Nuan smiles softly as she stretches in the dawn's early light on her balcony. Her hair is damp but slowly drying from her shower and her t-shirt falls to her knees. Stepping back into her room, she goes over the metal case and takes out her golden forearm, sitting on her bed and attaching it to the rest of her arm to get ready for the day. Once it is secure and functioning, warming up to her body temperature, she gets up and changes into some leggings and a beautiful coral shirtdress with a purple floral belt.

She brushes her long black hair before pulling it up into a ponytail and fixes her makeup. She usually isn't one for vanity, and she isn't the biggest fan of using kohl, but it does accentuate her features slightly, which helps when he needs to go to other Courts on business. Males will be males.

These days, there is only one male she is setting her sights on, and he is not the male anyone should want, not with all the severe risks and stipulations. But she can't help but feel bad for the person he is, trapped underneath all the pain and drama.

Taking one last look in the mirror, she has a fleeting thought that maybe she will bump into him on her travels and he will appreciate the kohl on her eyes. She then heads down to the palace's large open-floor kitchen and dining area. Thesan and Vihan are already in the kitchen near the huge island, whispering in each other's ear. She smirks and rolls her eyes.

"Get a room already. Oh wait, it's almost like you have one."

Vihan smirks and leans back against the island, his large biceps and his golden-white wings on full display. "It's almost like this whole place is."

Nuan makes a fake gagging sound, and they chuckle a bit. "Staff isn't here yet?"

"We gave them the day off", Thesan responds, looking at Vihan lovingly.

She grabs the coffee pot and pours herself some, mixing it with some cream. "I'm missing something."

"Thesan blushes a bit. It's our anniversary of when we met."

"Ohhh, gods, I totally forgot. So that's why you want the place to yourselves. And that's why I'm being sent on research business to the Day Court randomly. Got it. I'll figure out something to ask Helion. He loves guests anyway."

"Thanks for understanding."

"Course. Hell, if I had a mate or a partner, I'd want time alone with them too", she says calmly, sipping her coffee.

"What was that look?", Vihan questions, an eyebrow quirking up.

"What look?"

"That look. Like you had someone in mind. Ooh, do you have someone in mind?"

Nuan blushes and rolls her eyes. "Maybe. It's not that serious, and...it probably can't be. It's complicated."

"Things will always be complicated. Take it from us. You don't want to have any regrets, Nu", Thesan tells her. "I could have died Under the Mountain without telling him how I felt, and I always regretted that I didn't admit it. I was lucky I got a second chance. Don't let anything hold you back if you feel that it's right, okay? And if you need anything, we are here."

"I don't know if either of you would be very accepting of who it is. Honestly, most of Prythian wouldn't. But that's the thing. He doesn't show most people the good side of him."

Thesan narrows his eyes and Vihan furrows his brow. "Well, if anyone knows about the lack of acceptance, it's us. So who would we be to judge? It's been a long road to getting this Court to acknowledge that their High Lord prefers males—and a lesser fae Peregryn at that."

Pressing a kiss to his temple, Thesan squeezes his hand. "Viviane was coronated as a High Lady. If you are comfortable with it, I would like to formally make you my High Lord Consort, Han. I know how you feel about having to shoulder any burden that has to do with being a High Lord. You hate paperwork and politics and I get that. But I want you to be my equal in respect to Prythian. I want you to always stand by my side. I will shoulder the responsibilities and you can keep your role as army commander, but in title I want everyone to know that you are mine...if you'd like. I'm tired of having you stay in the shadows. I'm proud of you, and I want our Court to be proud of us."

Vihan tears up and wraps the thin High Lord up in his large arms, his wings encasing them. "Thesan, whenever you feel you are ready for that, I will be ready for that as well. I would be the proudest male alive to stand by your side for as long as we have to live."

Nuan grins at her friends. "I'll fight anyone who threatens to come between you two. Bionic arm and all", she chuckles.

The Peregryn's arm reaches out and grabs her gently, pulling her into the hug as she laughs. "Nooo, you'll both squish me...mmph." They hug her between them until she fights her way out of their grasp, giggling and groaning.

"You two are impossible!"

"But you love us anywayyy", Vihan quips.

