Eris
Three years prior
They had been riding since before sunrise.
That, in and of itself, wasn't wholly unusual. He'd often accompany the sentries when they went out on patrol. In fact, Eris had made a point to ride out with his men whenever he was available, which was becoming something of a rarity these days. His father Beron, The High Lord of Autumn, had been tasking Eris with more frivolous assignments as of late, and long weeks had passed since he last patrolled the Autumn Court.
A suspicious part of his mind couldn't help but wonder if the superfluous scutwork was a new method of control, a way to keep Eris occupied and, therefore, away from border patrol. His father saw guard duty below his station, something Eris vehemently disagreed with. What better way to learn the lay of the land and the needs of its people then to be out amongst them? His brothers certainly disagreed. They'd prefer to while away the days locked in their golden tower of Forest House, happily ignorant of the trials and tribulations of the lesser fae who broke their backs working the land.
No, Eris preferred a different path. He wanted to know the current challenges that their people faced. Wanted to stay apprised of any threats to the Autumn Court, be it internal or external. Joining the sentries on patrol was the most effective way to reach his goals. Villagers were more willing to open up to watchful sentinels. A bedecked High Lord's son? Not so much.
So he'd practically jumped at the opportunity when his father suggested that he lead the morning patrol. Eris didn't even care if it resulted in more busywork, he'd happily accept the consequences if it meant getting back outside and connecting with the people. What he didn't expect was Beron declaring his intention to join the group. He didn't believe it last night, and he almost didn't believe it now, even as the old male rode beside him, wheezing and being generally unpleasant.
"Are you comfortable, father?" Eris asked, his voice low enough to ensure only Beron would hear him.
His father stiffly turned in his saddle to shoot his eldest son a glare.
"I've been riding since before you were a twinkle in my eye." The old bastard spat out as if Beron's discomfort hadn't been obvious for some time now.
The High Lord of Autumn may have been a proficient rider before his Lady Mother conceived him, but the old prick hadn't ridden in decades and was clearly out of practice. Eris wasn't even sure why Berson demanded to join the patrol. He'd never done so before, and with every mile, it was becoming apparent that the old fucker was slowing everyone down.
Eris had tried to suggest that Beron winnow ahead to the inn, located just under a day's ride from here. It would be more comfortable for everyone involved; he was sure the guardsmen would be relieved to be rid of the old prick's presence, Eris certainly would be. And since it wasn't practical to winnow the entire squadron, Eris had the perfect excuse to stay back and tend to the horses. Not to mention the act of winnowing itself would defeat the purpose of patrolling, but he wasn't about to split hairs if it meant ridding himself of the old bastard.
Beron simply leaned over and spat a wad of mucus on the ground.
"We stay together, boy," Beron grumbled.
And that was that.
Eris rode on in silence from that point on, only breaking to water the horses. The small group ate their rations of bread and cheese in the saddle to make up for the lost time. Even Beron partook in the midday meal, although Eris could hear the old prick gripe under his breath. Still, it wasn't enough to cover lost ground and eventually, their sluggish pace could no longer be ignored. Beron relented and agreed to send their fastest scout ahead to warn of the delay, yet the High Lord remained tight-lipped about the purpose of this trip.
Frustrated with his father's lack of directive, Eris gave a silent command for the closest sentries to fall back. His patience had run short. Enough was enough; it was time for Beron to reveal the purpose of this trip, or he would leave the bastard behind without further regard.
"Father," he began, careful that his voice held the proper amount of deference, "surely it's safe for you to declare your intentions. We're miles away from the next town, and the guards are not within hearing range. What are we doing out here?"
Every fae present would willingly lay down their life for their High Lord, but Beron would never recognize that fact. He trusted no one, not his guards, not the Royal Court, certainly not his own flesh and blood. His father persisted in a state of perpetual skepticism and mistrust. It was how he managed to maintain his throne for so long, but in doing so, he'd alienated everyone.
That was one of many, many things that Eris hated about Beron.
His father rode silently beside him for several moments, with only the sound of the old fucker's laboured breathing filling the air. The High Lord would be stiff tomorrow, probably unable to throw a leg over the horse. If the Cauldron blessed them all, Beron would fall right off his gelding and break his neck.
That was his line of thought, but out loud, Eris simply asked: "Did you hear me, father?"
The prick merely tossed his head to the side and spat another wad of phlegm onto the ground. Eris's mouth curled up in disgust, but he'd wait patiently. Beron would freeze up and refuse to utter a single word if he felt even slightly nagged. The old cunt had the maturity of a human toddler. Thankfully, Beron didn't make Eris wait too long.
"I've received word from an innkeeper near the mortal border." Berson began carefully as if it pained him to speak. Eris nodded impatiently; he'd already known their destination, was more interested in the reason behind it. Patrols near the border were a daily occurrence, but patrols included a High Lord? Not so much. "In a bid to earn my favour, the innkeeper sent a missive as soon as they realized the identity of their newest border. I've sent my personal guards ahead to secure the situation. Now they wait for my arrival."
Eris didn't bother masking his displeasure at Beron's statement. He wasn't surprised by the proprietor's actions; he wouldn't be the first fae to attempt to curry favour in this manner, but this type of behaviour had long since troubled Eris. The labourers of the Autumn Court were downtrodden. Too many would eagerly sell out a friend or neighbour for a scrap of favour.
But there was something about Beron's cagey countenance that set off warning bells. The cunning fucker's face was plastered in a self-serving grin, as if he struggled to contain his glee. That shifty grin, paired with Beron's decision to ride out amongst the sentinels, deepened Eris's unease. It felt like a bad omen. Like something terrible was about to occur.
"Father, who are we riding out to meet?" Eris asked almost reluctantly.
Beron merely turned to face him, the grin slowly spreading into a harrowing smile.
"Someone who will change our future, son," replied Beron Vanserra, and Eris' malaise deepened ten-fold. "Someone who will change everything. "
The High Lord & Lady's Residence
The Night Court
The sound of shattering glass ripped Eris away from out of reverie. He blinked rapidly, trying to reorient himself after mentally drifting off for a few minutes. It didn't take long to catch sight of the source of his disturbance; a servant had dropped a serving tray, sending a pitcher of water shattering across the floor and sending water everywhere. The servant made eye contact with Eris from across the room, a look of pure fear shadowing her face.
"I'm sorry, my lord…" she stuttered as she knelt to pick up shards of broken glass, "I meant to leave some refreshments for your return. I… I didn't realize that you were already back in Velaris."
Eris merely waved his hand, evaporating the spilled water and leaving behind the broken shards for the young female to clear away. Obviously, the servant was terrified of him, but he couldn't quite blame her. After all, why would anyone from the Night Court willingly serve Eris Vanserra?
