A/N: Hello! So this'll be a relatively short one, about four chapters. Enjoy!
It is, like most things, not Nesta's fault when her mating secret gets out.
People mock her for that, she knows. Roll their eyes. She knows they think her childish, that she's not taking responsibility for her actions. But she rarely acts at all; perfectly content to sit quietly on an armchair by herself, reading a book. It's the whole rest of the world that seems determined to keep her from peace.
When she feels it dawn upon her, like a sort of snap in her soul, she innately knows something is wrong. It's not something she wants. Not that it's something she wants but doesn't think she deserves, not something she wants but not right now, just something she does not want.
First of all, the idea sickens her. Especially when she looks at Feyre. Her soul tied to another, whether she likes it or not. It's not equal, despite what her sister thinks. It can't be equal, not when there's centuries'-perhaps millenia's-worth of bloody history, of male violence and aggression. Playing into that makes her want to vomit.
Second, this is not her choice, as Feyre now loves to say. This is that thing's choice-the Cauldron. And obviously, something that hated Nesta as much as the Cauldron did doesn't want anything good for her. So it has to be the wrong choice.
And she knows it with every pulse of blood, every link of bone. He is wrong for her. It's to punish her; that's why the Cauldron did it. It looked and saw what would hurt her the most, hurt her loved ones the most. And forced him upon her.
Well. She's not going to have any hand in it. And she's kept that up for months, with not so much as a word to anyone, and avoiding him at all costs, so there's no chance of him confronting her about it, in case he suddenly changes his mind.
But Elain's got some ridiculous dinner planned, and she can't afford to risk hurting her anymore than she already has, so she goes. And he's there-they're all there.
Nesta sits by Elain, with their backs to the open window. Cassian is on the other end of the table, but he is pointedly looking anywhere but her. Especially at Mor, right next to him.
Fine. That's just fine. She doesn't care.
"This is delicious, Elain," Rhys says to her, and she beams at him, taking the dish and passing it to Azriel on her other side.
They compliment her in turn, more gentle than Nesta normally sees them. Even Amren. She knows Feyre, switching between gazing lovingly at Elain and surveying all of them from the head of the table with narrowed eyes, has something to do with it. While Nesta thinks she herself can never be too vigilant with Elain's feelings in her-er-fragile state, she's not sure she trusts Feyre to handle the situation properly.
As she tilts her head back to drink from the glass of wine she's poured herself, the gust of wind that blows in through the back window teases a strand out of her braid, and she knows she's right not to. Because Feyre stiffens, looks at her, and says, "What's that in your hair?"
Everyone turns to Nesta, and it's all she can do to keep her face from burning. "It's called a coronet," she says through gritted teeth, knowing full well that's not what Feyre means.
"No. That smell."
"Vanilla scented soap," she says coldly.
Feyre's mouth parts open a little. "Are you...mated?"
"Of course not," she snaps.
Nesta keeps her eyes determinedly away from them all-from their wide eyes, white faces. What right do they have, anyway?
Another slight breeze strengthens Nesta's scent in the room-and they can smell it on her. Smell him. And this ridiculous...this unwanted...bond.
"It's Az." Cassian's voice is flat, hollow, seems to echo in the otherwise silent room as they all register what he said.
Nesta doesn't entertain their silence. "Of course it is not," she says forcefully.
Morrigan lets out a small gasp. "It is," she says, voice catching.
Nesta swears inwardly. Her stupid truth magic. She had forgotten.
There's nowhere to look now. Not at either of her sister's faces-one desperately trying to catch her eye, one staring at her lap, unmoving; not at Rhysand and Amren looking at each other; not at Morrigan, whose eyes are flickering between her and Azriel; not Azriel himself, for she has never wanted anything to do with him and she will not start now; and most of all, not at Cassian.
In a most unbecoming display, Nesta, hands curled against the table, shoves herself backwards-Feyre flinches at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor-launches herself up, and, seething, sweeps violently out of the room.
She can barely see, for all the anger burning her vision. Can't hear, either, for the roar in her ears, but she knows her sister well enough not to be taken by surprise when she leaps out in front of her.
"Nesta!" Feyre cries. "I'm so sorry-I had no idea-I'm sorry, I-"
"When are you going to learn," she hisses, "not to intervene in matters that do not concern you?"
Feyre's eyes shine silver-this she did not expect. "I'm sorry-I thought-I thought-"
"I know what you thought."