"Oi", she responds, rolling her eyes. She grabs a pastry and eats it quickly before finishing her coffee. "I'd better get ready to go. Lucien and Elain are going to be picking me up because they will be taking Briar to Spring for the last leg of her tour."

"Gods help her", Thesan mutters.

"Aren't you the one that just said who are you to judge? I hear that Spring is revitalized and healing. As much apprehension as most have for Tamlin, he's at least trying now. That's a good thing for all of Prythian. We have to look at it as a whole. Plus, I don't believe that anyone is truly unredeemable unless they're proven evil. At that meeting, I didn't see a male that was evil. I saw a male that was heartbroken nearly to no repair, but who did the right thing when it mattered and did find his way back. His Court will thrive again. Plus, Lucien is a great male and a great friend. He wouldn't align himself with anyone who was truly bad. I know him."

Thesan sighs and nods. "That I can agree with."

"Plus...as you said, so many people have regrets. I don't think it would be very fair to harp on all his regrets for the rest of time. That won't help him grow as a High Lord or as a person, it will only hinder him. And I am sure the Night Court is making themselves the bane of his existence in that way already. He doesn't need hate from anyone else, especially a truly neutral Court, of which we pride ourselves on, right?"

Vihan nods. "You are a very persuasive female, Nuan."

"Well, there is a reason that I'm a research courtier. I make it my business to know things, and to know how to make and do things."

The males smiles at her. "You best be ready for Lucien and his mate."

"Right. I should brush my teeth. How do I look though?"

"Stunning as usual", Vihan grins.

"Thanks", she grins, sauntering off to brush her teeth.

.

.

.

"You sure you want to come along?"

"Of course I do. You know by now that any time I can get out in the fresh air I will. Plus, there is just something about sunshine that makes me feel good. The Day Court was so sunny last time we visited, so I'm positive."

Lucien bites his lip. "True, but I did leave in a bit of a huff last time. Helion might be a bit boisterous and point that out."

Elain chews on the inside of her cheek and nods, looking away and pretending to look for her shoes.

"You still won't tell me what your vision held in full."

"I know", she whispers. "It's killing me not to tell you, Lucien; absolutely killing me. But first off, it really isn't my place or my secret to tell, and secondly, it has to do with safety."

"For fuck's sake!", he growls and leans against the wall. "I am so fucking sick of everyone thinking that they know what's best for me to keep me 'safe'. I've been through utter horrors. Where was this false sense of safety then, huh? I'm a grown male. I don't need guardians covering my every move and lying to me under the pretense of safety!"

Elain takes a breath and slips her sandals on then wraps her arms around his neck and lies her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I—I wish it wasn't so convoluted. I wish it was simple. I wish I could tell you."

Lucien lowers his forehead to her and sighs, "You can. But you just won't under a sense of betrayal for someone who has already been lying to me about whatever it is, Ellie. And I wish everything could just stop being a lie or a secret. I'm not some child who needs the protection. I haven't been in a very long time."

"No", she says breathily. "But have you ever thought that they remember when you were? That they don't lie to you to spite you, but because even though you're full grown, they still care for you or love you. I don't think they want to put you in any more danger than you have to be in."

"Is this about Eris again? Is there more than one lie?"

Elain nuzzles his shoulder. "I wish you'd let it be..."

"Let it be? This is my life, Elain. My life!"

She tears up and cups his face. "I know, and I'm sorry that any of it had to be this way. You could have been so happy if it weren't—", she shakes her head and pecks his lips. "Let's just go. We can't keep mulling over this or it will rip us both apart inside."

"You're right", he murmurs, pulling her close and kissing her neck. "I'm sorry I've been so bristly. I'm just bursting with frustration and the one person I need to confront, I can't."

"Eris...?"

"Yes. I can't step foot in Autumn, as you know. And I'm not very likely to run into him unless it's at another formal function. It's not like we exchange brotherly letters", he grumbles.

Elain intertwines their fingers. "I have faith that when the time is right, everything will come out, and things will fall into place."

He notices the gleam and the guilt in her eyes and squeezes her hand. "You know that, don't you? Vision?"

She nods softly. "One of the good ones. That's how I know that all of this heartache isn't for naught. I have a lot of these visions when I'm sleeping. It's hard to decipher a dream from a vision. But if it's something that I wouldn't have known or something that seems like a future event I usually believe it's a vision."

