Cenric rolled his shoulder in agony, his face aching, throbbing from the deep-set bruise encompassing the expanse of his eyebrow, trying, and failing, to ignore the tick of pain emanating from his skull every time his pulse flickered.
Nesta had beat his ass into the dirt.
Had utterly dominated him until he'd been nothing but a wheezing mess on the ground and she'd stood over him looking at him with that indifferent stare and quirked brow she always regarded him with.
He'd learned his lesson.
And never wanted to lift himself from the couch again.
"She really did do a number on you," Elaine said by way of greeting, her brown eyes squinting in concerned as she came around the large arched corner from the kitchen, a tray of tea and sugary cakes in her delicate hands and her rose petal pink gown swishing about her legs, "she really shouldn't have done that."
"It's fine Elaine," Cenric replied, feeling the clotted blood in his nose flutter as he tried to breathe through the appendage, he winced, "she's only trying to get me ready for the rite." By beating me half to death.
Elain clicked her tongue in distaste, setting the silver tray down in front of her nephew on the small clawed foot coffee table. The warm afternoon sun dripped in through the large bay windows overlooking the lazily flowing Sidra, the golden hues pooling against the rich wooden interior of the sitting room, accenting the beautiful tapestries and paintings hung across the walls.
This had been the home he and Celeste had both been born and raised in, the home their mother had designed from the ground up, from the plush carpeted floors to the high vaulted ceilings above where stained-glass skylights peppered the cream floors in kaleidoscope colors.
The home where as children he and Celeste had played and grown together, here and the old townhouse.
"Rite smite," Elaine said with a shake of her head, golden curls flitting with the motion, dumping several large sugar cubes into one of the small cups before scooping up the small tea pot and pouring the dark liquid over the pile, "all of this fighting nonsense is befitting of barbarians, not noble young men."
She lifted the cup and handed it over to her nephew, gently setting the warm cup into his cold hands.
Cenric cocked his head, shooting his aunt a look as he sipped at the hot tea, sweetened to perfection, "You do remember who you are intending to wed, don't you?"
"Azriel is not like that," A blush flashed across her cheeks and up her pointed ears, her hands knotting nervously in her gown, no longer having a tray to keep them occupied, fidgeting, "Oh fine, the lot of them are- but still, it hurts me to see you battered and bruised."
Her caramel eyes softened as she glanced over her nephew, "do not forget some of us remember the days when you were small and helpless, totting about."
Cenric felt a blush rise on his cheeks, the earnest look in his aunts' eyes bringing shame to him over his piss poor attitude that morning that had resulted in him taking such a beating.
"I know, I'm sorry," Cenric looked down into his tea, guilt beginning to blossom in his chest, "I just want to do well, I want to do what's right." I want to undo the past and make things right.
Elaine must have read between the lines, like she always did.
Cenric heard the soft rustle of fabric and felt the warmth of Elaine's hand as she took his in her own.
"You will," she reassured, his cobalt eyes rising to meet her brown ones, caramel swirls of rich gold flickering at their center, a beacon of comfort that always found a way to steady him, "and we'll all be here waiting for you when you come back."
He heard the unspoken words, loud and crystal clear.
She loved you very much but she wouldn't want you to dwell, to let it destroy you.
Elaine squeezed his hand once again and nodded before letting go and rising, moving back to her seat on the couch adjacent to his.
He'd always had support, a family to love and nurture him, something that many others didn't have the privilege of experiencing. Sometimes he forgot that when his anger and emotions blinded him. He lifted the hand Elaine had held up to his tea, gently holding the porcelain mug to his lips, contemplating.
"He'll be fine," A rumbling voice answered from the kitchen, midnight and stardust coating that tone, nearly the same pitch as Cenric's, "he is mine and his mother's son after all."
Rhys looped around the corner, his immaculate black coat and trousers cleanly pressed, clearly dressed and ready for Starfall, his black wings tucked in as he moved across the massive sitting room. His violet eyes trailed along his son's battered face, the corner of his lips slightly down-turning at the sight.
"She really did wallop you," Rhys replied, a small chuckle escaping his lips, running his hand through his dark locks, bemusement lighting up his father's face.
Cenric scowled.
Rhy shoved his hands in his pockets, "Cassian said you were flailing about like a newborn fawn in the ring."
"Cassian needs to learn when to shut the hell up," Cenric grumbled, sinking further into the couch, his pinky quaking as he pulled the cup of warm liquid to his lips. He hadn't been focusing on where he'd been placing his hits, flailing like a newborn fawn indeed.
Rhys only supplied a small chuckle as he walked passed the back of the couch, his large hand landing affectionately on his son's head, tousling his already mused hair. "Tomorrow I'm taking over with the sparring, you can beat up on your old man instead."
A tendril of relief coursed through Cenric's veins, no more sparring with the queen hell cat, at least not for a while.
Reaching forward, ignoring the agonizing pull and pop of his shoulder, he scooped up a raspberry tart and plopped it in his mouth, savoring the rich berry flavor.
A small disgruntled nose slipped past his father's lips.
"You smell worse than Cassian after a week of camping," Rhys commented as he rounded the corner of couch, wrinkling his nose, "go get a bath. I don't know how Elaine's tolerating it."
"It's no worse than Azriel after a day of training," she answered quietly, her cup held to her lips as she sipped delicately at her tea, brown eyes unfocused staring off into the distance, "I barely register it anymore."