"I'm sorry," she repeats miserably.
Nesta doesn't reply. What is she supposed to say to Elain now? She probably won't show any anger; just retreat even further into herself. Wonderful.
"And Elain..." Feyre says. "Oh, this is all my fault, Nesta!"
"I know that," she snaps.
"I just thought..."
"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses." Her voice is a particular sort of harsh she never uses with her sister.
But Feyre, to her credit, does not flinch. She only closes her mouth, nods once, and says, quiet, sorrowful, "You're right."
This irritates Nesta even more. She knows she's right. She doesn't need to be told. "Go home. Do not talk to Elain," she says.
"Are you going to talk to her?"
"I need to think. Go home."
"What about-?"
"Do as I say." Nesta marches past her and makes her way to her apartment. The walk normally takes longer; she's there within a quarter hour.
She rips her scarf off and throws it down. It doesn't crash, obviously, just falls limply on the floor. Not satisfying. Does little to assuage her anger at...everything.
Such rage she feels. At Feyre for ruining the façade she had built. At circumstance. At Azriel, for existing, for allowing a blossoming something to occur between him and Elain when he knew, he knew they had this stupid bond and obviously that could only ever end in one way: her sister's heartbreak.
And at Cassian. Whenever she leaves her apartment, she can feel his presence somewhere above her, tracking her. He'll find some way to corner her whenever she drags herself to Feyre's house, to irritate her or try to provoke her. How she'd hiss at him and hurl insults to get him to leave her alone. And now what is it that has stopped his incessant obsession of finding her wherever she hides? This thing that she didn't even choose. It's honestly disrespectful, above all. Irking her was his favorite pastime until now, only because she's been marked by some ancient thing.
Then she feels more anger at Azriel, because a part of her isn't angry, it's sorrowful and pitying, and then she realizes-that isn't her. That feeling inside of her own body-it isn't hers! It's his!
And it's...close.
Nesta whips around and rips open her door, some tiny bit of her hoping she is wrong about who it is.
She isn't.
"I came to see how you're doing," he says, in that low, cold voice of his. Cold enough to make her shiver. For all the wrong reasons. Perhaps it takes time to get used to, but they've barely ever spoken.
"I'm fine," she says shortly. Then, "You should not have come."
"We need to talk."
"We do not."
He doesn't offer a retort, only stares at her. If she couldn't feel his ever-present sadness, she wouldn't be able to read him at all.
"I would like to talk, please," he says finally.
Nesta locks her jaw but steps aside to let him pass. He sits down on one of her couches, wings drawn tight against his back-she does not have any of their big armchairs to accommodate them. She takes her seat across from him.
She has not been alone with him very often, but every time, she is struck anew by how it feels when they are together. It feels...like nothing at all. No, worse than nothing. Because this is a mistake. Some magnet inside of her is pulling them together...but she doesn't want it.
"I'm sorry this happened," he says. "I should have taken better precautions. I know we agreed...to keep this between us."
The one time they had spoken, he means. When they both felt the bond snap into place. She had not known what it was, how it worked. He had explained it all to her. Naturally, she had been horrified.
"So now...we're...we're just... we have to..."
"No," he had said firmly. "We don't have to do anything. The mating bond...it's always going to be there. A part of you-us. But we can just ignore it."
"We can ignore it?" Nesta asks, thinking of when she had watched her sister and her own mate, before they had gotten together. Even then Nesta had thought their connection remarkable, how they moved in sync with each other.
She'd been horrified, even without knowing any magic was involved.
"We can," he said. Hesitated. "It's...it might be...there'll always be a pull. But we don't...care for each other like that. So it shouldn't really affect you too much."
"And you?" she'd asked.
"It won't affect me either," he said forcefully.
But he had been wrong. It has affected her-and now it's ruined her.
"What other precautions would you have taken?" she asks. "Was there something we weren't doing?" For she knows they did everything they could. They kept apart, never even spoke about each other to anyone. Everything taken care of...but her meddling baby sister.
He doesn't answer, but she can feel him begrudgingly accept her words. How she loathes this-this invasive, parasitic feeling. It's not as miserable as it might be, of course, neither of them are Daemati, so they aren't constantly bombarded with each other's thoughts like Feyre and Rhysand, but his presence in her mind...his emotions...like she never has a minute to herself anymore.