"How do you know it's the future?", his eyes light up a bit. "Did you see...umm..."

Elain turns red and rubs her neck. "I saw our daughter", she says softly.

"Lucia?"

"How did you know?"

Lucien smiles and kisses her. "When I was in Spring...before you had accepted me fully, I came across a little girl who was also a Seer. When I held her, she showed me our future family. I didn't want to hope too much, but then you did accept me fully and well...it's been my only comfort when I am frustrated."

"Family", she murmurs with a smile. "We have more than one child?"

Lucien chuckles and strokes her side. "It would seem so, sunshine."

Elain grins as the blush blooms brighter on her cheeks. "I don't know how great of a mother I'd make."

"A spectacular one. I saw it. And even if I hadn't, I'd know it. I think you and your sisters are and will all be great mothers because you know what not to do."

"I should visit Nesta tomorrow. See how she's doing with her big news. She's one to stress out and panic, however harshly."

Lucien snorts. "Oh, I'd imagine. Now come, let's get Nuan. I'm sure she's waiting."

Grinning, she hooks her arm in her mate's as he winnows them to the gates of the Dawn Court.

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.

.

Panting hard, Eris bites out another lie to feed Beron. "I have not done any business in the other Courts that you do not have extensive knowledge of. You should know that, what with making Tristan spy on me recently. You know I can feel his presence, I am keener than you believe me to be."

Beron growls and whips his eldest's raw back again, blood flying as Eris clenches his teeth together so hard they could chip. He does not want to give him the satisfaction of hearing him yell. Not like last time—not like so many other times.

"Liar!"

Once more. Twice more. Thrice more. His vision begins to burn as the pain pulses through him like poison, his entire body shaking in shock from the overuse of faebane getting into his system. Yet each time, his father dips it into that full bucket of the stuff. If he doesn't stop, he very well may kill him this time. Sooner rather than later.

"F— please", he croaks out. Oh great, begging is even worse than silence. But he's going to die. He can feel it.

"You're begging now, boy? What have I always told you about begging!? No son of mine will be a fucking pansy-ass beggar, you fucking weak coward!", Beron spits and screams, gearing his arm back for more lashes.

It feels like hours have gone by but Eris begins to shake, his throat feeling tight. The faebane starting to overcome his being.

"F—." He tries to speak but no words will come out when he wills them. Not this time. Not when he needs them the most.

He can't help but recall Cassian's words to him about a year ago, haunting him ever since, clipping through him like the outlawed ash arrows he keeps hidden deep beneath the floorboards of his bedroom.

"I see you, Eris. You're not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male. You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

A coward. Always the coward. At what cost? He's been as cruel as his wretched father or brothers had been proud to witness, and for what? To be treated and lashed like he was kind all along.

"Kindness is not the mark of a High Lord. Unless you want to be struck down by someone more powerful. Kindness is weakness and emotions are a mark of cowardice."

Beron had spoken those words to him over and over as a child, drilling any care out of him until he was a shell, but only the shell he wanted to see. His real feeling remained, a well of tightness in pain in what should have been a stone heart. Some days he wonders if he was cursed with one the way Tamlin had been, not by magic but by the blood of this monster he called a father.

Willing strength to return to him with no success, his wrists begin to bleed heavily from the iron cuffs chained to the ceiling. The bright red blood flows down his arms and then his bare chest as his body sags, knees barely scraping the concrete. The height of the cuffs are just high enough so he could not have a reprieve from the pain of the shackles even if he were to lose consciousness, as his kneecaps hover just a minute amount above the ground.

Hanging his head as his body jerks with each flash of the whip against him, his eyes glaze over and fix to the pool of red growing under him, his mind dissociating from any sound or feeling, even as he feels the fatal crawl of the faebane slowly poisoning his insides.

Too much. It's too much. It'll kill him. This isn't how he wanted it to end. Not at all. He still has things to say, to finish.

Nobody is coming to save you. Nobody is coming because of your mask. They all wished you dead, and their dream will soon be reality. You're going to burn in hell. You're going to feel this pain for eternity, and it's what you deserve, evil coward.

As his mind whirrs, half of it in the present and half of it in a flurried panic, a rush of tears make way their way down his dirtied face, streaking it. The trails of wetness reveal only a few freckles through the caked-on mud that his face had been shoved into before he was strung up like cattle. Images of what could have been flash through him like jolts of electricity.

