It’s strange,” Damian said, finally sitting and reaching for the bread, “not going with you to Day.”

“You’re not staying behind, brother,” Eris said, slicing into a roasted root vegetable. “Cormac is. You’re coming.”

“Well,” Damian replied. “Someone has to keep Idris from starting a fight if Tamlin opens his mouth.”

“Excuse you,” Idris protested. “I’m perfectly diplomatic.”

Lucien snorted into his cider. “You nearly punched a merchant last week because he called your hound ugly.”

“That hound is majestic and misunderstood,” Idris said with great dignity. “And it was a compliment! He said it with admiration.”

Nesta grinned into her cup, feeling the warmth of the room seep into her bones. “So Cormac is staying?”

Cormac nodded. “Unfortunately. Someone has to keep the lords in line while you’re all off discussing the fate of the realm.”

Eris smirked. “And we all agreed you’d enjoy bossing them around.”

“I do,” Cormac said, unabashed.

They fell into conversation after that, about the travel plans for the evening, the brief itinerary Helion had sent, and their plans for the delegation's presentation. The meal was simple but hearty, roasted chicken glazed in cider and sage, thick slices of bread with honey butter, glazed root vegetables, and a dark tart made from blackberries and plums.

Somewhere between the second round of cider and Idris trying to argue that his dog should be brought as part of the security escort, Nesta found herself watching them again.

Eris, leaning back in his chair, golden-red hair catching the firelight as he debated strategy with Damian.

Lucien, shaking his head fondly as he passed the tart down the table.

Idris and Cormac sniping at one another, but with the kind of fondness only brothers carried.

And she, seated in the center of it all, not on the outside looking in, not a guest, but part of this strange, sharp-edged, fiercely loyal family.

Eris’s hand found hers beneath the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

Nesta looked up at him, her voice soft but sure. “I’m just… glad we’re all here.”

He squeezed her hand once before releasing it, his smile small but real.

So was she.

---

The sun had dipped toward the tree line by the time Nesta stepped onto the back terrace of the Forest House, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The air was crisp, the kind of late-autumn chill that carried the scent of woodsmoke and the bite of coming frost. From the edge of the stonework, the garden stretched out, golden and quiet, with winding paths traced through dry amber grass, copper-veined trees, and the occasional burst of wild chrysanthemums still clinging to life in the fading season.

She had not tended the garden. Had never so much as trimmed a hedge or deadheaded a flower here. But she walked it often, especially in moments like this. Before a journey, after a council. When her thoughts were too tangled to sit still.

Her boots whispered over the gravel path as she wandered, fingertips trailing along the curve of a stone railing. And not far behind her, padded footsteps rustled through the leaves.

A soft chuff drew her glance over her shoulder.

The largest of Eris’s hounds, a rust-colored beast with gold eyes and a plumed tail, loped toward her. Two others followed, smaller but no less watchful. The dogs didn’t bark or whine. They rarely did. They simply fell into step beside her, one pressing its head briefly against her hip before trotting ahead, scouting the bend in the trail.

“You’ll spoil them,” came a voice behind her.

Nesta glanced back to see Eris emerging from the terrace, hands tucked behind his back. He wasn’t armored or draped in court regalia today, just a deep brown tunic lined with bronze thread at the cuffs and collar, his red hair loose around his shoulders.

“I like them better than some of your courtiers,” she said.

Eris grinned. “I like them better than most of them.”

He caught up to her and they walked side by side, the gravel crunching softly beneath their boots. The hounds stayed close but quiet, weaving ahead and behind as if sensing this wasn’t the time for games.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Golden light filtered through the trees overhead, casting shifting shadows across the garden path. The leaves had mostly fallen, but a few still clung to their branches, burnished gold and sienna and wine red. The wind moved gently through them, whispering through the limbs as though the forest itself were holding its breath.

“It’s changing,” Eris said at last, breaking the stillness. “The forest. The Court. Everything.”

Nesta followed his gaze to the edge of the woods, where the trees grew wild and thick beyond the borders of the garden. “Change isn’t always bad.”