"Your High Lord is aware of my return." He informed her, arching a red-gold brow. "It's a pity no one bothered to inform you as well. I'm sure you would have appreciated a warning before being thrown into the wolf's den."
The already nervous servant paled even further, and Eris had a genuine concern that she was going to cut herself in her haste to clean up the broken shards. He took pity on the younger fae, lifting his hands as a display of submissiveness, making himself appear as harmless as a newborn fawn.
It was total bullshit, of course, but there was no reason to frighten her any further.
"Worry not, child. I'm merely waiting for word on your High Lady's sister. You can go about your business. I do not wish to trouble you."
The young servant let out a grateful breath and set to work tidying up the remaining mess. Eris turned around and dismissed her from his mind outright, turning his thoughts back to the previous night, trying to sort the blurry details into a semblance of order.
The first few hours from his arrival into Velaris had been much of a blur. Rhysand had winnowed Nesta away the second they arrived in the Night Court, and Eris became uncomfortably aware that he was now alone with the Illyrians. Their troubled history stretched back into their respective childhoods, and almost every interaction since had been fraught with violence. Despite that fact, Eris had been so preoccupied with Nesta's injury that he hadn't given the Illyrians a second thought. It was sloppy, really, but everyone else had become background noise the moment he found Nesta bleeding out in the Day Court.
His hackles began to rise when he turned around and found both males staring him down. Eris took an unconscious step back as reality came crashing down; he was alone in enemy territory, surrounded by very males whose life's passion was their never-ending attempts to beat the living daylights out of him, regardless of their setting or company.
Still, Nesta was somewhere in Velaris. He couldn't very well abandon her.
The Bastard's attention was locked on Eris, scrutinizing every single facial movement with blazing intensity. The Illyrian was too astute, too observant. He seemed to read every hidden truth in the planes of Eris' face, while his own stoic countenance remained unknowable. However, the Bastard must have found something satisfactory in Eris's demeanour because, for the first time, he offered up a truce.
"I'll take you to Nesta." The Bastard offered without preamble.
And that was that.
The Quiet One chose that moment to disappeared, probably crawling back to whatever hellscape he called home, and then Eris spent the next ten minutes in the most uncomfortable situation that he'd ever faced. The Bastard simply hauled Eris up and flew them towards his High Lord's manor on the city's outskirts. Eris spent the entire flight swaying between two vexing mindsets; pure mortification at the strange intimacy flying that with the Bastard produced, or horrified at the realization that the Illyrian could simply drop him mid-air, leaving Eris to plummet to an untimely death.
The Illyrian, for his part, simply ignored Eris, which made the whole ordeal slightly more bearable. Still, if he never flew again, it would be too soon. He'd once remembered Nesta telling him that she hated flying.
Nesta…
Eris gave his head a shake as the Bastard touched down outside the entrance to a large estate. This must be Rhysand's personal home. The Illyrian hadn't spared him a second glance after depositing him on the ground. He was off and running, leaving Eris little choice but to chase after the wily fucker. Eris tore after the Illyrian, entering a massive foyer just in time to spot him running up a grand staircase, taking the steps two or three at a time. He was fast, but then so was Eris. He stayed hot on the Illyrian's heels, keeping pace as they made their way through the winding interior of the estate.
After a few minutes - the house was large, but nothing compared to Forest House - the Bastard, skidded to a halt in front of an ornate set of double doors. He'd cast a quick look over his shoulder to confirm that Eris had managed to keep up, then rapped on the door with a heavy hand.
The doors swung open to reveal the tear-streaked face of the High Lady of the Night Court. She let out a garbled cry when she spotted Cassian and immediately threw herself into his arms. The Bastard stiffened immediately, the pungent scent of the Illyrian's fear filling the small space, and Eris felt his heart drop into his stomach.
"Is Nesta…" The Bastard grunted before trailing off, unable to ask the question that Eris was also thinking.
"There's no word yet. She's in with Madja now, but I don't know anything else. Rhysand came to fetch us after delivering Nesta to the heaters. Apparently, someone will come out to talk to us shortly." Feyre informed the Bastard before apparently noticing Eris standing in the background. " Oh. Eris. I...I didn't realize you were here."
Feyre took a step to the side and gestured for the males to enter with a sweep of her arms. Even now, with her sister bleeding out in the next room, Feyre did her best to play the impeccable host. Well, impeccable as long as one ignored her blotchy, tear-stained face.
Eris followed the others into an antechamber, surreptitiously taking in the surroundings. It was a small-sized sitting room, decorated in varying shades of blue and silver, with bright faelights chasing away the evening's shadows. Several vases boasting colourful bouquets were scattered around the room. The walls proudly feature several prosaic oil paintings. Eris assumed they were painted by the High Lady herself if her artistic reputation was anything to go by.
He stepped to the side, allowing Feyre to close the door behind him. She looked up at him and paused as if not quite sure what to do with the unexpected guest.
"Would you like to sit with us while we wait?" She trailed off for a moment, glancing around the room in search of inspiration before adding. "Are you hungry? I can have Cerridwen bring up some light refreshments."
Eris waved off her forced politeness, unwilling to play the role of an honoured guest. He'd prefer to quietly stand aside while waiting for news on Nesta's condition. The events of the evening had burned through his patience for false pleasantries, and besides, his bloodsoaked finery would likely stain the furniture.
"That isn't necessary, but I thank you for offering." He replied cordially. Eris was guilty of many, many abhorrent things through his long life, but his mother would be proud that he remembered his manners.
Feyre nodded in understanding before her blue-gray eyes flickered back towards a shut door on the opposite wall. His own eyes followed, and it didn't take long for Eris to guess what captured her attention. Nesta is probably lying through those doors, he realized with sickening understanding. It was quiet on the other side of those doors. Much too quiet. What can that mean if only quiet persists…
"Thank you for helping Nesta," Feyre told him, breaking Eris away from his musings. Her throat bobbed, and Eris fretted that she was about to break into tears. He was never really good at comforting weeping females. "I don't know how you became involved, but I'm grateful you were here to help."
Eris blinked, startled by Feyre's courteous acknowledgement. Not that their opinion held much weight, but it was slightly disconcerting to suddenly be appreciated by the same people who happily played the role of nemesis.
And now that he was truly looking at her, Eris was disconcerted by how closely Feyre resembled her sister. She has Nesta's eyes, he realized, taken aback.
The entrance to the sitting room was flung open, and the High Lord of the Night Court strutted into the room with his usual dramatic flair. He went directly to his wife's side, brushing a kiss into her forehead while running a soothing arm down her back. The High Lord then tilted his head towards the Bastard in greeting, ignoring Eris. Yet, it was obvious that Rhysand took measures to keep his back away from Eris. Even here, amongst friends and family, he knew better than to drop his guard around Eris.