Teaching Gwyn how to wield fire. Being a proper brother and seeing Lucien happy with his mate. Making love to Nuan. Standing proud as Helion finally claims his mother as his equal in Day. Getting to see Morrigan with a woman who deserves her. Feeling seen or loved for once in his life, not having to bring shame to them.

Lastly, getting to shove an ash arrow into Beron's cold dead heart. Not only for himself but for his mother, Lucien, his brothers who are irreparably damaged, his Court held in fear by an iron fist, for his deceased aunts. And for Mor, whom he had to leave in pain equal to this because of his father's horrific rules centuries ago.

Morrigan. His mate. The bond. She will feel him dying. Probably not too upset about it either, despite their reckonings.

He hears a distant mewling and whimpering noise, just barely registering that it was him making those noises as his body betrays him, shaking worse than a leaf in a storm. It finally gives up what little fight was left, his vision getting dark as he begins to feel lighter, like he's floating.

Then there was nothing.

.

.

.

Rhysand munches on his buttered toast and looks between Amren and Cassian as they argue about some trivial thing. Of course, Nesta takes Cassian's side, if only to spite Amren. Cassian thought it would be good to have a family breakfast, so he had flown Nesta to the River House.

Of course, there is much tension, as there always is when they are all in one room, but she is with child, and Rhys told himself he would deal with her, if only for Cassian and his soon-to-be niece or nephew.

Unfortunately, Elain isn't here to help ease such tension, as she was escorting Lucien on his travels to the Day Court. It seems she is leaving the Night Court more and more lately, and it makes Feyre uneasy.

Placing a hand on Feyre's thigh, she gives him a smile before sipping on her coffee, chuckling at their antics. His gaze is peeled on the banister from where he's sat, his unease traveling down the bond.

Feyre checks on a dozing Nyx in his baby chair beside her then squeezes Rhys's leg, and he meets her eyes.

{What's wrong? I know that you and Nesta don't get along, but she's my sister and she's pregnant Rhys.}

{It's not that. Mor hasn't come down for breakfast yet. I know she likes to sleep in on weekends, but she's usually in the dining area by now. Especially if she hears that we have guests over, or are having fun without her.}

{It is a bit odd, but maybe she had a wild night with Amber?}

{Possibly.}

Just then, Mor comes stumbling into the dining area, her hair a total mess and her outfit half pulled together, her shirt hanging off of her shoulder. Her eyes are wild and pained.

"Mor!"

Both Feyre and Rhys stand up quickly and run to her side, but she quickly flinches away from their touch.

"D-Don't", she stutters, shaking slightly.

"What's wrong? What happened?", Rhys asks, his voice low, trying to assess if she has any injury.

She wipes a tear from her face and takes another shuddering breath. "I-It's bad this time. Really bad."

"What is?", Feyre questions worriedly.

"Eris. Beron h-he's torturing him. He does but it's never been this bad…this…potent. Especially on my end, our bond is...not nurtured. Frayed usually. But if I can feel his pain this much. The truth is worse", she murmurs hauntedly. "I have to go."

"Go? In this state!? Are you crazy? What exactly do you think you are going to do?"

Mor looks into Rhys's eyes and shudders again before raising her chin. "I'm going to do what he did for me back then, however twisted. Spare him from his father."

"That's a death sentence if he catches you, I won't allow it!"

"Don't try me, cousin", she growls, power illuminating her eyes in a way Feyre has never once witnessed, causing her to step back. "Lest you want me to reveal some of those old and ugly inner truths of yours."

Rhys curls his lip. "If you need rescuing, you put us all at risk."

"I won't. You forget that I hailed from a former High Lord's bloodline as well. Also, I haven't given much practice to my powers lately."

"It's Eris. He's a liability at best, and a traitor at worst."

"We made our peace", she mutters. "Also, Gwyn is his daughter. I heard their conversation here after the coronation." She nods to the large air vent. "Voices sometimes...float to my room. But he was sincere with her. She already lost the rest of her family, and I know what it's like to have a shit father. Most of us do, Eris included. He would be different for her; I heard the truth in his voice that night. I'd know if it was false. Plus, he's still my mate. Everything inside of me is screaming to help him. I know it killed him to leave me by that border of Autumn back then, but he did it to spare me a life of misery and to give me a chance at this life. As were his horrible words toward me in front of his father and brothers each time. A guise, a mask. You know that too, he showed us the truth before the queens attacked the first time."

