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Everyone hates you. Everyone hates you. Everyone hates you. Nesta replayed the early words Cassian had shouted at her in her head on a loop as a mantra. She woke up hearing him shout them and fell asleep pulling them apart in her head. Pretend you don’t feel, she reminded herself. That was easy enough. She was cold, shiny, slippery. No one knew she felt at all and if they suspected, they certainly didn’t care. She was, first and foremost, a tool that was useful. She didn’t let herself think about what would happen when she stopped having uses for Rhysand, when he couldn’t break her into something compliant like her sisters. What would happen then? Would Cassian defend her? Would he choose her over his High Lord?

She sighed, walking the length of the house she was locked in. Everyone hates you, she reminded herself. She was a prisoner no matter what she was told about her ability to leave if she could walk ten thousand steps. Feyre and Rhysand had taken the human inheritance that was hers by rights, never paid her for being their emissary during the war, and then punished her for spending money that was, by all rights, owed to her. She wondered how Rhysand spent the money Tamlin had given their father. Did he think of the irony? Did he ever think of the generosity Tamlin had extended them when he painted the High Lord of Spring a villain?  

No. Rhysand considered nothing outside of his miniscule court. He cared for one city and nothing else and for that, he didn’t need advisors or experts on policy. He could make her younger sister responsible for such things, could bully his way into the affairs of the other six if he didn’t immediately get his way. And Cassian would be there every step of the way, enforcing Rhys’ will with a bloody sword. 

Cassian was gone, Azriel too. Nesta was alone in the House of Wind, a relief if she was being honest. She walked with what almost felt like freedom, towards those ten thousand steps. Maybe she’d try again. She paused when she reached the door, surprised to see Eris Vanserra, in his fine jacket and tailored pants, step into view. He didn’t look winded save for the faint flush on his cheeks. Not a hair of his ruby hair was out of place.

“What do you want?” She sneered. Eris rolled his eyes.

“Your jailor is gone. You can drop the act,” he replied, resting a broad hand on his sword. It occurred to her that, much like Cassian, Eris too was a warrior. What did that mean for her?

“What do you want, Eris?” She asked again though with less venom than before. She was tired, so fucking tired and she didn’t have the energy for any of this.

“I want an answer without Cassian breathing down your neck,” he told her, taking two confident, measured steps towards her. “Anyone with eyes can see you wasting away.”

Nesta scoffed. No one could see what was eating her. “I’m not—”

“How are your nightmares?” Eris interrupted smoothly. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back, her familiar urge to hurt rising to the surface. He was too close to the truth and Nesta couldn’t stand it. He didn’t know shit about her.

“Oh? You think I don’t know what happened with that Cauldron? You think I forgot the part you played in the war or what you lost? Pick one of those things and tell me how you get over them when you’re alone in a new body? Or, wait, have you been cured with exercise and more isolation? Your nightmares have been fucked away by the Illyrian brute?”

“Shut up,” she whispered, panic replacing her anger. Eris came closer still and she hated that despite the cold mask he wore, she could see real concern in his russet-colored eyes. 

“This place is backwards fucked, Nesta. They don’t see you and they never will. One dance. I only needed one Cauldron-damned dance to know what was eating you.”

“So what’s your solution, then? Fucking you instead?” She demanded, wishing he’d leave while simultaneously being desperate for him to stay.

“Come with me,” he urged, taking one last step so they were almost on top of each other. “There are better ways to heal. I know the darkness is eating away at you.”

Nesta looked down at her feet. “If I go with you, I have to marry you.”

Eris huffed out a sigh. “Is it truly so bad?”

Their eyes met. “I don’t want to be your prisoner.”

“Strike a deal, then. If, someday, you decide you tire of Autumn, I swear to let you leave.”

He held out a broad hand and Nesta could feel the power simmering just beneath. “And in exchange?”

Eris’s eyes glinted. “Why, you’ll help me dispatch the current High Lord of Autumn to the best of your ability. And, of course, in public you’ll be my sweet, doting wife.”

“You won’t lay a hand on me,” she countered, catching the rage that burned in his gaze for a split second. His jaw tight, Eris merely nodded his agreement but Nesta wanted one more thing. “You’ll never tell me you hate me.”

Heat seemed to radiate off Eris. “Did he…Yes. I swear it.”

They shook and because it was Night Court, intricate red and orange leaves dotted along the inside of her wrist, trailing a pattern towards her elbow. Eris pulled back the sleeve of his jacket with an irritated sigh. 

“I hate this court,” he muttered before offering her his arm. She hesitated.

“I can’t…the steps I mean.”

Eris merely stared. “Of course you can.”

It took them hours to make their way back down. Eris was ever patient, urging her to sit when she exhausted herself. He forced her to talk about the things she’d enjoyed when she had been a human, latching onto dancing when he realized it had once been her passion. “Three thousand more,” he murmured, hand on her elbow, as the sun began to dip over the horizon. Cassian would be back soon and Nesta so badly did not want the confrontation she knew was waiting for her should Cassian beat them back. He’d bully her into changing her mind, figure a loophole in her deal or worse, run to Rhys who would come up with endless reasons to postpone leaving. 

“Don’t reject the bond just yet,” Eris murmured when there were only a thousand left. “Give him no reason to return.”

She nodded, no longer able to speak. Eris’ mind, clever and cunning, never seemed to stop spinning. She was content to let him scheme while she focused on each step, her legs trembling with exertion. She didn’t know the first thing about rejecting a mating bond to begin with. She’d never spoken about it out loud, never admitted she even had one but she supposed a creature as old as Eris hadn’t lived as long as he did because he was stupid. 

She practically collapsed when her feet left the stairs for the pavement of Velaris. Eris grabbed her arm and, without preamble, winnowed her out. He caught her before her knees slammed to damp earth, warming the air around them with the heat that radiated just beneath his skin. Cassian had told her he possessed this skill and yet even with the whistling wind she knew was biting, Nesta struggled to believe anyone could harness such raw power.

“Your father—”

“Is expecting you,” Eris replied confidently, one strong hand on her back, the other at her elbow. “And will not hurt you.”

The unspoken between them was, of course, that Beron might hurt Eris. Still, Nesta didn’t protest as Eris led her across a leaf strewn path, passing sentries dressed in green and brown, their uniform blending them into the background. Huge orange and gold doors opened seemingly of their own accord and Eris led Nesta into the infamous Forest House without a moment of hesitation. She couldn’t get enough, stunned by the beauty that seemed ancient by comparison to the House of Wind. The compound seemed to be buried into the ground and a labyrinth of halls snaked off in every direction from the main artery they walked. Wood, and not marble, was the main building component, from glossy mahogany beneath their feet to the cherry doors and oak walls. It made the structure feel lived in and warm and Nesta relished the way it smelled. 

Eris pushed open massive, orange and gold doors, revealing a throne room to rival the one Hybern had once sat on. At the furthest end of the room sat a golden dais with a twisted bramble of branches for a throne atop which Beron, crowned in glittering reds and yellows, sat. Beside him, the infamous Lady of Autumn watched with the same curious eyes her sons seemed to have inherited. She was beautiful, radiantly so in her element of Autumn and as Nesta stared, she could see so much of the male beside her reflected in his mother. 