Elain and her husband followed Rhysand into the antechamber, filling the room. Fuck, he hoped that was the last member of their cherished little friend circle to darken these doors. Mother help him if Morrigan decides to show her face. History had proven that the female was happy to incite violence against Eris whenever they had the unfortunate occasion to meet. Apparently, his former fiancee hated Nesta, so Eris' lay odds of her arrival at no better than 50/50.
But what was this? Judging by the way the Quiet One and his High Lord squared off, the newly arrived trio was in the middle of a heated conversation. Their arrival at Nesta's sickbed, even Eris' own presences, had seemingly done little to mitigate their argument.
"This isn't the proper time, brother. All of this should be addressed at a more appropriate opportunity, not while Nesta lies bleeding in the next room." Argued the Quiet One as he wrapped a possessive arm around Elain.
Rhysand snorted in condensing disbelief.
"Did you ever stop to think that my mate's sister would not be in that position if Elain had bothered to keep us apprised of Nesta's movement? A single word of warning could have prevented all of this." Rhysand raged before turning the full force of his anger onto the weeping female. "I've stayed out of this affair out of respect for my mate, but all of that ends today. Your behaviour will not go unpunished."
The Quiet One, Azriel, flexed his wings in a warning. Eris knew that look and was fairly certain that Elain, tucked away in her husband's arms, was the only thing holding Azriel back from violence. Feyre let out a little cry of alarm as she placed herself in front of Rhysand while Bastard began to slowly circle the group, ready to intervene in the impending showdown.
The situation was unravelling fast, and a small part of Eris might have enjoyed watching their precious little Inner Circle self implode, but that was neither here nor there.
"Feyre is not the only one who claims Nesta as kin." Azriel reminded his High Lord. "I know you're angry, brother, but do not think for one moment that I'll allow you to take your frustrations out upon my wife. Any grievance levied upon Elain will be paid back threefold."
"I'm not the villain here." Snapped Rhysand, and Eris shifted his weight uncomfortably. A fight was about to break out, and Nesta would kill him if he allowed her sisters to become hurt in the resulting melee. "Feyre spent years begging Elain for a hint of Nesta's well-being. It was Elain who chose to keep silent. It was Elain who prioritized secrets over easing her own sister's worry."
Wait, what?
Eris started to interject, but Rhysand wasn't finished with his little diatribe.
"It's also becoming clear that Elain already knew about Helion's connection to Nesta. By her silence, Elain has shown more loyalty to Helion - the male who tried to murder her sister - than to her own family."
That was apparently the comment that pushed the Spymaster a step too far. Azriel's Siphons roared to life, painting the room in a deep shade of blue as he pressed Elain behind him. Feyre made a little squeak of panic as she attempted to shove Rhysand away, keeping herself a physical barrier between the two in a last-ditch attempt to keep the males apart. They were seconds away from an all-out brawl in a room that offered little for cover for the bystanders. The Bastard must have come to the same conclusion; weary resolve settled onto his face as he tensed up, telegraphing his intention to drag the females away from the impending fight. Everyone was preparing for an immediate altercation between the Spymaster and High lord.
Everyone except Eris.
He just burst into laughter.
This was no polite chuckle. No, Eris had broken into a proper fit of laughter. The kind that made you bend over and clutch at your sides for relief. Eris's reaction was so unexpected, the laughter so jarring that it froze every other fae in their tracks. The spymaster and High Lord both dropped their fighting stance and looked at Eris with disbelief. Even Feyre's mouth had dropped open to gape at the Autumn High Lord. Eris made a show of wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
"You all really can't be that stupid, can you?" Eris sneered.
Rhysand took that comment just as well as he expected, which was to say: not well at all. The High Lord of the Night Court immediately bristled at the taunt, indignity shading his face. Clearly, Rhysand didn't like being spoken down to, but his attention was now wholly on Eris, with just enough confusion to hold him back from violence.
Just as Eris intended.
Well, he had their attention now, so he might as well roll with it. There were zero upsides to maintaining Helion's secret, and Nesta would only thank him for clearing her sister's name. Eris tapped a long finger against his cheek in a show of reflective amusement.
"It was a geas. Surely this is obvious to you, no?" Eris asked, the slightest hint of mockery in his airy tone. He was met with confused stares, so he sighed theoretically and continued. "Helion had ensorcelled Elain shortly after Nesta came into his service. The geas forbade Elain from relaying Nesta's current and future movements to anyone loyal to the Night Court. Elaine physically couldn't tell you about Nesta, regardless of her wishes. The geas strictly forbids it.
"Helion is a sly bastard; he placed strict conditions on the geas, allowing her just enough freedom of speech to keep any suspicions of spellwork at bay. Elain could speak about Nesta when it met certain conditions. She couldn't bring up Nesta on her own, and Elain is only allowed to discuss past events with you. Helion also bound her from speaking of the geas itself. He didn't want you figuring it out on your own. He knew the investigation would lead back to his door."
The small, petty part of Eris couldn't help but feel smug at delivering that little tidbit of information. Shock and surprise coloured their faces, all but confirming that they hadn't considered the possibility of a geas.
Elain simply buried her head into her husband's collarbone, shaking with either sorrow or relief. She had carried the weight of that particular secret for years. The Quiet One ran a reassuring hand over his wife's back, all the while shooting a dubious glare at Eris. That really wasn't fair; Eris wasn't responsible for ensorcelling his wife.
The Autumn High Lord gave them another moment to digest the news before continuing.
"Helion feared Elain's foresight would expose his arrangement with Nesta. As for Nesta, the witches were already breathing down her neck, and she was afraid that Feyre would insert herself in that whole affair. Nesta would do anything to keep Feyre ignorant of her activities. Helion manipulated both females to see the benefit of a geas."
"So that's why Elain came to you when she foresaw Nesta's death." The Bastard muttered.
"I'm not loyal to the Night Court. The geas doesn't apply to me." Eris confirmed with a thin smile.
"What would you agree to such a thing?" Azriel asked his wife with an unexpected softness. "A geas is different from a curse. All parties must agree to its terms."
Elain pulled back from her husband, her gaze falling to the floor in shame.
"We used to meet in secret, Nesta and I after she fled from Velaris." Elain began softly, smiling sadly at a memory. "She had these... grand plans. She wanted to make a name for herself, just like our father. I hadn't seen her like that - driven by purpose - since before the war."
"She met with you?" Feyre asked, hurt apparently in her voice. "After she left Velaris?"
Elain nodded, unable to meet her younger sister's eyes.
"Nesta didn't plan to stay hidden for long, not at the beginning. She wanted to stand on her own two feet before sending word. I think that she mostly wanted to prove it to herself. But then..." Elain trailed off, and it became clear that her tongue was once again bound to silence by the geas.