"You are rejected mates", Rhys states.

"He has a daughter that he should get the chance to know whenever Beron dies. If that isn't today by my hand."

"Mor..."

"Don't try to change my mind. I've had centuries to become strong. I'm not that weak girl with the nail through her anymore Rhys", she whispers. "I will become what Beron fears most. The Morrigan."

With that she winnows out before he can get another word in, groaning in worry as Feyre tries to soothe him.

.

.

.

Mor lands at the border of Autumn, close to where her broken body had lain so many centuries ago. Yet what she had told Rhys was true, That girl felt like a mere ghost of who she was now, and she knows what would have happened if she had become Eris's bride. Pure misery.

Shuddering the memory of that truth away, she steps over the border and encounters four guards, all immediately threatening her life.

She takes a deep breath and taps into her wellspring of power, her entire body glowing with bright white light, her hair floating and illuminated, her irises filling with that hot white light as she floats over to them, feet no longer on the ground, and a scowl on her classically red-lipstick clad mouth.

They immediately stumble back like the cowards they are and one of the mumbles her title as if cursed. "The Morrigan...gods help us."

"Ohh, no gods can rescue you from me", she replies, smirking. "Now tell me, what do you believe will happen to you if you die, for working for the High Lord?" She looks from one to the other, stopping to gaze into each of their muddied eyes. The responses were strikingly similar. Except for one of them.

"I-I'll burn in hell for the pain I've inflicted."

"I'll be tortured for all eternity for my sins."'

"I'll be denied the sweet embrace of the Mother."

"My children will starve."

Narrowing her eyes at the last one, she releases her magic from him. "Go home now, and I won't make you kill yourself. Rethink what you're doing for your family's sake. And if I ever hear that you harm an innocent's head, I will track you down. That is the truth."

Glancing around, he drops his sword and runs away scared.

"Now, you three. It's true. So mote it be."

Immediately they start screaming, flames igniting and licking at their bodies from their own power, taking over them until they are charred corpses on the ground. Releasing her power, she places her feet back down on the earth and shakes her head, continuing on her way.

As she approaches the Forest House, dozens more guards come charging at her. Mor resumes her divine form, and they hesitate if only for a second. Just enough time for her to smirk and take in her surroundings.

"I believe you are all going to behead one another like good foot soldiers, now, aren't you? Each of you hates one of the others. Go on, kill who you hate. I know you truthfully want to."

She extends her hands as a rush of white light flows towards them like an impenetrable shield, yet flowing through their bodies.

Like puppets on a string, it turns into chaos. All the soldiers scream and behead one another until there is one-whose true hatred lay within himself as he whimpers, slicing across his own neck.

Mor steps around them and enters the High Lord's hypothetical lion's den. That's when she hears the dragging of metal on the ground, the sound coming from beneath her. Suddenly the bond she had with Eris, however dulled it was, snuffs out completely, replaced by a gaping hole that causes her to gasp and grief to take over as tears come to her eyes.

Still, she pushes through the feeling, rushing towards a large metal emerald door with rust stains towards the left of the house, tucked in a tiny hallway off of the kitchen—a basement.

As her feet carry her towards the unsettling metal noise, she descends those stairs into the dim light until she faces a sight that nearly makes her vomit.

This is no basement. The only words that could begin to describe this place are torture chamber.

That's when her eyes catch a flash of red and she covers her mouth as bile rises into it, before caving and leaning over, vomiting.

One of Beron's trusty cronies is dragging a battered and broken body. It is twisted at an odd angle from the way the deceased is being dragged by cuffed wrists, torn open down to the bone by the spiked edge of the iron. The white of his bones gleam through the jagged and raw slices. The body is soaked in blood and the pallor of death—nearly as white as his bones—peeks through the thick blood streaks along his torso. That's when she notes the long red hair trailing on the dusty cement from the male's limp head.

Pure terror and revulsion strike her heart like a bullseye on a target before the pained agony and all the regrets come rushing in.

Eris.