Where she was the warmth of Autumn personified, her husband was the cold made real. Beron, too, was very much carved of the same material of Eris. Nesta caught Beron’s cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth all shaped the same as Eris. She privately thought Eris wore them better though it hardly mattered. To call Beron ugly would have been a lie, though she found him off putting just the same.

“Nesta Archeron,” Beron Vanserra murmured as they approached. She didn’t need to be told to dip into a low curtsey. Beron watched, one leg crossed over the other, assessing her. “You’ve accepted our offer, then?”

“I have,” she agreed, wondering if defiance would be her friend here. She decided she’d wait to ask Eris, not wanting to be locked away by another High Lord. 

“She is escaping, Father. I had to practically sneak her out of the jail they held her in.”

That seemed to interest both Eris’s parents. “Well, I think she’ll find Autumn much more hospitable. We don’t lock our ladies up.”

And to Nesta’s surprise, the Lady of Autumn nodded gently, offering her a sweet smile. 

“My wife will show you to your suite,” Beron informed Nesta. “I have things to discuss with your betrothed.”

“You’re too kind,” Nesta lied, catching how Eris’ mouth twitched just at the side. Still, it was a far kinder welcome than Rhysand had given her. There were no accusations of her failures, no hostility, just a promise of freedom and acknowledgment that she did plan to stay in Autumn. Nesta was more than fine with that, even if she suspected Eris was being held behind to discuss how she might be utilized to Beron’s benefit. 

The Lady stood, her plum dress rustling softly. She pressed a swift kiss to Beron’s cheek, and he let his hand graze over her back, his eyes following her as she walked to Nesta. “With me,” she murmured. Nesta nodded, looking over her shoulder one last time at Eris, who didn’t glance back at all. 

“I’m glad you accepted,” she told Nesta when they’d left the throne room. Nesta followed, forced to keep herself upright without the aid of Eris’s hands. If the Lady of Autumn saw how she trembled or how her steps lagged, she said nothing at all. 

Nesta nodded, words failing her.

“Eris mentioned you might require knowledge around rejecting a mating bond,” she continued, glancing sideways at Nesta with curiosity. “I took the liberty of doing a little research on your behalf.”

“That’s…kind,” Nesta managed, wondering if that research wasn’t based in a reality Nesta didn’t want to consider. 

“Worry about it in the morning,” the Lady urged, leading Nesta to a set of shiny doors. “This room is yours. No one is allowed inside without your permission.”

“What stops them from just coming in?” She asked without thinking, sweeping through an elegant drawing room decorated in cream and gold.

“Punishment,” the Lady replied with a frown. “Eris would punish anyone who came in without your permission.”

Of course he would. “And if Eris came?”

“He wouldn’t,” was all she said, as though it were that simple. Nesta paused in the large bedroom, twice as big as her room in the House of Wind. A four poster bed draped in gauzy white caught her eye and Nesta nearly jumped beneath the cream colored bedding. There was a pretty red night dress lying neatly atop of the bed and when the Lady of Autumn fully stepped into the room, she snapped her fingers and a fire roared to life. 

“None of my sons would walk into a ladies' chambers if they weren’t invited,” she informed Nesta after a long moment of silence. “If he knocked and you refused him, he would leave.”

Nesta’s mouth was dry at the thought of a male knocking instead of just walking in. The Lady of Autumn turned down the corner of the bed and patted the mattress.

“When the first war ended, I spent fifty years in bed,” she whispered gently to Nesta. “No one would blame you if you did the same.”

“Your husband allowed that?” She asked, unable to stop herself. The Lady frowned.

“Who do you imagine sent me there to grieve? We are not as barbaric as the other courts might have you believe.”

Nesta wanted to believe that long after the Lady of Autumn vanished. True to her word, no one came to bother Nesta that night. In some ways it was lonely; the weight of Nesta’s decision crashed over her and as dawn crept through the curtains, she wept for the first time in years. Soft tears turned into loud, ugly sobs that the morning servants couldn’t console. She heard a loud rap on the door sometime in the morning and then the crisp sound of the heels of his boots on the wood floors. Eris crouched beside her, hands clasped in front of his body. 

“Are you well?” He asked and Nesta gulped down air, trying to feel a shred of embarrassment that it was Eris left to console her. She shook her head no, the last shred of her braid falling out as she held herself tightly.

“Tell me,” Eris demanded after a moment and Nesta forced herself to look him in the eye.

“Everyone hates me,” she confessed, flinching hard when the fireplace cracked loudly. Eris’s head swiveled and with a swish of his wrist, the fire died.

“Who is everyone?” He asked, carefully sitting on the floor. It was an absurd sight; Eris was so finely dressed, so aristocratic that it feltl practically sacrilege to see him lowering himself. Nesta couldn’t force herself to admit what Cassian had told her, terrified Eris would agree. Instead Nesta just let herself sob, curled in on herself while Eris sat beside her in companionable silence. He didn’t try to touch her, nor did he ask her to stop. He remained until there was nothing left for her to cry.

“Just because the brute and his friends hated you does not mean everyone does,” Eris murmured once her sniffling died down. “Consider their hatred to be a compliment, besides.”

Nesta wiped her eyes hard. “You don’t understand—”

“What it’s like to be misunderstood?” He half laughed, as though he were amused. “Of course not. Your sisters hate you?”

“They should,” she whispered but Eris shook his head.

“Do they, though?”

Nesta swallowed hard. “No.”

“And I was told you had made some friends…surely they don’t hate you?”

She nodded. Gwyn and Emerie didn’t hate her, either. “They don’t know me, though.”

“Are you sure? They’ve sent a letter to you. It was waiting for you at the breakfast table this morning.”

Her chest lurched. “They did?” She whispered. Eris nodded. 

“Elain did, as well. Hardly the actions of people who hate you.”

There was a beat of silence between them. “I don’t hate you, either…for whatever that is worth to you.”

She turned to look at him, then, stunned that Eris Vanserra would say such a thing. She’d never imagined him as a sentimental male but in that moment, examining his fingernails, she detected a hint of vulnerability. 

“You have to say that,” she whispered, a reminder of their bargain. Eris rolled his eyes.

“I could say nothing at all, you know. There are other ways to communicate hatred. Let it be known, Nesta Archeron, that I don’t hate you. There is nothing you could say that would cause me to hate you, either.”

“Give it time.”

Eris clambered gingerly off the floor, offering her his hand. She stared for a moment, thinking of how he’d extinguished the fireplace with a mere flick of his wrist. She took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet.

“Will you teach me?” She asked him. Eris assessed her for a moment.

“Yes. As soon as you’re ready. Take the day to rest…I’ll have food and your things sent to you.”

Nesta was grateful to Eris in that moment, for leaving her be. True to his word, he sent her meals and her letters while keeping himself scarce. 

She wondered if experience dictated his ability to just know.

Or if it was a different kind of magic entirely.

*

“The High Lord of Night is demanding a visit,” Beron informed Eris, fraying Eris’ already fried nerves. Rhysand could fuck up their tenuous alliance and get him killed. The only saving grace was Nesta’s willing presence. For all his plotting, Eris very much doubted that Rhys would let Nesta be murdered in the name of petty revenge. 