And he's so cold. Every part of him is so cold. Even when he's happy-when he's listening to Elain chatter about her garden or training with Cassian or doing whatever the hell with Morrigan, whatever she does in her spare time-even then it's a detached, guarded sort of feeling.
"I wanted to tell you I understand you're upset, but there's no reason why things have to change."
Nesta looks at him sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"We are still in agreement regarding our own relationship," he says evenly, "and I know...well, this doesn't have to affect any other relationships we may have."
"Did you come here for reassurance from me? Because you're not going to get any," she says, blunt.
"I believe I was reassuring you."
"You forget," Nesta says, a grim set to her face, "I know when you're lying."
He gives her a rueful smile. "So you do."
They sit in silence for a few minutes before Nesta says, "Look, Elain just needs some space. She's private. But I'll talk to her tomorrow and explain."
He doesn't answer. Why he bothers pretending like he doesn't fancy her sister around her, she doesn't quite understand.
It's not that Nesta wants him to have a relationship with Elain. It's just that she needs Elain to know that there is nothing going on between the two of them and there never has been and there never will be. She tells him as much.
"You are at perfect liberty to tell your sister anything you desire, of course," he says, but she can feel his relief.
"All right," she says, standing up. "That's settled. It'll be fine. But they'll all see we've been this way for months and nothing has happened so nothing needs to change."
"Right."
"Your coming here to speak to me is an outlier," she says. "You should tell them that."
"Would you like me to tell someone?"
Nesta clenches her fists. His tone is careful, measured, but it doesn't matter, because she knows what he's asking.
And her answer is no. Not even a little bit.
"Tell Feyre," she says, "so she doesn't get any more prying ideas."
He nods his head once. He doesn't like how she speaks of Feyre, she knows, but he doesn't say anything, which she appreciates.
Besides, she realizes, pleasantly surprised, he's not too happy with her either.
Nesta lets herself into Feyre's riverfront home after a trek through the gardens reveals Elain is inside. Mercifully, she makes it to her room without bumping into anyone.
Perhaps it's less mercy and more everyone is avoiding her, but no matter. She doesn't care. In fact, she prefers it this way.
"Elain?" she calls, knocking softly on her door. She opens it slowly and peeks her head in.
Her sister is lying on her bed, still in her nightthings. She stirs as Nesta sits down next to her.
"Nesta," she says sleepily.
"You're still in bed?" Perhaps her optimism from last night's conversation with Azriel is misplaced.
"No, no, I was just taking a nap."
She's...lying. Elain is lying to her.
And she's in bed at one o' clock in the afternoon.
"Oh," Nesta says. "Well. I just came to talk to you..."
"There's nothing to say," Elain says.
Nesta bites the inside of her cheek. "Yes there is. I need to tell you that Azriel and I are not in a relationship."
"Oh, Nesta-"
"And we don't ever want to be in one."
"It's none of my business, of course-"
"Don't be ridiculous," Nesta says, slightly bewildered. Elain had very much considered Nesta's two or three suitors entirely her business when they were silly human girls; why should this be any different? "But it's not real, anyway. It's a mistake."
Elain goes very still. "It's not," she says quietly.
"Of course it is."
"It is not."
Right. Because the Cauldron loved Elain. So Elain...what, worships that vile thing like everyone else here?
"I think I'm going to shower," Elain says, voice falsely bright. "Are you going to spend the day here?"
Nesta starts at the sudden dismissal. "I...no."
"Oh," Elain says, enough disappointment in her tone that anyone who doesn't know her as well as Nesta does would believe it. "Well, I'll see you soon. And please don't worry, Nesta, dear. Everything's quite all right."
With that, she hurries into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
So perhaps, Nesta muses to herself on her walk home, she was wrong about how much time she should give Elain. Perhaps tomorrow she'll be more willing to talk.
Except she isn't.
And not the next day, either, and not the whole week after.
And Cassian's not springing up around the city anymore.
It's only Feyre who talks to her, too much guilt and uncertainty in her darting eyes telling her far more than her words do when Nesta asks her would-be-casually why her Inner Circle no longer stalks various of her favorite haunts and why does she think Elain has once again taken ill and is missing their lunch.
Well. Feyre might stutter through a non-answer, but Nesta knows exactly what the matter is. And she might not know how to solve it herself, but she knows who does.
So three weeks after her secret is let out, Nesta books passage to the Spring Court.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! I'd love to hear your thoughts.