Eris sighed. Although he had long been aware of the existence of the geas, watching it play out in real-time quickly became tiresome.
"You're probably going to want to break the geas somehow because I doubt Helion is willing to do it from his end," Eris suggested helpfully and was met with several hostile glares for his trouble. "Regardless, I'm not bound by the terms of the geas. Elain can speak to me directly, and I'll be happy to pass along the message."
"How did you become so knowledgeable about my sister's history?" Feyre asked softly. "Autumn is not closely linked to the Day Court, at least no more than any of the other Seasonal Courts. You've never publicly allied with Helion since taking over the title of High Lord. So how did Helion come to trust you, a fae with no practical leadership experience?"
Eris frowned, taking surprising offence to the question. He was spared from answering by the sound of shuffling footsteps. The group's attention was immediately drawn to the entrance to Nesta's infirmary. Someone is approaching, Eris realized nervously as his stomach plummetted to the ground. Sure enough, the door handle twisted briefly before swinging open to reveal a High Fae clad in healer's garb.
"I come with news." She said.
The healer, Madja, made quick work updating Nesta's condition to her waiting friends and family. While Nesta was not quite out of the woods, they'd managed to remove the dagger and pack the wound to stem the bleeding.
Madja made a point to credit the Bastard's for his quick thinking when tending to Nesta in the Day Court. Cassian had applied direct pressure to the wound as soon as he found Nesta bleeding out, and that action had probably saved Nesta's life. Eris found himself blinking back tears of relief.
It was the healer's opinion that Nesta faced two major challenges on her road to recovery. First was the substantial blood loss; the best case scenario had Nesta recovering without further intervention, assuming that they successfully staunched the bleeding and had Nesta suffered no further complications. It could take weeks for Nesta to naturally replenish her blood levels, so Madja recommended bed rest and plenty of fluids to help heal.
The second, more troublesome concern was the stab wound itself. The blade had pierced Nesta's intestines, perforating the bowel. Madja had repaired the wound, but not before some of the contents had spilled into her abdominal cavity. Infection was the biggest concern, meaning Nesta required round-the-clock treatment to ward off sepsis, which could easily kill if not caught early. It would be touch and go for a few days, even longer for a full recovery, but Madja remained optimistic about Nesta's prognosis.
"Can we see her now?" The bastard asked, his rough voice hinted at the flurry of emotions under his stoic exterior.
Madja gave a small shake of her head.
"It's still too soon. We need to ensure that blood loss has ceased before taking further measures to ward off infection. Now is a critical time for the patient's healing, and I must prioritize the healer's ability to work uninterrupted."
The bastard frowned, clearly unhappy with the response, but remained in his seat without further complaint. Madja tried to answer a few more questions about Nesta's conditions but wasn't able to provide a clear response other than ' let's wait and see.'
"How long until we can reasonably expect to visit her?" Feyre asked.
The healer tilted her head in thought.
"Realistically? Two or three more hours, and then only for a moment. We'll need to clean and re-dress the wounds after working on her. I should warn now that Nesta will likely be unconscious for a day or two. This may be alarming to witness, but we've induced a sleep state to assist in her recovery."
"So I have, at minimum, three hours to pass before I'm allowed to see her?" Eris reiterated.
Madja nodded in confirmation before excusing herself to tend to Nesta. The present members of the inner circle began to murmur amongst themselves, either discussing Nesta's treatment or giving thanks that she had come through successfully. Eris had no time for idle chit-chat. He sought out Rhysand's attention and jerked his head towards the door, wanting to speak to the other High Lord in a more private environment. Rhysand frowned but stood up and followed Eris into the hallway without complaint.
"How strong are Velaris' wards?" Eris asked without preamble.
The High Lord of the Night Court arched a brow at the strange line on questioning, dropping his hands into his pockets in an air of affected casualness.
"Strong enough to remain undetected from the rest of Prythian for untold centuries,'' Rhysand remarked loftily with a mild shrug.
Eris had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
"But are they strong enough to keep Nesta hidden from witches? They can trace her using blood magic. Can your wards shield from that type of spellwork?" He pressed further.
Rhysand straightened his shoulders, dropping the act of indifferent stoicism.
"Blood magic? " Rhysand uttered, dismayed. He furrowed his brows, thoughtful. "The wards have protected the city for over a thousand years. I would assume they're effective against witches, but I'll have to confirm with the scholars. Do you know the details on the spell used?"
Eris shook his head, angry at himself. He'd been sloppy - content to let Helion ward Forest House without bothering to learn anything about the spellwork involved. He'd foolishly trusted Helion to manage that particular detail, too busy with other matters of his court to pay it further heed. It was a bush-league mistake, one of many he apparently made in the early days of his leadership.
"I'll need to return to the Autumn Court shortly. Helion should know better than to come sniffing around, but I need to protect my people on the off-chance that he shows up."
Rhysand gave an assenting nod.
"It's a smart move. I would think Helion isn't the type of male to seek revenge, but before tonight I would have told you he wasn't the type of male to go around stabbing defenceless females." He then ran a calculating eye over Eris. "You were a real asset today. I don't want to think about how Feyre would have managed if you weren't there to help out. I won't forget it, Eris."
"It was my pleasure, and in return, I will only ask for one thing: permission to come and go freely, for as long as Nesta is convalescing in Velaris."
Rhysand eyes narrowed. The High Lord of Night clearly assumed Eris would leave without further ado. Did he truly expect Eris to sit idly by, content to be appraised of Nesta's conditions by messengers and missives?
"You seek permission to return to Velaris?" Rhysand echoed suspiciously.
"Yes. Only for just as long as Nesta is recovering within your walls," Eris repeated.
"I did not realize your friendship extended to that degree of intimacy," Rhysand remarked coolly.
"The details of my relationship to Nesta are not up for discussion. If you have any questions, feel free to take them up with Nesta directly." Eris replied tartly, "I can confirm that she willingly sought me out multiple times over the past few years. Can you say the same?"
Rhysand frowned as he ran a deciding eye over Eris, and the Autumn Lord was fully prepared for his request to be denied. After all, it was widely known that Velaris was the prized jewel of the Night Court, the city esteemed above all others. Why would Rhysand give his long-term nemesis freedom of movement in his cherished sanctuary? Eris certainly wouldn't if placed in the same situation.
So the question remained: just how far was Eris willing to push? He had been gone from Autumn too long now; every moment wasted in the Night Court was time when his territory sat vulnerable to Helion's machinations. He also couldn't, in good conscience, allow Nesta to remain in Velaris, alone and friendless.
Fortunately for Eris, the situation resolved itself when Rhysand unexpectedly gave in to his demands.