“No,” he said, voice lower now. “But it is unsettling.”

She looked at him then, noting the faint crease between his brows. “What part of it?”

He shrugged, but there was no humor in the motion. “I was raised to believe everything here should remain as it always was. That Autumn was meant to endure, unchanged and untouchable. But now…”

“You’re letting it grow,” she said softly.

“I’m trying not to ruin it.”

She stopped walking. He did too.

The dogs paused ahead, ears flicking, before settling in the grass.

“You’re not ruining anything, Eris,” she said. “You’re building something. With all of us.”

He looked at her, the dying sun casting gold into his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” she said, stepping closer, until her hand found the edge of his coat. “Look at what you’ve done. The changes to the council. The law. The sanctuary.”

“You’ve done just as much.”

“Not alone,” she said quietly. “You stood beside me. You listened. You defended me when others didn’t. I won’t pretend I did this all on my own.”

His breath left him in a soft exhale. “You’re still the reason it’s happening.”

She lifted her chin. “And you’re the reason it will last.”

He kissed her then, slowly, reverently. As if anchoring himself to the truth of it. As if her presence steadied the ground beneath his feet.

When they broke apart, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a hand to her back.

A wind swept through the trees, and a few amber leaves spiraled around them before settling at their feet.

One of the hounds huffed, impatient to continue.

“We should get ready,” Eris murmured. “We leave soon.”

Nesta nodded, reluctant to break the peace of the garden. But they turned together, making their way back toward the house, the hounds forming a protective triangle around them.

The forest held its silence behind them, the wind moving through the boughs like a promise.

---

The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon as the Autumn Court delegation arrived at the Day Court.

The shift in temperature struck first. The Autumn Court’s late-autumn crispness was replaced by Day’s balmy air, golden and dry. The scent of citrus blossoms and sun-warmed stone clung to the breeze as Nesta and Eris winnowed away with Damian, Idris, and Lucien just behind them, a unit of armored Autumn guards close at their heels.

The courtyard they arrived in was vast and sun-drenched, paved in white-gold stone that glimmered faintly with magic. Pale marble columns arched above them, supporting canopies of flowering vines and cascading banners in hues of deep ochre, gold, and ivory. A reflecting pool shimmered off to one side, fed by a stream that sparkled like it had been dusted with starlight.

Nesta took in the towering architecture with a slow breath. The air was different here, not just in temperature, but in weight. Where Autumn pulsed with earth and fire, Day Court felt airy, unburdened. Open.

Helion stood at the top of the shallow steps, resplendent in white robes threaded with gold, his crown glinting in the light of the descending sun. Beside him stood Aurelia, radiant in soft white silks, her auburn hair coiled elegantly at her crown.

“My dear guests,” Helion said, his voice warm and resonant, spreading over them like sunlight. “Welcome.”

“Helion,” Eris said with a respectful nod, but it was Aurelia who descended the steps first, skirts trailing behind her as she reached her sons and folded each of them into an embrace.

Lucien grinned and returned the hug warmly, but it was Damian and Idris who lingered longest in hers. Aurelia’s eyes misted faintly when she finally embraced Eris.

“You’ve been taking care of each other, I hope,” she murmured, brushing a hand down her eldest’s crimson jacket, her eyes flicking to Nesta with a grateful smile.

“We have,” Nesta replied softly, and allowed herself to be embraced as well. Aurelia smelled of sun-warmed roses and orange blossoms.

“You look well,” the older woman said gently. “Both of you do.”

Helion stepped forward. “Aurelia has been nothing short of persuasive,” he said with a wink. “She insists on a proper tour later, but I thought it best to show you to your rooms first. The other courts have begun to arrive.”

“Of course,” Eris said, but Nesta caught the slight hardening in his eyes. He was already preparing for what tomorrow might bring.

They followed Helion through a series of high-arched hallways, the ceilings painted with celestial constellations and the stories of old gods and fae heroes. Daylight spilled through stained-glass windows shaped like wings, casting fragments of color across the cream and gold marble floors.