"Well that only makes one of us," Rhys jibed, rooting Cenric's from leg it's resting place across his knee, earning a hiss of pain as soreness tore through his muscles as he foot landed on the plus carpet with a padded thwap, "go change your clothes and get ready for the evening."
Cenric grumbled before shoving himself upright, grabbing several sugar dusted pastries and shoving them simultaneously, much to the dismay of Elaine and amusement of his father, in his mouth before sauntering off towards the large spiraling staircase that led to the second and third floor suites to where his private room and bath were, his legs screaming in protest.
"And Cenric," his father called after him, making him pause on the stairs and look back over his shoulder cobalt eyes locking with violet, "comb that hair of yours."
The dark haired fale male snorted and raised his hand in acknowledgement.
Do everything with love, he could hear her say, with that tinkering bell like laugh and wisdom that dated her beyond her mere nine years, and if that doesn't work, smack 'em with a broom.
"He really didn't smell that awful." Elaine replied, still sipping at her tea shifting her gaze up to Rhys, her sister's husband, and her now longtime friend, a friendship that Rhys was immensely grateful to have.
"No," Rhys shook his head, his attention focusing on the lengthy staircase where his son had disappeared up several moments before, "but he was content to sit there and brood for the rest of the evening instead of getting ready for the party tonight, the boy needs a little encouragement."
Sounds like someone I know, a voice hummed at the back of his mind sending his mind to curl in delight around its appearance, stroking it in greeting, you Illyrians are such sensitive things.
He's only a fourth love, Rhys replied down the bond, caressing that thick band that had become his very existence, his life line and will, you can hardly attribute his sensitive nature to that blood.
A palpable eyeroll danced down the bond, if he were anymore Illyrian he'd be as unbearable as the rest of you are.
"And a few less bruises." Elaine added after a few moments, interrupting he and his mate's internal conversation. She sat down her tea.
A roaring sensation collected at the end of that bond, at the images Feyre had glanced from inside Rhy's mind. He met it with soothing darkness, trying to quell the feral mothering instinct that had prowled under his mate's skin since she'd first brought life into the world.
He'd have to speak to Nesta about it.
Again.
Don't bother, he heard Feyre reply her voice eerily calm, those dark claws beginning to emerge at the edges of her energy, I'll speak with her.
Elaine must have read the look on his face, sensed the silent conversation as she replied, "She thinks she's helping."
Feyre's fury dampened a bit, a touch of understanding fluttering down the bond.
"Tell Feyre there's no point in fighting with Nesta," Elaine rose from her seat, placing her now empty tea cup on the tray along with the remaining pastries, "she's not keen on losing another child in this family, even if her methods seem unorthodox."
And there it was.
It was easy to forget that Nesta loved Cenric just as deeply as everyone else, even though her means often did not come across in such a way. The ice queen never completely thawed, Rhys mused to himself and his mate, a kernel of truth shining there.
Elaine lifted the tray with fluid grace as she tipped her head in farewell before making her way towards the kitchens, "I need to help Nuala and Cerridwen finish the pies for this evening, tell Feyre I hope she intends to wear that beautiful lapis gown she was eyeballing in her closet, it'll go well with the decorations this year."
"I'll let her know." Rhys replied, watching as the thin female disappeared into the noisy kitchen, the clanking of pots and rich smells permeating the home.
Feyre's fury eddied away and her voice quieted, contemplating. Rhys reach out a delicate tendril of energy to comfort, to soothe.
Elaine's right, Feyre finally conceded down the bond after several long moments, though her motherly pride still balked at the idea, the rite is fast approaching and he's going to be on his own out there, he doesn't have an Azriel or Cassian to help him like you did.
I know. The thought was something that had lurked in Rhys thoughts since Cenric had petitioned to join the rite earlier that winter, demanding to be included because his blood demanded it.
He's strong, unbelievably strong, Rhys supplied thinking proudly on the memories of watching his son dominate opponent after opponent in the ring with only physical strength, not to mention his insurmountable magical ability which left even himself in the dust, he'll be ready, I'll make sure he's ready.
I know you will, she replied her energy taking on that distant tone that set Rhys heart in disarray, the distance that made him want to tear down walls to get to her and never let her go, we cannot lose both of them.
We won't, Rhys swore with the entirety of his being, the image of Celeste rising up between them, every detail of her face still clear as day in their memory, tied so deeply to their bond, even if I have to work him to the bone for the next few weeks, day and night, to ensure it.
They had mourned that day three weeks prior, the day they had set aside all those years ago to be dedicated to her entirely, had reflected on what could have been different and how they had failed. Tonight, however, was not meant to be that way. A promise they had all made in light of it all.
She wouldn't have wanted anyone to be sad on her birthday, to have wept and mourned what couldn't be changed. No, she would have wanted a huge party with tons of gifts and cake.
So they had sworn, as a court, as a family, every year that they would celebrate that day, celebrate the life she had lived, even though she could not be there with them. They would sing, dance and drink to keep her memory alive, to honor her in the only way left that they could.
A tendril of love slid down and wrapped around his heart, thanking him.
So about that dress, Rhys flashed an image down the bond, slowly taking the stairs up to the second floor, to where his mate was primping for the evening, did you find that package of fun unmentionables I picked up for you on the bed?
A rush of coy playfulness rushed down the bond, I don't know mate why you don't come and find out.
I fully intend to.