“Suggest Spring,” Eris replied easily, well aware Beron did not want Rhysand in Autumn anymore than Eris did. Beron nodded.

“Are you prepared to go to war for your female?” Beron asked, more curious than anything. Eris shrugged, uncomfortable giving his father access to any more of his feelings than Beron already had. Nesta was his weakness now, something that could be weaponized against him.

“No more than I was before. Her magic strengthens us and I will no sooner return her to Night than I would defect and join myself.”

That satisfied Beron. “Lucien intends to join Rhysand. See if you might sway him into coming home as well.”

Eris had no intention of doing such a thing. He knew what Beron would do to Lucien eventually, when he finally worked up the nerve, and his interest in the youngest Vanserra was more about punching a larger hole into Rhysand’s defenses.

Eris left it to Beron to arrange the time and place and Eris, instead, focused on his upcoming nuptials. Nesta kept to herself, spending her first few days tucked away in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the walls. His mother had convinced her to come out, walking her around the garden and giving her a tour of the Forest House. Eris learned later that she’d waltzed with Cadmus, who’d earned a smile for his trouble, and that Nesta could play the piano nicely. 

Eris could recognize someone who was losing themselves to the place they lived. That had been him as a boy. Beron was less prone to violent outbursts now that his sons were firmly men, but for a good century life in the Forest House was an unending nightmare from which Eris could not wake. He saw it on Nesta’s face just as surely as he still saw it on his own when no one was looking. He couldn’t leave her to Cassian, who apparently hated her no more than he could have left his own mother.

He didn’t love her but he didn’t hate her, either. He considered them one in the same. He hadn’t lied to his father. Her power was important, powerful, even though he had no real idea what it was. He had a dagger she’d made hidden in his boot and Eris knew Nesta could help him solidify his power on the throne once Beron was dead. For that and that alone, he could offer her freedom.

His response from Rhysand came at the end of the week. Eris rapped on her door with the back of his knuckles, his stomach twisted in knots. He would have preferred to face the High Lord with Nesta as his wife, but he supposed this would have to do. 

Nesta opened the door in a pretty navy dress with a scoop neck that offered him the best view he’d gotten of her slim neck and the tops of her breasts since that dance in the Court of Nightmares. “I’m meeting your sister and her mate tomorrow,” he told Nesta without preamble, hovering in the doorway to her room. He could smell a clove and cinnamon candle burning in the distance and he wondered if she’d relit the fireplace or was still sleeping in the cold. 

“I’m coming,” she said before he could ask if she wanted to go. Eris shrugged. 

“I assumed. We will meet them on the border.”

Nesta nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Can…how do you make flame appear?” 

“May I?” He asked, gesturing toward her drawing room. Nesta nodded, stepping to the side so he could come inside. He’d been right about the fire; the hearth was nothing but ash and the air around them freezing from the cold outside. Eris created a bubble of warmth around them without a word, only a little disappointed when her peaked, pointed nipples softened beneath the fabric of her dress. 

With the door closed behind them, it occurred to Eris that the moment was utterly intimate. There was a budding trust and if he didn’t do or say anything to compromise it, she’d reward him with her unyielding loyalty. Her raised his hand and produced flame, something he’d been able to do since he’d been a babe. Nesta watched, her gray eyes narrowed to slits.

“There’s magic in your gut, Nesta,” he told her after a moment of silence. “Pull from it and shape it to your will.”

“I can’t,” she said flatly though she’d extended her own hand, palm up. Eris resisted the urge to snap.

“You can,” he replied simply. “Now do it.”

It took nearly five minutes of just standing there before a cold, silver flame licked gently over her hand. Nesta’s eyes went wide with surprise and Eris could see she’d been taught to do the opposite with her magic. Suppress, not channel, to bury it deep, deep down. He brought his hand close to hers, letting the frigid cold intermingle with the burning warmth.

“Keeping it locked up isn’t going to keep you safe,” he murmured, taking a chance. He laced his fingers with her own, reveling in the feel of her own fire. 

“What the fuck do you know about it?” She whispered without malice.

Eris extinguished his flame, dropping his hand. “Everything, Nesta Archeron. There is no substitute for power. Not in this world.”

He meant to walk away, to leave her alone in her bedroom but Nesta caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.

“Again,” she whispered, her eyes seeming to dance with flame. She was his future wife and Eris considered, in that moment, that perhaps it was poor form to deny her the things she wanted. Afterall, there was still a chance Nesta might leave him tomorrow looking foolish on the border between Spring and Autumn. It was selfish but Eris was quite attached to the idea of Nesta as a Vanserra, as his wife and future Lady of Autumn. 

With that in mind, Eris asked, “What, exactly, were you learning before I arrived?”
Nesta called more silvery flame, both hands consumed as she stared with awe. “How to fight.”

Eris frowned. “Fight what?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to his face, her irritation plain. “Like a warrior, Eris.”

Eris let his eyes roam down her curvy body as he tried to imagine Nesta made in Cassian’s image. Of course he’d turn her into the female version of himself. Cassian lacked imagination, lacked the ability to appreciate Nesta for who she was. 

“I had no idea you were so interested in weapons,” he bit back with a shrug of his shoulders, resting a hand on the hilt of his own sword. Nesta’s expression softened ever so slightly.
“I don’t. I just…I want to be strong.”

Another day, Eris would sit her down and probe that statement to completion and then offer her retribution on a silver platter. Not now, though, when the peace between them was still so fragile. 

“There is more than one way to be strong,” he murmured, walking to her again. Eris closed his hands around her own, smothering the flame beneath his skin. Nesta took a deep breath, looking up at him without any of those icy, defensive walls she so often had.

“Magic?” She asked him hopefully.

“Trust,” he replied, a word easier said than done. Eris could count on one hand the people he truly trusted. He hoped, though, she could be one. Perhaps even the one, the only person he could truly trust. He could be that for her, too, if she wanted. Eris didn’t know enough about her other than she was desperate and too new to being Faerie to understand just what this alliance meant to him. After all, Night would be forced to ally with them with the sister of the High Lord married to Eris. 

She didn’t move at all. “Trust,” she agreed.

It was enough for now.

*

Nesta’s heart pounded in her throat when Cassian came into view. Eris had brought two of his ghost hounds, Artemis and Apollo, to flank her and an entire unit of his personal guard, all hidden among the trees just behind them. Rhysand hadn’t needed to employ such sneaky tactics. He’d gone for the gut punch, bringing Elain, hovering just beside an uncomfortable looking Lucien, and Cassian, who had his arms folded over his broad, muscular chest. There had been a time when the sight of him standing like that, his hazel eyes smoldering, would have driven her to her knees. She’d have crawled to see him look at her with half that intensity.

It made her sick, now. Amera, the Lady of Autumn, had described how a mating bond could be broken and had given Nesta the exact words to say. She’d written them down, tucked away in the cloak she wore, though she hardly needed them. She’d been replaying the words over and over in her mind. 