"I'll agree to your terms with one condition; you're not permitted to leave the grounds unattended, but in acknowledgement of your assistance, I will grant you permission to freely enter this estate for as long as Nesta is recuperating inside these walls." Rhysand conceded.
Eris let out a breath of relief, glad that matter had been dealt with. He bid Rhysand farewell and quickly winnowed back to the Autumn Court.
Eris handled security matters as quickly and discreetly as possible. Helion's connection to Autumn was a highly guarded secret, known only to select a few members of his court. Eris's task was made all the easier since most weren't aware of how deeply Helion's betrayal cut. His Royal Guards need only know that the High Lord of Day was considered a potential security threat; they were prepared to handle things from there.
The next step was to winnow directly to each of his brother's principalities to confer with his siblings, ensuring they had the proper resources to defend their respective cities. His brothers were not privy to Helion's personal connection to the Autumn Court. They did, however, accept the warning with little question and jumped immediately to secure their cities defence.
Beron's would roll over in his grave if he witnessed their cooperation, considering that he did not aspire to raise compassionate sons.
The late High Lord had done his best to mould his children into his own image, doing his best to carve out every last shred of his son's humanity. The lessons of their childhood were brutal and never-ending. The overriding message is this: If you want power you must simply take it, regardless of blood ties. The only way to improve one's station was by the debasement of their brother. When everything was a competition, benevolence was a liability.
The results of Beron's teachings were cruelly effective. While Beron may have been blessed with seven legitimate sons, only five still walked this earth. Two younger brothers had tried to kill Lucian, only to lose their lives for the effort and cause Lucian to abandon Autumn completely. Only Four sons remained - almost half the original count - when Eris ascended to power.
To change the dog-eats-dog culture that long plagued the Autumn Court, Eris granted each sibling a Princedom over a major city, commanding that they rule with compassion and for the benefit of their people. It was a risky move to entrust each brother with such previously unseen power - they could easily put their newfound resources towards mutanity - but the arrangement was paying off in spades. Each city was prospering like never before, elevating both his siblings and their citizens.
Eris had also sent several missives to Lucian, currently residing in the mortal lands, with the same offer of Princehood. His letters were sent back unread, the royal seal unbroken, with several creative suggestions on just what Eris could do with the letters.
The lessons of their shared childhood were merciless, and Lucian had taken them to heart.
But three brothers remained, and while they would never trust each other implicitly, they each dedicated themselves to the service of their court. When Eris was satisfied that his brothers had the situation at hand, he returned home to Forest Hill.
His mother, Lady Nayirah Vanserra, had been greatly distressed to learn of Nesta's suffering. She declared her intention to travel to Velairs, determined to see Nesta's care herself. Although he cherished his Lady Mother above all others, Eris refused to grant her request. He would not allow his mother to walk directly into that viper's den. Lady Nayirah would remain back in Forest Hill, safely away from the duplicitous Inner Circle.
Eris couldn't help but note that his mother did not react when she learned of Helion's betrayal, just as she seldom reacted when it came to news about that male. She merely turned her face away and announced her intention to pack a care package for Nesta, and Eris wordlessly watched her go.
He long since speculated on the exact nature of his mother's and Helion's relationship but never pried. Whatever their truth may be, it was clear that Helion's actions had once again hurt Nayirah, and Eris cursed the male twice over.
But with his mother informed of the recent turn of events and the comforting knowledge that his lands would be well protected in his absence, Eris departed for Velaris.
He winnowed directly into the gardens, to the exact spot where the bastard had landed all those many hours ago. Eris was mildly surprised to discover that the sun had just begun its daily climb over the horizon. Had only one night passed by since Nesta was gravely injured? It felt like so much longer. It felt like a lifetime.
No butler was present to welcome Eris into the manor, just a solitary guard who paid him no heed, so the High Lord of Autumn let himself in. Eris retraced his route through the cold, empty corridors of Rhysand's lofty estate with a weary sigh. If the High Lord or Lady was aware of Eris' return, they'd done nothing to acknowledge it. Slightly annoyed, he stopped the next servant he found, which happened to be a maid carrying a basket of freshly washed linens.
"Would you be kind enough to let your High Lord know that Eris Vanserra has returned?" He politely requested.
The maid had merely blinked up at him before nervously nodding her head and dashing away. Eris couldn't help but grimace at her reaction. His reputation had apparently preceded him.
Eris had quickly made his way back to Nesta's convalescing room. The sitting room now sat empty, abandoned by the bickering members of the Inner Circle. He paused in the doorway, unsure of his next steps. The door to Nesta's recovery room remained closed. He pressed his ear against it, making out faint murmurs of hushed conversation. Nesta was not currently alone.
Eris gently rapped the door before taking a respectful step back. The entryway swung open, revealing an unfamiliar lesser fae dressed in healer's livery. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Eris, and the Autumn High Lord bit back a sigh. The reaction to his presence was beginning to get old.
"Can I help you?" The male asked in a tone that suggested he wished to do anything but.
"I've come to see Nesta. May I enter?" Eris asked cordially as he attempted to peer around the healer.
The male shifted to the right, blocking Eris's view.
"Now is a bad time. The patient is resting." Said the disobliging little male as he attempted to shut the door in Eris' face.
Eris frowned, annoyance creeping in and taking up residence at the forefront of his emotions. It had been a long, extremely shitty night. His tolerance for bullshit was rapidly hitting an all-time low. He slipped his foot into the doorway, blocking the healer from closing the door.
"Just when will the patient be ready for visitors?" Eris tried again, his voice several degrees colder as the last of his patience fled him.
The disagreeable little man took a half step back, hopefully reassessing his decision to get into a pissing match with a High Lord.
"Madja is cleaning the patient. We'll need to redress the wounds before letting visitors back in. It will be ten, fifteen minutes tops."
The nameless healer paused for a moment to allow for further inquiries. The High Lord simply nodded in gratitude and took a step back, removing his foot from the entryway. The healer immediately closed the door
And this was where he remained, lost in memories until a clumsy servant dropped a carafe and pulled him out from his thoughts and into the present. The servant finished picking up the broken shards of glass, and Eris was slightly relieved to note that she completed the task without injuring herself. She then, for some unknown reason, curtseyed in farewell before scattering from the room. Eris blinked in bewilderment as he watched her go.
He truly affected the staff of the Night Court.
Eris sighed as he ran a tired hand over his face, suddenly feeling about a thousand years older. Now that he was back in the Night Court and no longer distracted by courtly duties, all the fears and misgivings came rushing back.
Mother above, Nesta had almost died. It had been much too close; any further delay and Eris would have been tasked with returning Nesta's remains back home to her sisters. It had been too close. Too many things could have gone wrong. If the Gods had seen fit to throw just one more setback their way, Helion would have succeeded in his inn-advised mission.
