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Chapter Text

Pride filled Nesta’s heart as she watched the last spar of the day wrap up. The Valkyrie warriors exiting the ring were glistening with sweat. More and more Priestesses had joined their ranks and Nesta was at peace with the small dent she made in the world. She, Gwyn, and Emerie started cleaning up the training ring once all their students had departed.
“Did the mint leaves help?” Gwyn asked, heaving the split logs to the side to be used as firewood. She was referring to the suggestion to use them as a home remedy.
“A little, I think,” Nesta said. “I don’t think they’re strong enough.”
“Even Cassian can’t get your mind off of your ailments?” Emerie teased, raising an eyebrow. Her two best friends had relentlessly teased her after she’d told them that her favorite remedy to get her mind off of soreness from training was a good fuck from her mate.
“Unfortunately, Cassian’s penis isn’t a certified healer,” Nesta said with a smirk. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have the kind of sex that can cure stomach aches.”
“Too bad!” Emeries chided.
“You haven’t felt well in a week,” Gwyn said, concern on her face. It was true – for several days now Nesta’s body had been run down. Her appetite was gone, she was tired at all hours, and she’d get waves of nausea if she’d trained too hard or eaten too quickly.
“Do Fae get sick?” Nesta asked. It took her friends a moment to realize she was serious.
“We can, yeah. Not really human things like colds or flus, but some have allergies, and there are other things we can contract,” Emerie supplied. Nesta thought it over.
“Well if it gets much worse, I’ll send for a healer,” Nesta said. Gwyn smiled.
“Maybe you’re just pregnant,” Emerie laughed, elbowing Nesta in the ribs. Nesta’s expression dropped for a half of a second.
“She’s on preventatives,” said Gwyn. Nesta said nothing as the trio made their way to the library.

Nesta had been distracted by what Emerie said for the first hour or so they were in the library, even though she knew there was a distinct improbability of her being able to conceive. As she walked through the aisles shelving books, the fear loosened its grip on her. Pretty soon it was forgotten entirely.
Cassian was home before Nesta, which was a shocking surprise as of late. He gave her a huge grin as he sat at the dining table. Deep happiness spread throughout her, but she refused to indulge him.
“Nice of you to show up,” she said taking a seat across from him.
“Thoguht I’d grace you with my presence.”
“Whatever you say, bat boy,” Nesta said. She let her eyes roam over him – slowly. She knew what she was doing.
Cassian took note of her eyes traveling over his broad chest, chiseled stomach, and resting on what she could see of his hips. He folded his hands behind his head and gave her a devilish smirk.
Nesta’s body heated at the sight of Cassian across from her. He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head so that his hips were the focal point. An offering.
“I don’t know if I remember how to do it,” Nesta teased. “It’s been so long.”
“You’re the best at it,” Cassian said. Nesta realized in that moment how much Cassian wanted her lips around him – usually their banter lasted much longer. He wasn’t challenging her, he was too full of desire.
Nesta rose from the table and knelt in front of her mate. His desire was in full view now. She palmed him in a long stroke over his pants and he writhed in response. This would be fun. Her fingers found the laces of his pants and worked out the knots, freeing him. She’d worked him with her hands until his hips bucked towards her face. She smirked and reached behind his head. She tugged at the leather band that held his hair in a knot and released it, quickly using it to tie up her own long locks.
“Fuck, Nes” was all Cassian could manage.
With her hair out of the way, Nesta gripped the base of Cassian’s cock and put her lips round the tip.
She promptly removed him from her mouth and let go. The pressure of him on her tongue made her gag. Twice. Her eyes watered and she begged Cassian realized it was the reflex and not embarrassment (although she was extremely embarrassed).
Cassian lurched forward in shock, fumbling to help his mate. Nesta sat kneeled before him gagging of all things. They’d never had this problem before. Cassian had the problem with other females on multiple occasions, but he’d never been too big for Nesta.
“Shit, babe, are you okay?” Once she recovered she glared up at him. He realized she was fine, if not humbled. Oh this was fantastic for him.
“Don’t. Say. A word.”
“I wouldn’t dare mention how I gagged you with my cock. I thought you liked it rough, Nes, you barely touched me.” He couldn’t help the cocky grin he knew she despised.