Rhysand, Feyre at his side, watched them expressionlessly and she knew without asking that they were both boiling with anger. Nesta was acting out again, was causing problems. Nesta was little more than an errant child to be dealt with. Eris would get a verbal lashing and perhaps a physical beating courtesy of Cassian and Nesta would be dragged back to her prison in the mountains, to be trained harder, watched more carefully.

“Nesta,” Elain cried, stepping around Rhys. Lucien didn’t bother to lunge for her though Nesta saw, from the irritation rippling over Rhys’ face, that Lucien had been brought solely to contain Elain. Lucien was too busy looking at his elder brother, his mechanical eye whirring rapidly as though it could see just, exactly, what had happened.

Elain threw her arms over Nesta’s neck. “Are you safe?” She whispered, so softly no one but Nesta could hear. A moment later she began wailing loudly, the noise covering Nesta’s response.
“I left of my own accord.”

Elain looked over her shoulder at Lucien and Nesta saw her sister and the youngest son of Autumn exchange something wordlessly, something between mates. She’d never seen her sister look at Lucien at all, let alone conspire and she wondered what, exactly, had prompted Elain to ally with Lucien. 

“You couldn’t say goodbye?” Feyre asked when Elain abruptly stopped her wailing. 

“Is she a child?” Eris replied, rolling his eyes when Cassian snarled. Nesta’s knees shook and she wasn’t convinced she could do this any longer. It had been nice, in her mind, to imagine leaving and starting over but Eris couldn’t hold his own against Cassian. He’d be killed. Cassian was her mate, whether she wanted him or not and she knew from the look on Cassian’s face that she’d be going home with him.

“You had no right,” Rhys whispered softly, his words deadly. “To come into my court and my home and abduct—”

“I went willingly,” she interrupted, willing her spine to shift from ice to iron. “I accepted Eris’ proposal and I plan to marry him.”

“Nesta!” Feyre snapped as Cassian snarled again, taking a step towards Eris. All at once the ground between them erupted into hot flame, a bonfire beneath a bright Spring sun. 

“Control yourself, brute,” Eris drawled for all the good it did. At Nesta’s heels, the dogs flattened their ears and barred their teeth, prepared to defend their master. 

“You can’t be serious,” Feyre continued. “After everything he did to Mor—”

“I don’t care what he did to Mor,” Nesta said truthfully. “Or to anyone in the past. I don’t care about the things that transpired before I was born.”

“How can you say that when—”

“When Mor told me I don’t deserve kindness?” Nesta asked, her chest falling and rising rapidly. “At least Eris has never told me he hates me. At least Eris doesn’t think I’m worthless .”

Cassian cringed beneath the weight of her accusations. Eris’s face had become redder with each word and beside Nesta, Elain slipped her hand into Nesta’s, squeezing hard.

“I’m calling in our bargain,” she said without hesitation, catching how Cassian’s eyes blazed with unchecked defiance. “I want you to relinquish your claim to me. I reject our bond.” A low roar rumbled from his chest as he fell to his knees and Nesta remained straight backed as she watched, her palms sweating. The tingling she’d once felt of their shared tattoo burned along her back and she knew if she turned, it would be gone. All traces of him washed away. It was a relief. 

“How could you be so selfish!” Feyre shrieked, rushing to her friend and Nesta thought that was the heart of the matter. Cassian deserved to be happy, at least to his friends, and it didn’t matter if Nesta was or not. So long as Cassian got what he wanted. 

“Nes,” Cassian groaned as the bond in her chest frayed to splinters. “Nes please.”

She couldn’t be swayed. Eris glanced sideways at her, clearly waiting for her to change her mind and she realized that, much like herself, Eris had never once been chosen first.  She wanted to be chosen, too.  Cassian wasn’t capable of setting his loyalty to Rhys aside, to picking his mate even when things were difficult.

Rhys opened his mouth but Lucien spoke first, sensing things were rapidly devolving. “You wanted to come and ensure Eris hadn’t kidnapped Nesta. It’s clear he hasn’t. It’s time to consider how much further you’re willing to take this.”

“I’ll tell Beron everything,” Rhys swore. Nesta turned to Eris, assuming she’d find his usual sneer waiting but Eris had gone ashen, his body tight. Lucien, too, had become rigid in the wake of the threat.

“Beron will kill Nesta,” Elain murmured, her voice taking on a dream-like quality. Both Lucien and Nesta turned with twin looks of suspicion. Was Elain attempting to manipulate the High Lord?

It might not have worked had it not been for Feyre. “No more death,” she croaked, even as her blue eyes lanced Nesta, her hatred palpable.

“You offered me Nesta that night in the Court of Nightmares,” Eris reminded Rhysand, finding his voice. “You of all people should know better than to wager something you can’t afford to lose.”

“This alliance is over,” Rhysand swore angrily. Eris shrugged, color returning to his handsome face.

“Suits me just fine,” he agreed, his eyes sliding to his brother. Elain dropped Nesta’s hand, scurrying back over the border after offering Artemis a quick pet on the head. Elain stood just beside Lucien, both of them still stilted and uncomfortable but united in some capacity.

Eris reached for Nesta’s hand, smirking once at a gasping Cassian. She looked down at him, too, feeling nothing but pity in that moment. She’d wanted things to work between them so badly.

Everyone hates you. Nesta slid her hand into Eris’s and a moment later they winnowed, gobbled up by darkness. He didn’t take her straight to the Forest House and she appreciated that. The moment the gloomy gray sky appeared overhead, Nesta sagged against a tree, gasping deeply for air.

Eris went to see his soldiers, offering her the mercy of privacy as she worked to gather herself. Rejecting Cassian had been a pain she hadn’t truly considered until the words slid from her mouth. It felt right, a relief and still it was misery. He should have been her soul bonded partner, the only male in the world who understood her and yet he’d sought to break her, to bend her, to reshape her into something he understood. Into someone he could love.

The darkness roiling in her chest was unleashed and Nesta, so used to tamping it down, lost control of the lid she usually kept clamped tight. Eris returned to fight her bathed in silver flame, sitting against a tree breathing hard. She’d lost control and the magic was consuming her and everything around her. He pulled up burning hot flame as he walked to her.

“Breathe, Nesta,” Eris demanded, his own body made of orange fire. “Right now.”

“I can’t,” she gasped, a choked sob escaping her throat.

“You can,” he replied with all the authority his magic dictated. “It’s yours. You command it. Take a breath, Nesta.”

She did, then, inhaling deeply through her nose and pushing that same air in a controlled stream through her lips. She did this over and over until her heart had settled and the flames began to recede, retracting like claws beneath the skin. Eris put his own fire away as she did, until he was crouched in front of her as little more than the male she’d pledged herself to.

“You’re starting from scratch,” he explained, his eyes searching her face. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of, this loss of control.”

Nesta nodded, biting back the urge to cry. “Did you?” She asked, wondering if he’d admit such a thing.

Eris chuckled. “I’m told I once destroyed the entire east wing of the Forest House. I can only imagine father’s wrath. At least you aren’t destroying the infrastructure.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, climbing shakily to her feet. “Only myself.”

He caught her by the elbow, ignoring how his gray, sleek dogs twined through his legs. “That’s worse, Nesta. I hope you know that.”

Nesta swallowed hard and for the first time in her life, she let herself believe that someone cared if she ate herself alive.