Eris's vision blurred as traitorous tears filled his eyes, and he angrily wiped them away. This was neither the time nor place to show a hint of weakness, not when the snakes of the Night Court could slither in at any given moment. The entire lot of them were untrustworthy. Eris did not doubt that the famed Inner Circle would find a way to twist his vulnerability to their advantage. No, he needed to push down his grief. There would be time for that later. Right now, he needed to keep it together. He would wait for Nesta to wake up and then get her the hell away from Velaris.
If he owed her anything, he owed her that.
So Eris approached the window to watch the sunrise and continued to wait for Nesta.
Nesta
The voices came from far away, teetering at the edge of consciousness.
The sounds prodded at her, with just enough provocation to lure Nesta away from the beckoning darkness. She couldn't quite understand the words; their meanings too jumbled for her dazed and sleepy mind, so her attention drifted inwards.
Awareness came slipping in. Nausea. Pain. Burning in her side.
She became aware of hands on her, prodding, pressing.
She tried to protest the rough treatment, but her mouth was dry as if filled with cotton. Her throat hurt.
She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy.
Her cumbersome limbs would not obey her commands. Nesta didn't have the strength to fight.
A cool hand gently pressed against her forehand, and Nesta slipped back into the waiting darkness.
Cassian
Velaris
The Night Court
Cassian was out among the gardens when the rising sun heralded the arrival of a new day, bringing a close to the longest night of his life. He lifted his face to bask in the warm morning light, relishing the knowledge that his mate's overall odds of survival had improved with the newly arrived dawn.
Nesta had made it through the night.
She survived those first few critical hours, and while she wasn't fully in the clear, Cassian could privately celebrate that momentous occasion. Nesta lived. She lived. And her chances for survival increased with every passing hour.
Waiting was pure misery. Cassian was a male of action. He was never content to sit back and wait, and it had been torturous to sit idly by while his mate battled for her life. He'd been at loose ends, hating the feeling of helplessness that consumed him. It took every single shred of his extraordinary self-control to remain in the waiting area. Cassian's instincts screamed for him to rush to her side. The only thing which kept his ass in his seat was the knowledge that forcing the issue could put Nesta at risk, something he would never willingly do.
Vanserra left after Madja gave her initial update, so Cassian's fixated on time, watching the hours ticked by and impatiently counting down the minutes until he could lay his eyes on Nesta once again.
He remained quiet, ignoring his friend's initial attempts at conversation. For the most part, the Inner Circle were content to leave Cassian alone with his musing.
At one point, Rhysand briefly took him aside, telling Cassian of his plans to leave and track down Mor and Amren and bring them up to date on the whole situation. Unfortunately, they weren't quite rid of Vanserra, and Rhysand needed to warn Mor of Eris' eventual return. While he wasn't overly happy to learn of Vanserra's ongoing attendance, Cassian did breathe a sigh of relief at the knowledge that Mor wouldn't be rushing back home. Morrigan was one of his oldest friends, but she never got along with Nesta. Cassian was glad that he wouldn't need to manage Mor's emotions when Nesta lay unconscious in the next room.
Cassian was first in line when Madja announced that they were ready to accept visitors. Perhaps the gentlemanly thing to do was allow Nesta's sisters a private visit, but patience had abandoned him, and Cassian needed to set eyes upon his mate. His friends must have sensed his resolve; not a single complaint was voiced as Cassian pushed his way to Nesta's sickbed.
Nesta remained unconscious, just as Madja had warned. She was too small, too pale, with an unnatural stillness that could only be the result of magic. Madja had placed Nesta into a healing trance to help speed along recovery time. The abdominal injury could be easily agitated, so a few days in statis would be beneficial in the long run. Still, Cassian would have given anything to peer into those blue-grey eyes again. He lowered himself into the bedside chair, and gently clasped her hand within his own.
"Hello, Sweetheart." He said, watery voice no louder than a whisper. "I'm here, now. I came back for you, just like I promised. And I'll wait for you for as long as you need me. But you need to fight now, Nesta. You need to fight your way back to me."
He broke off then, vision blurred by tears, and rested his head on her pillow, careful not to jostle his sleeping mate. The last thing he'd ever want to do was reopen her wound. Cauldron boil him, he just wanted her back in his arms. She was everything he ever wanted, but things were fucked beyond belief.
He stayed there for quite some time, ignoring the healers who milled about in the background. Cassian took a step back when the sisters came in to visit but hovered nearby, unwilling to let her completely out of her sight. The sisters came and went, and Cassian resumed his watch at her side.
Azriel appeared at his shoulder some indeterminate amount of time later.
"Nesta appears to be doing well, brother." The Shawdowsinger commented.
Cassian merely shrugged in response. Nesta didn't look well, at least not to him. He wouldn't be satisfied until she was awake and alert.
"Rhysand returned at the top of the hour." His brother soldiered on, ignoring Cassian's lukewarm response. "He's ushered Feyre to bed, though I doubt she'll find any rest tonight. Elain has given up on sleep completely. She's down in the kitchen preparing breakfast. I don't know the last time you ate, so she is making you a plate."
Cassian closed his eyes, scrubbing a tired hand down his face. He wanted to appreciate the foresight, but he didn't have the patience for henpecking.
"I'm good, Az." He replied curtly as he brushed a strand of hair off Nesta's forehead.
Cassian heard the soft shuffling of feet as the Shawdowsinger approached the bed. Azriel usually moved silently, so the footsteps were intentional. The Spymaster knew better than to surprise an uneasy male keeping vigil at their mate's bedside.
"You need to step away, brother," Az said, softly but firmly. "The healers need to change her bandages and you're intimidating them. Come and join us for breakfast. Nesta is in good hands."
He shifted in his seat, frowning, and glanced towards one of the assistants who lingered in the corner. When Cassian made eye contact, the male froze, paling in what would have been a comical manner in any other circumstance.
"You there." He addressed the cowering male. "How much time do you need with the patient?"
"We… we need at least an hour, General. Perhaps a little longer to be on the safe side" The healer stammered.
Cassian no longer went by that title but didn't bother correcting the healer. He gave his mate one last lingering look before standing up to leave.
"This female is important to me, and well being in your hands. See that she remains well guarded until I return."
The healer paled even further, but Cassian paid him no further heed as he exited the room. Members of Rhys' personal guards flanked either side of the entryway, alleviating some of Cassian's fears regarding Nesta's safety. They slipped down towards a servant's staircase, preferring efficiency over etiquette, as they made their way towards the lower level. Elain had unofficially claimed one of the smaller kitchens as her own, and could often be found there when not occupying herself in the garden.
"Nesta is in good hands," Azriel commented patiently. "Rhys increased patrols around the estate. She'll be safe until you return."