“Oh don’t let this go to your head, you Illyrian baby.” Nesta gave him her best doe eyes to try and salvage the mood. “Lean back,” she said, voice as husky as she could muster.
“Don’t even think about it.” Both Cassian and Nesta whirled around to see shadows drifting from around the corner. “This is a dining room, not a sex dungeon,” Azriel reprimanded. Nesta stood up and quickly tore out the leather in her hair, tossing it at Cassian a little harder than she should have. Cassian felt no remorse, he was too entertained by the whole event.
“Sorry, Az. It’s been a while since you flexed your chaperone hat,” he quipped. Azriel rolled his eyes.
“I’m starving,” Azriel said changing the subject and sitting down. He served himself from the House’s elaborate spread – roast, asparagus, fried lemons, and mashed potatoes. Nesta’s mouth watered. She speared some of everything and dug in.
“You like fried lemons?” Azriel asked her.
“I’ve never tried them, they never appealed. They’re delicious,” Nesta said between bites. It wasn’t like Azriel to inquire about her food choices.
Soon enough, the meal ended which saw Azriel retreating to his room and Cassian and Nesta lazily cuddling in bed. Most nights, this was the most Nesta could expect. Cassian’s light snores filled the silence soon enough. He’d been adapting to his Courtier duties the only way he knew how – to work relentlessly until it was second nature to him. If he wasn’t off in some far away land or overseeing progress at Windhaven, he’d either be in the training ring, keeping up strength and appearances, instructing Priestesses, or hanging out with his nephew. Lately he’d been complaining of how few hours there were in the day. Nesta didn’t necessarily feel like an afterthought – she knew how this work fulfilled Cassian. She just missed him. She knew if she voiced this he’d drop what he could to be around more, but she refused to be a pining wife. First of all, they weren’t married yet. Second of all, Nesta’s schedule was anything but bland. She maintained training in the mornings – sessions for herself to exercise her mind as well as sessions where she instructed. She also worked in the library, helped Emerie in the store, and visited Windhaven when Cass couldn’t. She’d also promised Cassian last solstice that she’d make more of an effort with her sisters, which apparently meant weekly meals with both of them.
It was a busy time to be alive, but Nesta knew how lucky she was to be busy. She used to rot all day in poverty, insecure and freezing cold. She never would have pictured savoring moments with those around her.
The thoughts comforted her as she drifted into sleep, wrapping her body around Cassian’s.

Nesta bolted upright in bed. Based on the darkness seeping in from the windows, she could tell it was early morning. The contents of her stomach were churning aggressively. She reached out to her bedside table for a mint leaf to chew on. The smell of mint only made it worse. She sat stiff as a board and focused on breathing until the nausea subsided.
Next to her, Cassian stirred but thankfully stayed asleep despite the commotion. After earlier’s incident in the dining room, Nesta couldn’t take anymore humiliation.
The peak of the nausea passed her, although the subtle taste of acrid bile remained. Nesta carefully got up to retrieve a glass of water.
She and Cassian had left much of their house the same after it was gifted by her brother in law, but she couldn’t help adding some personal touches. She’d added some squashy chairs to their personal library, where she, Emerie, and Gwyn spent much of their leisure time. It was while crossing through the library that a secondary stomach pain struck. She plopped into her favorite armchair as vomit rose in her throat.
No. she thought. Not on her new rug. She willed everything inside her to remain where it’s supposed to be.
“Here,” she heard a voice say. She jolted, just as Azriel revealed himself from the shadows, a delicious looking glass of water in hand. She said nothing, but outstretched her hand. She liked Azriel, and usually gave him the grace of starting the conversation. This time she didn’t feel up to it.
Azriel stood leaning against a nearby wall. The quiet didn’t bother him. He noted Nesta appraising him and noted the hesitation in her face.
“You’ve been ill,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Nesta was aware of Az’s instinctual interrogation tactics – make claims until your interviewee either corroborates or denies and go from there. She wasn’t surprised Azriel noticed she wasn’t feeling good. Besides his gods-given talent for noticing details, his shadows told him what was happening in the house, and he kept especially close tabs on those he cared about. He’d really started to appreciate Nesta in the months since she and his brother mated. Cassian brought a lightness to her and a gentleness that he supposed even her sisters had never known. Accustomed to being an outsider, Nesta noticed when Azriel got too in his head and was always able to draw him out. They had a sort of symbiotic relationship.