*

Eris had never given much thought as to what kind of husband he might be. There had been the near miss with Morrigan when he was barely more than twenty. He’d spent more time scheming his way out of having to marry the Night Court princess than thinking about what marriage to such a female might be like. He’d wanted someone willing, at the very least. With Rhysand’s bloodied blessing, all that was left was to have the actual celebration. As heir apparent, Eris could not get away with a quick little wedding ceremony. His mother had been gleefully planning for weeks. It was the happiest he’d seen her in centuries and Eris couldn’t take that from her.

Nesta had begun to emerge from her room without coaxing. He’d caught her playing with the dogs when she thought no one was looking or allowing the younglings to chase her through the woods, the sound of her laughter warming his chilled bones. It gave Eris hope he’d chosen well enough, that they might be friends at the very least. He’d heard her on the piano and had come, as though pulled on a string.

She was in a small drawing room, her back to him as her slender fingers moved over ivory keys. She slipped, producing a low note and Eris laughed despite himself, amused by the humorous interruption to her otherwise beautiful melody. Nesta twisted to look at him, eyes narrowed. Guard up.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her eyes tracking him as he came in. Eris jammed his hands into his pockets, suddenly nervous.

“I heard you playing,” he admitted

“Was it up to your standards?” She asked, scooting on the plum cushioned bench so he could sit beside her. Eris glanced sideways at her, poking out an easy melody all children could play.

“Considering how little talent I have, yes. You far outshine me in all things.”

“That must sting,” she teased and Eris nearly fell backwards at the notion. Nesta. Joking. He had never considered what she might be like when she was at ease. He brushed a piece of hair from his eyes.

“Hardly,” he replied dryly. “So long as you still wish to be my wife, I am comfortable to stand in your shadow.”

She snorted with amusement. “I very much doubt that.”

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her skin, wishing very much he could kiss other parts of her. He was waiting to cross that bridge when they married, aware that humans had different customs and that, for all he knew, she’d never been touched in a way that satisfied her. He didn’t want to presume, but she still seemed haunted, even as her face and body began to fill out, the hollows replaced by rounded skin and clearer eyes. He didn’t have the courage to ask her what, exactly, had transpired between her and Cassian, too afraid it would fill him with an icy rage he’d never thaw.

“Your sister has agreed to come to the wedding tomorrow…accompanied by her mate, of course,” Eris told Nesta, pleased to give her some good news. Her spine straightened and too late he realized he ought to have clarified. “Elain and my brother. They accepted the invitation though not the invitation to remain for evening.”

“And Gwyn…Emerie?” Her voice was so small that Eris felt like dirt as he said, “No response.”

She nodded, her joy dulling.

“I knew it was a long shot.”

“It’s possible they didn’t receive the invitations at all or didn’t receive them in time…when I go next I’ll give them your regards in person.”

Eris would have said anything to make Nesta’s cheeks color again, to see warmth return to her body. She relaxed ever so slightly though she said, “Rhys said—”

“Rhys still needs this alliance,” he assured her smoothly. That was the truth, at any rate. Rhysand would need him when he became High Lord and though he might be angry with Nesta now, his temper would cool over the years until they’d convinced themselves that Nesta had never been good enough for Cassian. That the brutish bastard somehow deserved better, as if it hadn’t been the male himself that drove Nesta straight into Eris’s arms to begin with. Eris knew Rhysand and his court would say he and Nesta deserved each other, that they were villains, castoffs, people hardly worth any consideration from better folks, as if Night Court was somehow comprised of those individuals.

Eris knew the truth. Night Court merely replicated the same power structures Eris had been trapped in his entire life. For all their talk of betterment, nothing good had changed in Rhysand’s territory since he’d become High Lord and nothing ever would. A bastard like Cassian could have gone back to his humble beginnings and done something better for his people and instead had become the boot on their throat, the sword of the High Lord. They were content to rule, content with things as they were and while Eris and Nesta reshaped Autumn, Night would remain stagnant.

Eris and Nesta would always know the truth and that satisfied Eris. He wasn’t like Rhysand. He didn’t need the world to know he was a good male. Eris knew who he was and if Nesta knew, too, that was enough.

Nesta nodded. “How did Elain get permission to come?”

Eris smiled wryly. “I’m guessing she made a plea to my brother who interceded on her behalf.”

“Eris?” Nesta said suddenly, facing him fully. His breath hitched as he considered just how truly beautiful she was. It didn’t seem real, that she would have turned her back on a mate for him and yet there she was, mere inches from him. Close enough to smell, to kiss. “What if you have a mate?”

He laughed at that. “I don’t.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Nesta. My equal is sitting before me. If the bond snapped with someone else, she would be lesser, inferior and I would not want her.”

“That’s easy for you to say now,” she murmured. Eris squeezed the hand he still held.

“Yes,” he agreed, hoping she could feel his intensity. “Because it’s the truth.”

“I hold you to that,” she informed him, gently taking her hand back. Eris let her, pleased she’d let him touch her at all. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding?”

“I should hope so,” he replied, rising smoothly. “It would be rude to leave me waiting.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Should I plan on moving to your room or…?”

“Why would you move?” He asked, scarcely daring to breathe at her suggestion. Nesta blinked.

“Because I’m your wife?”

“You’re still allowed your own space.”

She opened her mouth and closed it like a fish out of water. She couldn’t ask for what she needed but Eris got the sense that Nesta was tired of being alone. He decided to take a chance. “If you’re tired of freezing beneath blankets every night, though, you ought to just suck it up and move into my room. That fire has got to be really cold.”

Relief flickered through her eyes. “What would you know about my cold bed?” She taunted. Eris couldn’t help his grin.

“You’ll learn exactly what I mean tomorrow night, Archeron,” he replied. Her cheeks flushed, shooting white hot arousal straight to his groin.

“Perhaps you will,” she murmured before sauntering from the room, leaving Eris with an erection and a gaping mouth.

Eris woke to his mother weeping just outside the throne room where Eris and Nesta would be wed. He paused outside the door, listening.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Beron murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Amera replied softly. “It was a mistake.”

“Your whole fucking existence is a mistake,” he shot back, his words a brand in Eris’s chest. The sound of flesh against flesh forced Eris to step inside, catching his mother holding her cheek, his father’s hand outstretched to strike again. He willed himself to swallow his temper as his mother quickly wiped away her tears. There was no point in calling his father out. He didn’t need a black eye when Nesta came walking down the aisle, her magic still new and chaotic. She might accidentally kill them all.

“Is everything in order?” He asked, turning to look at his father. Beron squashed whatever of his temper remained.

“It is now,” he said, gesturing for his wife. Amera slid beside him instinctively, her face still red from where she’d been struck, but her eyes clearer than they had been a moment before. They were almost believable as a happy pair. His mother pressed a kiss to Beron’s cheek before murmuring, “I’ll check on Nesta.”

Beron watched her go with appreciation and Eris wondered if his father had ever really examined how he felt about his mother. Had the male ever loved her with the same kindness she seemed to love him with? Or had she always just been a possession for him to show off and shelve when no one was around to admire? Eris added his mothers blotchy face to the long list of sins committed by his father, a list that Eris fully intended to make Beron pay for sooner rather than later.