Cassian nodded distractedly. He would lay money that Rhysand's first act was to tighten security. After all, Nesta was Feyre's sister; Rhysand wouldn't risk her safety, especially during Feyre's pregnancy. Hell, he'd almost pity Helion for the hell that Rhys would certainly rain down when next they met.
Instead, Cassian reflected on his luck, and how it always seemed to be fleeting when it came to Nesta.
"I was going to tell her about the mating bond, Az." He admitted. "I had it all planned out. We were going to talk as soon as I returned from Adriata."
"You think she doesn't already know?"
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't," Cassian responded with a mirthless laugh. "It's like we're cursed. Everything I think I have a firm grip on our future, something comes and snatches the rug out from under me. First Hybern. Then when she ran. And then, when I finally found her, Helion came along and tried to hurt her."
He stopped then, fists clenched so tightly that the nails drew blood, as his rage came flooding back to him. His stomach tightened as the image of a blood-soaked Nesta inhibited his mind. Someone hurt Nesta. Someone dared to hurt his mate... Fury was corrupting him, controlling him. He wanted to hit something. Needed to hit something. Needed to unleash his pent-up rage.
"Cassian." Snapped Azriel, a scarred hand on his shoulder bringing Cassian back to the present. "Dining room or training grounds?"
Cassian blinked once, meeting his brother's even gaze, before attempting to push his anger back down. He could always count on the Shadowsinger. Az knew how deeply Nesta's injury tore Cassian, would forfeit sleep or food if that meant distracting his brother. He would also face Cassian in the boxing ring if it helped take the edge off.
"Dining room," Cassian answered. "I would hate for Elain to go to all that trouble for nothing."
Azriel nodded, relief easing his features, and the pair headed off to break their fast.
Az mentioned that breakfast was a casual affair between the three of them, but Elain had gone above and beyond while procuring their morning meal. The table was filled with piping hot dishes. Platters were laden with different hams and sausages, steaming fresh from the ovens. Elain even made one of Cassian's favouite dishes; sliced bread dipped in eggs and fried in butter, served with a variety of jams and syrups. Cassian brushed a grateful kiss on Elain's brown, before pouring himself a cup of coffee and digging into his heaping plate.
Elain sat back with a pleased expression as she watched the Illyrians tuck into their meals.
"Delicious as always, El." Cassian praised after swallowing a large bite of sausage.
The female he'd come to consider a sister gave him a distracted smile. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea before adding a lump of sugar and a splash of milk. Her furrowed brow gave away her preoccupation. Something was on her mind. He cast a glance at Az, who was also focused on his wife's demeanour.
"Is something troubling you, my love?" asked Azriel.
Elain glanced up, her features softening as she gazed into her husband's eyes.
"Just pondering the events of the day." She hesitated a moment, before adding. "I know neither of you is fond of Eris, that your history is… complicated, but I fear to think of today's outcome if he wasn't here."
Cassian sat up a little straighter at Elain's words. He had so many questions about Vanserra. He wanted to know how the High Lord became entangled in all of this, but also knew the geas bound Elain to silence. While he would never call Eris a friend - their history was too convoluted ever to be forgotten - he was indebted to the male for saving Nesta. However, Cassian hadn't been pleased to learn that Vanserra planned on returning. He wanted to get to the bottom of things, but it was impossible to do so for as long as the geas remained in effect. They needed to break the spell.
Azriel, meanwhile, only had eyes for his wife.
"I had always wondered why you stayed silent when pressed about your sister. I knew I had your love, but I worried that I didn't have your trust."
"Oh, my love. Never doubt that again. You are everything to me." Elain vowed, her eyes glistening with tears.
Cassian shifted in his seat, considering excusing himself to give the couple some space. He was all too aware of their history, knew that Elain's silence had weighed heavily on the Shadowsinger's heart. Elain was dedicated to Azriel, any blind male could see that, but Elain's silence had always troubled Azriel. Why had they never considered a geas? Like most things examined in retrospect, the explanation was all too obvious.
Cass hoped it afforded his brother a piece of mind.
"I think I'll grab some fresh air." He announced, affectionately ruffling Elain's hair on his way out.
Elain barely acknowledged Cassian, her adoring attention locked on her husband. Azriel managed to catch his eye, obviously torn between duty to his brother and devotion to his wife. Cassian made a subtle gesture, motioning Azriel to stay back with Elain. His place was by his wife's side.
Cassian roamed the lower floors for a while, eventually making his way out into the courtyard. The gardens were essentially deserted this time of day, with only the occasional patrolling guard keeping him company. He found a garden bench hidden among the early morning shadows and made himself comfortable.
He vowed to remain there until daybreak, ensuring the healers had their promised time with Nesta. He sat there, alone with his thoughts and fears, until the sun began to rise over the horizon. His imposed waiting period was almost over when he sensed an approaching presence.
"It's just me," Rhys called softly.
Cassian forced his muscles to relax as he turned to face his High Lord. Rhysand looked almost as tired as Cass felt, which was really saying something. He'd been running full tilt for almost three straight days with minimal downtime and exhaustion was starting to set in. Cassian was hoping to catch a few hours of sleep when allowed back into Nesta's room. The chair wasn't wholly comfortable but he'd slept in far less cozy surroundings.
"I was just about to head back. Walk with me?" The Illyrian asked, rising to full height.
Rhys gave Cassian a distracted nod as he waited for Cassian to join him. The males began their short walk back towards the estate.
"Eris is back already" Rhys warned without prelude. "I still don't know how he became embroiled in this whole fucking mess, but I don't like it."
Cassian couldn't disagree with that particular sentiment. He was filled with unease by Vanserra's swift reappearance, exhaustion quickly forgotten as he hurried back to Nesta's convalescence room.
"Elain knows about his involvement, but she won't be telling us much until we find a way to break the geas," Cassian called over his shoulder.
"We'll have to take it up with Eris directly then. I don't trust him, but I don't see any other recourse." Rhys admitted with a sigh, raking his hands through his dishevelled hair.
"Where is he now?" Cassian asked as he opened the side door and slipped into the manor.
"He's upstairs, waiting to see Nesta. He hasn't been allowed in. Feyre is already there, and Azriel should have joined her by now. They'll hold him off." Rhysand allayed
Cassian redoubled his pace with newfound urgency. He was half tempted to have Rhys winnow them into the sitting room but pride pushed him forward. He didn't want to rely on another male to bring him to his mate, and besides, he trusted Azriel to watch over Nesta's safety in his absence.
He skidded to a halt in front of the sitting room. Sure enough, the faint scent of Eris Vanserra assaulted his senses before laying eyes upon the male. He strutted into the room while fixing a glare on the High Lord of Autumn. He may have been grateful for Vanserra's earlier assistance, but the male didn't belong here in Velaris. He was sitting in one of the room's few wingback chairs, directly across from Feyre. Elain was perched on a small sofa between the two, with Azriel keeping close watch from behind.