Servants bowed as they passed, guiding them to a private suite of rooms on the eastern wing of the palace. The Autumn delegation had been given a corner set of chambers overlooking the citrus groves and winding pools; quiet, secure, and apart from the central bustle of the palace.

Helion gestured to the doors. “These are yours. I trust they’ll be comfortable.”

“We’ll manage,” Eris said with a faint smile.

Aurelia lingered a moment, then kissed both Eris and Nesta on the cheek. “I’ll let you settle in. I expect to see you at breakfast, Nesta.”

“I’ll be there,” Nesta promised.

Once she and the others were inside, the doors shut gently behind them, muffling the hum of the palace.

The common sitting room was elegant and sun-drenched, painted in soft creams and caramels, with curved lounges and cushions shaped like seashells. Gold-trimmed decanters and glasses lined a narrow bar, and a bowl of bright fruit sat on a low table in the center of the room. Light danced over the tiled floors through the arched windows, which opened out onto a balcony full of hibiscus and lemon trees.

“It’s very... bright,” Idris said, squinting toward the sunset.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Try not to complain before the meeting even starts.”

Nesta wandered toward the windows, one hand brushing the carved frame. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

Eris came to stand beside her. “It’s too quiet.”

She met his gaze, knowing what he meant. The calm before the storm. The last moment of quiet before stepping into the circle of courts again, some allies, some not.

Lucien dropped into one of the plush armchairs with a sigh. “Tomorrow’s going to be a mess.”

“No doubt,” Idris agreed, stretching.

But Eris remained standing, eyes on the horizon, where the sun was beginning to slip beneath the curve of the world. He said nothing for a long moment. Then:

“We’ll be ready.”

Nesta slipped her fingers into his.

“Yes,” she murmured. “We will.”

---

Golden light filtered in through the tall windows of their guest chambers, casting soft warmth across the pale stone floor. The air smelled faintly of citrus and sea breeze—so unlike the spice-laced woods of Autumn, and for a moment, Nesta just lay still, letting the foreign quiet settle around her.

She could feel Eris’s breath against her shoulder before she turned, his arm draped lightly over her waist. His hair, always a little unruly in the mornings, shimmered auburn and gold in the light, his features still softened with sleep.

“I forgot how bright Day Court mornings are,” he murmured, not opening his eyes.

Nesta smiled faintly. “Too bright?”

“No,” he said, voice rough, “just different.”

They lay in silence for a while longer before the inevitable weight of the day crept in. The High Lords meeting. The scrutiny. The old tensions bound to resurface.

Reluctantly, they stirred. Nesta dressed carefully in a gown suited for Day’s warmth, a lighter red fabric that shimmered subtly with movement, the higher neckline and long sleeves adorned with delicate gold embroidery that caught the morning sun. A circlet of the same metal glinted in her hair, understated but regal. Eris donned deep bronze and crimson, his jacket buttoned to the collar, a subtle nod to Autumn’s legacy carried into foreign halls.

By the time they left their rooms, Idris and Damian were already waiting in the corridor outside, dressed with the quiet precision of warriors, crisp, alert, even if neither had spoken yet. Lucien joined them moments later, his expression unreadable as he adjusted the lapels of his coat.

“I’ll meet you after breakfast,” he said to Eris and Nesta, already glancing down a hallway that led deeper into the guest wing. “There’s someone I need to see.”

Nesta met his eyes for a heartbeat, and he gave her the ghost of a smile before vanishing down the corridor. She didn’t ask, she didn’t need to. And she didn’t miss the way Damian subtly shifted closer to her as Lucien disappeared.

The guards fell in around them as they made their way to the sun-drenched dining hall, footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone. The palace glowed in the early light, high windows flooding every corridor with warmth. The scent of blooming citrus trees and sea salt wafted through open arches.

The dining hall was already bustling with movement when they entered. Long tables were set with fruit, golden pastries, and chilled wine in pale glass decanters. Nobles from every court had gathered, cloaks in blues, golds, purples, and whites mingled in what looked like polite chaos. Conversations rose and fell like shifting waves.