“You sure about marriage?” Beron asked his son, clearly trying to make a joke. Eris resisted the urge to set his father ablaze. Not yet, he reminded himself. Instead he slapped a smile on his face.

“Making Nesta a Vanserra weakens Night,” he reminded his father, parroting his argument for marrying her in the first place. Beron had not been keen on one of his sons marrying a former human but Nesta was cauldron forged and everyone knew the magic she’d wielded in the war.

“And punishing the bastard surely has nothing to do with it,” Beron retorted without malice. Eris’ grin was genuine then. Taking Nesta from Cassian was icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. Eris mentally promised himself to pay Cassian back for whatever he’d done to Nesta to so thoroughly break her into shattered, splintered pieces. Eris recognized that kind of brokenness well; it had been him for longer than he cared to admit. He’d always assumed it was just the trauma of being made that caused Nesta to look like that.

What good was a mate if they didn’t really love you? Eris felt a strange prickle of jealousy imagining the hold Cassian had on Nesta. He’d always have it, for as long as they lived. Eris almost wished that was him.

Almost.

Watching Cassian crumble when Nesta dissolved their bond wasn’t something Eris ever hoped to experience. Nesta might leave him but she couldn’t hurt him. Eris wasn’t sentimental—sure, he didn’t want Nesta to spend her days wallowing in her self-loathing, but he hadn’t brought her to Autumn because he was madly in love with her. Love was a liability, a weakness he couldn’t afford. Nesta was powerful, she was sharp, and the kind of woman he wanted as an ally.

That didn’t stop his stomach from churning with fear when he met Nesta just outside the throne room. She wore a lovely, beaded gown the color of fresh cream, the bodice tight and the sleeves sheer and lacy. She’d foregone her usual braided crown for curls, half of which were arranged sweetly atop her head and pinned together with pearls. She’d painted her mouth a bright red and Eris was unable to take his eyes off her lips, to keep himself from imagining their wedding night and what he hoped would follow.

“Are you ready?” She asked, her steely gray eyes unable to match the warble in her voice. Eris was better practiced at hiding his feelings and vowed he’d teach her to hide behind a carefully crafted mask.

“Always,” he agreed, offering her his arm. She accepted without hesitation, though she gripped the white and gold fabric a little tighter than he would have liked.

“I hope you wanted a big wedding,” he murmured as two guards stepped forward to pull open the heavy doors. “Everyone from Autumn is here…and most other courts as well.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle for just a moment and with a soft whisper, she said, “I did want a big wedding.”

Relief rushed through Eris, grateful at least one thing had gone right without any effort on his part. He wondered, as they walked into the room filled with more people than he’d ever seen in his life, what a human ceremony would have been like and if he should have offered to incorporate elements, if only to make her feel more comfortable. He could have done it discreetly, outside of Beron’s knowledge who almost certainly would have objected.

The Faerie part of him objected. She was Faerie now, whether she liked it or not. He glanced over at her, pleased to see her carrying herself like a Queen and not a timid little mouse. No one could claim he’d bullied her into this marriage; Nesta looked more Autumn than he did, more Fae than he could hope to be.

His eyes swept over the room, catching sight of his youngest brother sitting stiffly beside the middle Archeron, her own brown eyes narrowed on her sister. Nesta didn’t acknowledge Elain at all, though Eris couldn’t be sure she saw Elain. For a moment, Eris wondered if Lucien couldn’t be persuaded into staying. After all, Eris could use an emissary he trusted, and Beron was unlikely to make an attempt on Lucien’s life again, not when having him around would make Rhysand so angry.

Further down the makeshift aisle they went, the sound of his boots and her heels clicking on the wood, all the way to the priestess who stood just in front of the emptied throne Eris hoped to one day occupy. His father and mother stood at the front of the crowd, crowned High Lord and his Lady in the same opulent gold Eris himself wore. His crown was one for heirs, a circlet of burnished oranges and reds, all shaped like the leaves that never stopped falling just outside. His father’s laurel leaves were shining gold, practically glowing with flame and his mother, like Nesta, wore a bejeweled circlet that dropped a pretty orange gem right in the center of her forehead.

Nesta would someday be Lady of Autumn. That thought struck a hammer blow to his chest, rendering him speechless when the Priestess reached for his hand and asked if he was ready to proceed. He could only nod mutely while Nesta murmured her yes audibly, perhaps aware it was her presence that was contested.

The ceremony was simple. The priestess spoke of honor and commitment and love and Eris thought two out of three weren’t bad. She tied a blood red ribbon around their interlaced hands and prayed to the Mother to bless them for eternity. Nesta raised a brow at her words, the gesture almost funny. Eris had to work to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile.

It was the applause of the crowd and Nesta’s expectant eyes that reminded Eris he wasn’t paying close enough attention. Fuck, he thought, lowering his face towards her without hesitation. He should have practiced this so he wasn’t kissing her for the first time in front of a crowd. Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut a moment before his did, perhaps remembering they were supposed to be in love and not open adversaries, their lips touching gently.

And then…less so. Fire roared in his lungs at the sweet taste of her mouth and Eris was greedy. He pulled her against him, surprised by how warm her body felt against his own. He was pleased she kissed him back with just as much hunger, that when they pulled away her eyes were wild with confusion and perhaps a little fear.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Vanserra,” he murmured, catching how her face paled at the words.

His wife.

*

Everything was happening too fast. One minute they’d been walking towards that priestess in the pale blue robe and now everyone was congratulating her and referring to her as Lady Vanserra. It was a far cry from Lady Death, yet it evoked the same discomfort. She wanted to scream in their faces. My name is Nesta!

It wasn’t until Elain’s face appeared in the line of well-wishers that Nesta sagged a little. Elain offered Nesta a hug and then, to the line still gathered, murmured, “I think I’d like to offer my sister some advice for the impending night.”

As if Elain could offer anything she didn’t already know. If anything, Nesta wondered if she ought to give her younger sister some advice, given how Lucien seemed to be practically vibrating at her side.

Eris waved them off and with that, Nesta and Elain walked away, meandering towards other guests while keeping in view of both Beron and Eris.

“I suppose it’s too late to ask if you’ve thought this through,” Elain said with a sigh. “There were other, less extreme measures…”

Nesta arched a brow. “Oh? What were they?”

Elain flushed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s what Feyre keeps saying but I was only allowed to leave when I declared I was desperately in love with Lucien.”

“And are you?” Nesta asked, well aware of the answer. Elain looked over her shoulder at the male still conversing with Eris.

“No…and I might have to marry him if I ever want to leave, too,” Elain confessed softly.

“It was stupid to think we’d have more freedom here.”

Elain nodded, biting her lower lip. “Eris is asking Lucien to stay…I have asked to stay, too. It would be good for you to have at least one ally.”

“You would hate Autumn,” Nesta replied honestly. Elain shrugged.

“I hate Night, too. Unless Lucien is going to take me to Day or Summer, though…”

“You could break the bond too, you know,” Nesta whispered, aware Eris’s eyes were on her back. Elain shrugged, as if it didn’t bother her.