Vanserra's head jerked towards the door at the newcomer's arrival, his cold amber eyes running an assessing gaze over Cassin's rumpled clothing. Unlike the Autumn High Lord, Cassian hasn't taken the time to bathe and change his bloodstained attire.
"Finished your business so soon?" Asked Rhysand as he sat on the armrest of Feyre's chair, no hint of warmth in his modulated voice.
Eris slightly tilted his head in affirmation, exuding an air of imperious disdain that easily matched Rhysand's demeanour. The visiting High Lord leaned back in the chair as his fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on his thigh, his fidgeting hinting at the male's underlying turmoil. Vanserra's face revealed nothing, but he was smart enough to remain vigilant among the Inner Circle.
"Your lovely wife has been keeping me company while I wait to see Nesta. The healers insisted that I remain out here." His eyes narrowed as he cast a suspicious glare at Cassian. "I can only guess at their reasoning for the delay."
Cassian didn't bother to hide his smirk. Clearly, the healer heeded Cassin's warning, and it was apparent from Vanserra's tone that the High Lord knew who was ultimately responsible for the delay.
"I'm sure we can see her shortly." Elain piped up in an obvious attempt to pacify Vanserra.
"I'm surprised you're even here." Cassian snapped without thinking, and five heads swirled in his direction.
"I am here by the permission of your High Lord," Vanserra responded icily, enouncing each syllable with deliberate slowness. "And I am here because I am her friend."
"Helion was her friend, too." Cassian pointed out churlishly and then because he never really learned to keep his mouth shut when it was good for him, he added. "The last time I found you near Nesta, you were prepared to attack her. So forgive me if I find your whole friendship questionable."
Eric leaned further back in his chair as he steepled his fingers under his chin, a king atop his throne, and a sly smile spread across his face.
"Once again you're jumping to the wrong conclusion. You always expect the worst from me, couldn't possibly assume there was any other explanation."
He could see Feyre and Rhysand glance at each other from his peripheral vision. They knew what Vanserra referred to. They'd been informed of the incident on Autumn Court borders, all those years ago.
He'd come across intel that placed Nesta in the Autumn Court and performed several convert aerial patrols. That was how he found her; physically running away as Vanserra stalked her through the rolling hillsides, preparing to strike her down with his magic. Cassian had landed immediately, and the males had come to blows. It was foolish to challenge a newly minted High Lord in their own lands, but he unquestionably did so to defend Nesta.
Except Nesta had run from me then, Cassian belatedly realized. If Nesta was afraid for her safety - truly afraid - wouldn't she have escaped with Cassian? And why hadn't Vanserra issued a grievance through political channels? After all; Cassian had attacked a High Lord in his own territory, despite having zero lawful justification for doing so. There had been minimal blowback. Eris Vanserra has despised Cassian since childhood, by all logic he should have jumped at the chance for persecution. Except he hadn't.
Vanserra let the issue go without complaint.
It didn't make sense, and Cassian had been too focused on finding Nesta even to question it.
An uneasy suspicion began to creep in. Things were beginning to click into place, but Cassian didn't like where they were headed. He glanced at Elain for confirmation. Or for denial. Anything. But Elain kept her gaze downcast, her fingers nervously plucking at the fabric of her skirts. She couldn't - or wouldn't - meet his eyes.
"You've been in league with Nesta for years." Cassian finally acknowledged.
It wasn't a question, and Vanserra's oily smile spread even further.
"You've always been a little slow, but I knew you'd get there eventually." Taunted the High Lord of Autumn.
His brothers instantly reacted to the insult. Azriel's Siphons flared to life as his wings snapped shut in anger. Rhysand stood up threateningly, a murderous expression darkening his face. Even Feyre's lips curled up in outrage.
"Careful, Eris." Rhys wanted, voice low and deadly. "You may have permission to enter my home, but it does not give you the right to disrespect my people."
"No offence intended," remarked Vanserra, but his gaze remained locked on Cassian, his expression unchanged, "I was merely complimenting your male on his strategic thinking."
Cassian paid no heed to the insult. His thoughts had drawn inward. Why? Why did she choose to go to you? The one male whose presence I cannot stand.
Their longtime rivalry was no secret. Nesta knew of the Inner Circle's deep and abiding hatred for Eris Vanserra. She knew what he put Mor through. So out of all of Prythian, why would Nesta run to him?
How could she?
"I thought you were hunting her," Cassian said instead.
"No, I wasn't hunting her," Eris answered with a slight shrug. "You had stumbled upon a training session. Nothing more. Nothing less."
"A training session?" Echoed Feyre in clear disbelief.
Cold amber eyes snapped to Feyre, and Cassian could hear the underlying tinge of anger in Vanserra's acerbic response.
"Yes, I was overseeing her training. Surely you were aware how far her condition had deteriorated before arriving at my door? She is your sister, after all. The Night Court has developed a nasty custom of sending us their castaways in piss-poor condition. I wanted to ensure that this one was nursed back to health since no one else seemed to care about her well-being." Scoffed Vanserra.
Feyre let out a cry of outrage, rising to her feet in anger. One hand was placed protectively on her swollen belly, the other clenched into a fist at her side. Feyre was enraged.
"Get out." She snarled. "Get out of my home. Get out of my court. "
Eris remained in his seat, knuckles white as they gripped the armrest. He must have realized how well and truly fucked he was about to become because he finally dropped that fucking smirk off his face. Elain made a sound of distress but made no move to leave. Azriel watched the ordeal with predatory interest, preparing to strike at the slightest provocation.
"If you wish me to leave," Vanserra began carefully, "then I will be taking Nesta with me."
"No, never. " Hissed his High Lady. "You have no claim to her. You have no right to take her. Nesta Archeron is my sister. She will be staying in Velaris!"
"Oh, no," Elain whispered. "Oh Feyre, no. No. No. No."
Something about Elain's soft admonition set Cassian's teeth on edge, and a tendril of trepidation began curling through his body.
Feyre had apparently played her hand and, judging by Elain's reaction, she'd played the wrong one. Cassian considered himself an intelligent male, but he was baffled by the unfolding scene. He could sense a trap, but he couldn't see it.
"If this is how you wish to play it, so be it. If we are to stake claim to Nesta based solely on familial relationships, then she will be coming home with me." Snapped Vanserra with an air of finality.
"But she is my sister," Feyre argued, but the conviction was gone from her voice. She glanced at Elain in confusion, but her sister refused to meet her gaze. Elain had dropped her head into her hands. Fear was taking root in Cassian, the sour taste of uncertainty turning to lead in his stomach.
"She may be your sister," taunted Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court, "but she is my wife. And I am bringing her home with me."