“Lady Nesta,” came a warm, familiar voice.

Cressida stood near one of the long windows, her gown a soft turquoise silk that caught the light like water. Her dark curls were pinned with sea pearls, her smile genuinely pleased.

Nesta smiled in return, surprised at how easy it felt. “Cressida.”

“I’m so glad you came,” the princess said, stepping forward. “This place needed some new energy. And your letters were a delight.” She glanced over Nesta’s shoulder, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve brought your whole court, it seems.”

“They wouldn’t let me leave them behind,” Nesta said wryly.

“Good,” Cressida replied. “Autumn needs your voice, and your steel spine. Come, I want to introduce you to someone.”

Cressida led Nesta toward a tall, snow-pale woman with ice-blond hair and a confident smile that did nothing to hide the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

“Nesta, this is Viviane, Lady of Winter,” Cressida said with a small smile. “Viviane, Lady Nesta of Autumn.”

Viviane extended her hand, her grip firm and cool. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

“And I you,” Nesta replied smoothly. “Your letters during the relief efforts last year were widely praised.”

Viviane waved a hand, modest. “I only coordinated them. You’re the one who’s actually changing things.”

Nesta tilted her head. “How so?”

Cressida stepped in, voice light but sincere. “Word of your sanctuary has made its way across the courts. And the marriage law. You’re setting a precedent the rest of us might actually be able to follow.”

“It’s still in progress,” Nesta said carefully. “We haven’t even opened the sanctuary yet. There’s a long way to go.”

“But you’ve started,” Viviane said. “That’s more than most ever do.”

Nesta hesitated, but the warmth in their expressions, earnest and grounded, softened something in her chest. She didn’t know either woman well, but there was something steady here. Familiar, even. Not friendship, not yet. But something real.

“I hope it’s worth it,” she said quietly. “That it lasts. That it grows.”

“It will,” Cressida replied. “Because you’re not doing it alone anymore. You’ve made the space, and people will step into it.”

Viviane nodded. “And if you ever need help expanding it... say the word.”

Across the room, Eris sat with Tarquin and Helion, speaking in quiet tones. His crimson jacket stood out among the golden and sunlit Day Court surroundings, but it wasn’t the color that made Nesta’s eyes drift to him. It was the way he sat, poised, assured, but watching. Always watching.

Not out of concern. Not to control. Just to be aware.

Damian, ever the silent shadow, lingered near enough to intervene if needed, far enough to let her breathe.

The Night Court delegation sat at a long table to the side. Nesta caught only the edge of Feyre’s face as she turned away, and the tight line of Cassian’s shoulders beside her. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Nesta turned her attention back to Viviane and Cressida.

“I’m glad we’re meeting like this,” she said softly. “Not across a battlefield.”

Cressida grinned. “This is better. And I suspect we’ll have a lot more to talk about before this meeting is over.”

Nesta lifted her glass to that, and the conversation flowed on, talk of court politics and the ever-complicated expectations of women in power, shared smiles, and something fragile but promising blooming in the morning light.

---

The Day Court’s meeting hall was carved of pale stone and polished gold, sunlight pouring through the tall arched windows like molten glass. Though the air was warm, the atmosphere was anything but.

Nesta walked beside Eris as they entered, flanked by Damian, Idris, and Lucien. The rest of the courts had already begun to filter in, robes sweeping the polished floor, guards standing quietly at the edges, banners unfurled above each delegation’s place. A long, crescent-shaped table waited for them, each court’s sigil etched into the space before their seats.

Helion stood at the head, resplendent in tailored gold and deep ocean blue, his smile bright as always but his eyes focused. “Autumn,” he greeted Eris with a nod. “Lady Nesta.”

“Thank you for hosting,” Eris replied, calm but crisp. He took his seat beside Nesta, with Lucien, Damian, and Idris behind them in their designated places.

Across the chamber, the other courts settled in.

Tarquin, golden-skinned and sharp-eyed, nodded in quiet solidarity toward Eris. Beside him, Cressida sat poised, her eyes flicking to Nesta with a small, private smile.