“Maybe…but for now, it’s better to keep it.”

There were no words left to say as a warm hand slid over her lower back. Nesta didn’t need to look up to know it was Eris’s hand, Eris’s spicy bonfire scent, his constant radiating warmth. She hadn’t told him but earlier that morning she’d ordered all her things be  sent to his room. She told herself it was practical; they were married and she’d promised to be his doting wife. Surely doting wives slept beside their loving husbands? It was more practical on her end. Nesta was tired of waking up in the middle of the night freezing cold with aching bones.

“I believe the people would like to speak with you,” Eris murmured, nodding once towards Elain. “There will be more opportunity to speak with Elain.”

Elain’s face brightened at the apparent confirmation that they would remain in Autumn, but Nesta felt dread. With her and Elain in Autumn, and Feyre in Night, it was only a matter of time before Feyre came sniffing around, poking her nose where it didn’t belong. She might not have minded if she knew Feyre would come alone, but Rhysand would come with her and wherever Rhys went, so did Cassian.

She didn’t want to see him again. It had hurt to reject the bond. She hadn’t just been rejecting their bond and the physicality of it or even him. She was rejecting all the dreams she’d had, all her hopes for love and trust and a person who might genuinely understand her. It should have been Cassian. She couldn’t help but burn with jealousy as she watched Lucien walk Elain through the Autumn throne room, introducing her to his parents, to old friends and the place that had once been his home. Even thinking about Feyre and Rhys made her feel jealous—for as much as she hated Rhys, he at least loved Feyre and honored their bond. Of course no one could love her like that, of course her mate only begrudgingly wanted her, she wasn’t the kind of person anyone could love—

“Dance?” Eris asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“What?” She asked stupidly. Eris nodded towards the now emptied floor as their guests filed into rounded tables covered in white.

“Dance, Nesta. Do you want to dance?” He repeated with only a huff of irritation.

“Okay,” she agreed, taking his hand. In a lot of ways, it felt familiar to their dance in the Night Court. The difference was she had a choice this time. She’d been Rhysand’s pawn then, the tasty piece of meat he dangled in front of Eris to ensure cooperation and compliance. She smiled thinking of how, truthfully, this marriage was partially his fault. She’d never have given Eris a thought had Rhys not introduced them.

“Where did you go?” Eris asked when the music began. It was soft, something hopeful and romantic and utterly appropriate for a newly married couple. Eris knew all the steps, could dance with his eyes trained to her face, a cool smirk teasing his lips.

“Don’t worry about me,” she replied smoothly, hating how impressed she was with the grace in which he moved.

“Is that not my job, wife?”

“Don’t call me that, either. I have a name,” she shot back with enough defense that Eris knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Nesta,” Eris amended, settling something still jumping in her chest. Would she always be waiting for Cassian to burst through the door and drag her back to that prison? A new thought entered her mind and Nesta stiffened.

“What am I supposed to do while I’m here?”

Eris frowned, his eyes focused on something over her shoulder. “How should I know?”

She huffed out a sigh. “What job, I mean?”

Eris looked down at her, his eyes warming with amusement. “I didn’t bring you here to work, Nesta. Do whatever you like. You are a Lady of Autumn, free to do as you wish…though I might caution you to stay out of the kitchens.”

She scowled. “Cooking is Elain’s domain.”

“I’m sure Lucien will warn her.”

Nesta’s scowl softened. “Are they truly safe here?”

Eris shrugged slightly. “For now. As long as father believes he’s getting something and hurting another court… especially Night…then yes. Lucien has likely done the math in his head.”

“And decided to remain? Despite everything?”

“Perhaps he wants something as well, Nesta. Don’t underestimate the Vanserras. We can be cunning…when we want. Now look up at me with adoration so when I kiss you, it doesn’t seem out of place. I don’t need anyone asking what we were talking about.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell them I was fawning all over your good looks,” she grumbled though she did as he asked. The music softened, coming to its natural conclusion.

“Yes. Precisely that.”

Eris lowered his mouth to hers, a chaste, unclaiming kiss by all accounts. She hated how it ignited something warm in her gut, how both times she’d kissed him that day left her wanting more. It was sheer will alone that kept her from doing something stupid. 

“You like me,” he whispered with a slick smile. She rolled her eyes and allowed Eris to lead her to the head table. What followed were endless rounds of speeches from preening nobility kissing Eris’s ass. Beron and his Lady, Amera, offered surprisingly affectionate speeches and Nesta wondered if Beron was plotting something or just cared if people thought of him as a good, caring father.
The politics of Autumn reminded her of life among the human nobility. Nesta understood how to handle slimy, two-faced nobility jostling for better position and favor. She understood the mercurial moods of the ruling Lords and the soft spoken violence their Ladies often wielded. As people began to drink and dance, Nesta sank further into the feeling that she could relax. Eris led the conversation, pointing out who was who and introducing her to each new person who came to speak with them. 

There was no room for disrespect. Eris ensured everyone addressed her as Lady Nesta or Lady Vanserra, his eyes sparking with the promise of violence each time another member of his nobility dared to call her Nesta only. It was a test to see just how much Eris’s strange, foreign born wife could be ridiculed and Eris shut it all down, practically daring someone to try again. Nesta almost hoped they did, jutting her chin into the air and looking down at everyone who approached. 

She wished they could have stayed with the other revelers well into the night, but Nesta and Eris were sent off with Cheshire grins and knowing whispers. Of course the Lord wanted the night to get to know his wife better. Nesta slid her hand into Eris’s, the bargain between them thrumming. Eris walked her to her door and too late, Nesta realized he didn’t know. 

“I’ve moved,” she said, keeping the ice in her voice so Eris wouldn’t realize how terrified she was. 

The cocky bastard arched his brow. “Oh? Anywhere I ought to know about?”

She resisted the urge to hit him. “Your bedroom.”

“My lucky day,” Eris crooned, turning on his heel. Nesta didn’t know the way and was surprised to see Eris was merely at the end of the hall. Had he really been so close? He’d never come poking around despite sleeping four doors down? How long until Eris stopped surprising her?

How long until she stopped comparing him to Cassian? 

Eris’s suite of rooms were set up nearly identical to her own, though everything was decidedly much better lived in and far more masculine. Nesta paused in the doorway, catching sight of several daggers casually strewn on a coffee table beside a stack of books. He didn’t light the fireplace though candles burst to life as he walked through the room and if she hadn’t seen his fingers twitch she might have thought they’d done so of their own accord. 

Nesta followed him through the drawing room to his bedroom, surprised to find all her belongings already neatly put away. The room was softer here–the bedding was the same cream color as her own had been, his curtains a sheer brown. Eris had another dagger on the bedside table and Nesta reached for it. Eris hardly flinched at all.

“Do you expect to be attacked?” She asked. Eris reached for the buttons on his vest.

“Hardly. Sometimes I empty my pockets before bed. Where else would I put a dagger when my cock is out?”
She shivered involuntarily. “I don’t know,” she admitted, returning it to the black side table. 

Left in nothing but a shirt and his pants, Eris walked towards her, every inch of him predatory. 

“Do you plan to sleep with me?” Eris asked, his hands relaxed at his sides. 