To the right, Kallias and Viviane were a picture of wintry elegance, white and silver like snow at twilight. Viviane gave Nesta a slight wave. Kallias nodded politely, though his expression remained unreadable.

Thesan of the Dawn Court entered last, with his mate, a winged Peregryn general, moving fluidly at his side. The warmth in Thesan’s gaze was genuine, though his curiosity about the topic to come was clear.

And then came the Night Court.

Rhysand. High Lord of Night, flanked by Feyre, his mate and High Lady, and Cassian, whose eyes landed on Nesta and did not waver. Amren and Azriel followed, quiet shadows with keen gazes. They did not greet anyone.

Nesta did not return Cassian’s look. She focused on the glinting crest of Autumn on the table before her and folded her hands neatly.

Helion began. “We’ve been called here for a reason more serious than politics. Autumn and Summer have uncovered... troubling signs. Eris?”

Eris stood. “Over the past month, two patrol squads from the Autumn Court have vanished. No warning. No trail. Just... gone.”

A hush fell.

Tarquin rose smoothly beside him. “The Summer Court has experienced the same. Two of our patrols disappeared near the eastern coast, close to the borderlands. We thought, at first, it might have been piracy. But there was no evidence, no blood, no signs of struggle.”

Eris added, “Our scouts found something else. An energy that did not belong. Ancient. Older than Briallyn, older than any magic we’ve felt in centuries. It sank into the land like it was always there. Waiting.”

A low murmur passed between the courts.

Kallias leaned forward, icy eyes narrowed. “You’re saying it’s not Briallyn?”

“We’re saying,” Tarquin said carefully, “that if it is her, she’s not alone.”

Feyre said nothing, her posture neutral. But Rhysand... his mouth curved, just slightly.

“Convenient,” Rhysand drawled. “That this new ancient magic appears just as Autumn is trying to reestablish its place in our politics.”

Nesta’s jaw tightened, but Eris beat her to it.

“We didn’t come here for your approval, Rhysand. We came with proof.”

“You’ve brought us vague omens and missing soldiers,” Rhys said coolly. “That’s hardly evidence of a looming threat.”

“Perhaps you’d care more if it were Night’s soldiers vanishing,” Tarquin said sharply.

Helion raised a hand. “Enough. We’re not here to bicker.”

Viviane stood, her silver eyes thoughtful. “If there is a threat, Briallyn, or something worse, we need to act together. We all remember what happened the last time we ignored shadows at our borders.”

Thesan nodded. “I agree. We must send scouts of our own. Quietly, without alerting our enemies.”

Cressida leaned in slightly toward her cousin. “If these attacks are meant to destabilize us, we mustn’t show cracks. Not yet.”

Feyre finally spoke, her voice soft. “We’ll need to discuss a joint response. Quiet coordination.”

Nesta said nothing, but she felt Eris’s fingers brush against hers beneath the table, a quiet reassurance.

Helion looked around the room. “Then let’s take the rest of today to consult with our own courts. We can reconvene tomorrow.”

The meeting adjourned in a rustle of robes and strained silence. As the delegations rose and turned to leave, Cassian moved forward, but before he could speak, Nesta was already flanked by Eris and Damian, with Idris at her back.

Cassian’s mouth opened. “Nesta—”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not now.”

And she turned, Eris’s hand ghosting at the small of her back as the Autumn delegation departed in a wall of crimson and gold.

---

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the Day Court sky, gilding the golden palace halls with a deeper amber light. The Autumn delegation moved in silence through the corridors, guards at their flanks. Nesta didn’t look back. She could feel Cassian’s eyes on her even now, like a ghost that refused to fade.

Their suite was an elegant sprawl of warm-toned chambers draped in flowing silks and sheer curtains, the walls painted with soft murals of wildflowers and shifting skies. It was beautiful in a way that didn’t try too hard. Open. Quiet.

Eris opened the doors without a word, letting the others pass through first. Nesta stepped in behind him, the rich red skirts of her dress whispering over the marble floor. The moment the doors closed, she exhaled and let herself finally breathe.