“Yes,” she admitted, her heart pounding a terrible, loud beat against her ears. He reached for a pin in her hair, pulling it slowly.

“Is that all you plan to do?”

He was offering her a choice, one she could turn down if she wanted. Nesta blinked. Their bargain bound them well enough; she didn’t have to do anything further but pretend. But…but Nesta wanted a marriage better than the one her mother had with her father. Arranged, cold, and loveless, her mother had burned with resentment for all of Nesta’s life. She’d hated that she’d been given to a man who was, in her mother’s estimation, useless and disappointing. 

Nesta had defied what fate laid out for her. Had told Cassian, her Cauldron-blessed mate, no. Had rejected the Goddess of life herself to forge this new path, one where she had a say in what she did. Where only she controlled her life. Nesta had spent her life controlled, pushed and prodded and molded until she no longer recognized the shape of herself. 

Eris was her choice. She knew if she told him no, Eris would back down. Perhaps she could offer him an arrangement where he was allowed clandestine affairs, where he could find sexual fulfillment outside of her body while they maintained the charade of loving husband and wife. After all, was this marriage nothing if not a means to an end? She wanted more. Was she selfish to want it all? Perhaps she couldn’t have it, not after rejecting Cassian…or maybe she could if she was daring enough to take it. She’d been scrabbling and clawing for affection and power since she was born. Why not just take what she wanted?

Eris, unaware of her thoughts, remained motionless as he waited. Nesta was bored of talking and certainly didn’t want to tell him about her feelings. She lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, settling the constantly roiling power in her chest. Eris was power himself and whatever magic lived in her recognized its equal. It’s match.

Eris didn’t hesitate, pulling her against him smoothly, one arm around her back, the other against her jaw. She could feel the scratchy stubble against his face juxtaposed with the softness of his lips. Eris spun her around, pressing her legs against the frame of the bed. There would be no more asking, only taking. That was fine enough for her. She let Eris undo the buttons of her dress deftly, clawing at his own shirt with far less elegance. If it bothered him, he didn’t say. 

Eris ended up pulling it over his head with ease. He continued to kiss her, his tongue demanding entrance in a way that was deliciously aggressive. Nesta was too busy staring at his bare chest to close her eyes and Eris knew it. He pulled back, his lips red and swollen, grinning.

“Live up to your expectations?” He asked, pushing her gently to the back of the bed. She wore nothing but a near sheer ivory slip and when she fell backwards, Eris’s eyes zeroed to the apex of her thighs, on display for his consumption. 

“I expected you to be softer,” she admitted. Eris was so pretty, he had no business being as chiseled as he was. Would Cassian weep, knowing that while he had more bulk on Eris, they were evenly matched when it came to muscles?

Eris dropped his pants to the floor, the timing utter comedy. Nesta couldn’t help but stare at the largeness of him– not as large as Cassian but Eris wasn’t a horse. He was more than respectable and, she thought with mischief, likely easy to fit all the way into her throat. 

“Nothing about me is soft,” Eris told her softly, walking towards her. With trembling fingers, Nesta pulled the shift over her head and tossed it behind him, pleased when his expression shifted from amused arousal to open, hot hunger. 

“Look at you,” Eris murmured, standing between her legs. “Look at the beautiful creature I call my wife.”

Nesta’s cheeks warmed with both pleasure and embarrassment. She felt stripped beneath his gaze, special somehow. She didn’t know how to respond to a compliment that wasn’t asking for anything in return. He didn’t know she planned to suck his cock and he certainly wasn’t asking for it. Nesta reached for him but Eris deftly stepped out of reach.

“Greedy thing,” he teased, sinking to his knees in front of her. “I won’t ask the kind of barbarous attentions you’ve fielded in the past but a gentleman comes last.”

Nesta burst out laughing even as Eris spread her out. “As if anyone has ever accused you of being such.”

Eris chucked, his breath hot against her thigh. “Perhaps not…but I suspect you will, in time.”

She opened her mouth to retort but Eris’s was currently occupied, licking a slow stripe up her cunt before another word could leave her lips. His eyes were locked on her own, a lock of red hair falling against his forehead. Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off him, watching how he used his tongue to torture her with slow, languid circles everywhere but where she so desperately needed him to be. 

It was a slow burn, then. Eris acted as if he had nothing but time. Perhaps he did. She lifted her hips and Eris took what she was offering, pulling her closer against his face with a groan, as though he’d never tasted anything better than her pussy. She arched, one hand clamped to her breast, playing with her own nipples to drag her closer to the peak while Eris alternated between fucking her with his tongue and sucking and nibbling on her clit. Nesta was a sobbing, writhing mess. 

“Eris,” she gasped and that seemed to be the magic words. Did he want to hear her say his name? She meant to taunt him with it but her orgasm peaked through her body, ripping through her with what almost felt like violence. She screamed out loud and Eris withdrew immediately, replacing his mouth with his cock. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, drawing the word out slowly. Nesta could hardly breathe let alone think. He felt good in her still pulsating cunt, his strokes measured, his hands kneading the tender skin of her thighs. “Fuck you’re tight.”

She could only nod, her head rolled to her side. Eris was still standing and some part of her wished he would crawl on top of her and press his body into hers. When was the last time anyone touched her outside of just fucking her? 

She couldn’t ask. Eris had his thumb on her clit, rubbing precise circles as he thrust and Nesta fell apart again, her entire body tightening painfully. “That’s it,” he murmured, his hair wild around his handsome face. “That’s a good girl.”

Why did she like his praise, she wondered, still half stupored from her last orgasm. She reached towards him in an attempt to regain control but Eris caught her wrists and pinned them over her head. 

“Do you want to touch me?” He asked her, his mouth inches from her own. She could taste herself on the lips he brushed over hers.

“Yes,” she whispered, pushing against the restraining he had on her. Eris’s eyes practically rolled back into his head at her resistance, holding her tighter. She’d never been so close to him before; in the light of the bedroom, Nesta realized Eris’s body was riddled with faint scars, travelling from his neck to his torso and ducking around his back. She opened her mouth to demand who had inflicted those wounds but Eris, unaware she’d seen, said, “Earn it. Come again.”

Heat flooded between her thighs and she thought the command itself could have finished her. The pad of his thumb continued to circle her and despite how her body shook, Eris didn’t relent even when sweat on his forehead dripped onto her body. Nesta’s whole body trembled, overtly sensitive even as he drove her up again.

“Eris please–” She sobbed a moment before a third orgasm ripped through her, the pleasure edged in pain. 

Eris released his hold on her and Nesta pulled him in for a kiss. “Come, Eris,” she demanded, holding his head in her hands. Eris nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. She caressed his cheek and Eris shuddered, roaring his release a moment later. He held himself there, eyes closed, the muscles of his arms shaking with the effort it took to keep himself up right. Nesta scooted up the bed, pulling him from her body, and patting the blanket beside her. 

Eris crawled up, collapsing on his stomach. She traced a finger over his back. “Who did this to you?” She asked when his breathing settled. Eris peaked open an eye.

“Surely you could guess,” he responded, his voice thick from exhaustion. 

And to her disappointment, Nesta could. 

After all, bad parents were universal.