Lucien flung himself into one of the velvet-backed chairs in the main sitting room, muttering, “Remind me again why we didn’t bring wine?”

Damian leaned against the wall near the fireplace, arms folded, brows still drawn together in thought. Idris settled on the low chaise beside Lucien, tossing a throw pillow into his brother’s lap without ceremony.

Eris remained standing. His jaw was tight, but his voice was calm as he said, “That could’ve gone worse.”

“It also could’ve gone better,” Lucien replied, propping his boots on the table. “Rhysand is still as charming as ever.”

Nesta sank into the seat beside Idris, back straight despite the ache in her shoulders. “He wants to make us look foolish. Like we’re making it up.”

Eris gave a sharp nod. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. If the courts don’t believe us, they won’t act. That gives whoever, or whatever, is behind this more time.”

“Tarquin believes you,” Damian said quietly. “He didn’t have to back you up today, but he did.”

“And Helion hosting the meeting is no small thing,” Idris added. “It’s a sign of respect.”

Nesta smoothed a crease in her skirt. “Viviane seemed supportive too. Cressida…”

“She likes you,” Lucien cut in. “She’s smart. She sees the value in what you’re doing.”

Nesta didn’t respond immediately. She could still feel the tension in the meeting room, the weight of all those eyes, of Cassian’s voice reaching for her. Her heart had beat a little too hard, her hands a little too cold. But Eris’s steady presence beside her, his unflinching loyalty, had anchored her like stone.

“I’m glad we’re staying together,” she said finally, looking at the other four in the room. “I don’t want to face another one of those meetings without you.”

Damian smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I wouldn’t trust the Night Court not to try something,” Idris muttered.

Eris walked to Nesta’s chair, resting his hand lightly on the back of it. “They can try. They won’t succeed.”

There was a knock then, soft, but distinct.

Lucien groaned, swinging his legs down. “If that’s Rhysand again, I’m jumping out the window.”

But when Idris opened the door, it was Aurelia who stepped inside, wrapped in a soft gown the color of ripened figs, her copper hair braided back in a crown.

“Mother,” Eris said, and something in his voice softened.

“You all looked rather formidable today,” she said with a small smile. “I thought I’d stop by, see how it went.”

They ushered her in, clearing space on the loveseat beside Nesta.

Aurelia turned to her. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

Nesta smiled, grateful. “Thank you. It’s warmer here than I expected.”

“They say Day Court doesn’t have seasons,” Aurelia said, settling herself elegantly. “I think that’s why I like it. It’s always... open.”

There was a flicker of something tender in her expression, more than contentment. A quiet joy that hadn’t been there in Autumn.

“You’re happy here,” Nesta said softly.

Aurelia nodded. “I didn’t think I would be. But Helion has been... kind. Patient. We’ve had time to talk. To remember.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “You didn’t run off and marry him, did you?”

“Not yet,” Aurelia replied smoothly. “Though I think he’s hoping.”

Damian chuckled. “He better court you properly this time.”

Eris sat on the arm of the couch next to Nesta. “If he doesn’t, I’ll light him on fire.”

Aurelia laughed, and it was a sound none of them had heard in too long. Real. Free.

They talked for a while longer, about the meeting, about how things were progressing back in Autumn with Cormac holding down the fort. Aurelia promised to visit more, and Lucien teased her about writing letters that would likely include Helion’s poetry.

Eventually, Helion himself appeared, leaning in the open doorway with that easy, golden smile, and the moment between them was quiet and clear. She rose to join him without a word, and together, they vanished back into the halls of the palace.

The room fell silent.

Nesta leaned against Eris’s shoulder. “She’s glowing.”

“She deserves it,” he said. “We all do.”

Lucien leaned back with a sigh. “What I deserve is sleep. And maybe a Day Court feast.”

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” Damian said. “But for now... we regroup.”

And with that, the brothers drifted off, some to their rooms, some to the balconies, leaving Nesta and Eris together in the quiet golden light.

Notes:

it took me so long to figure the actual scene for the high lords meeting, thats only the first part but trying to get the tone right was so difficult