“A shame the lemons didn’t help,” he said with a smile. Something clicked within Nesta. Emerie’s joke replayed in her mind. Maybe you’re just pregnant.
A cold sweat shivered down Nesta’s spine. Nausea, sensitivity to smell, fatigue, inhaling foods she’d never cared for before. She couldn’t go down this rabbit hole in front of Az, who was starting to question the silence.
Several beats passed before Az asked, “Do you need anything else?” Nesta composed herself, dragging up her defenses.
“No,” she said. A forced calm masked her voice, but Az noticed her shoulders stiffen.
“You sure?” he prodded. The corner of his mouth quirked up. He didn’t mind providing the extra nudge, knowing Nesta often required more than one offer of help.
Nesta adjusted her posture ever so slightly, maintaining the picture of ease. “I’m fine, I actually think the lemons disagreed with me. Cassian doesn’t need to know.” The words were heavy in the air.
“I wasn’t going to tell him,” Az said. He assumed she would – he knew for a fact that she and Cassian were open with each other. He’d heard more than his fair share of pillow talk from the pair. But Nesta’s request weighed on him. Why would she take special care to keep this from her mate? He wasn’t as overbearing as Rhysand was towards Feyre, and he’d probably be happy to help in any way she’d allow.
“He’s been so busy. He doesn’t need to worry about this.” She waved a hand, feigning nonchalance as she surveyed Azriel just as much as he surveyed her. The Shadowsinger was standing so still it was as if he could vanish in a blink – like if she didn’t stare him down he’d disappear.
Azriel couldn’t – wouldn’t – lie to his brother. But if Cassian didn’t breach the subject of Nesta’s health, Azriel supposed he’d have no reason to bring it up. Even though his shadows felt that she was yielding Cassian’s busy schedule as an excuse, Az knew there was truth to it. It’d been decades since he’d seen Cass so overworked. He also knew that both Cass and Rhys would take on additional tasks for him, sparing him from further burden. Azriel thought this situation much the same – he’d swallow this truth to lighten Cassian’s load.
“Goodnight, Nesta,” he said. He let his shadows linger just a moment before they, too, retreated. As Nesta tiptoed back into her room, she was startled to see Cass looking back at her, grinning.
“Where’d you go?” he asked.
“Thirsty. Didn’t have any water at the bedside,” was all she replied. Her eyelids suddenly felt so, so heavy.
The male in her bed stretched out his arms and wings. “Apologies, I’ll make sure there’s a pitcher of water and a glass from now on. Or maybe I’ll ask Rhys if we could get a well installed,” he said, his smile growing. Although he was more awake than Nesta would prefer, she still noticed the evidence of sleep on her mate. Slow, deep breaths, a cozy, warm temperature, and sleep dusting his waterline. All she wanted was to lay in bed, absorb the heat from Cassian’s perfectly chiseled body, and close her heavy eyes. She didn’t even have the energy to worry about what might be wrong with her.
He beckoned her to him and she obliged, happily slipping under the covers. He wrapped a broad, callused hand under her waist and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck right where she loved. She felt his fingers glide through her long, unbound hair, until eventually flowing past her ends and resting on the swell of her ass. Nesta noticed a familiar pressure pushing against her from behind. The nose that was nuzzling her was replaced by a tongue. Nesta felt her breasts tighten in response.
“It’s 2AM Cassian,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, but it’s you, Ness,” he replied. His hand snaked toward her chest, but she stopped it in its path.
“No, Cassian,” she said. He stopped immediately, pulling back a little to take a better look at his mate. The peaceful sleepy haze cleared around him.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. This was the first time Nesta had ever denied any of his advances. They’d had romps at much more inconvenient times and places.
“Mhm, is it really so hard to believe anyone might resist you for some decent sleep?” his mate replied. He wasn’t buying it. He flipped Nesta over effortlessly and let his eyes assess hers. Physically, she seemed fine.
“Did I hurt you last time?” guilt already started to bubble up.
“No, of course not,” Nesta said quickly, “you should know by now I can handle you. All of you.” Her gaze dropped below his waist for a fraction of a second and he felt his body respond. He was powerless against her. Always.
Ignoring the response of his body, he didn’t give her a smile. He continued to hold her gray-blue gaze. She marked the concern in his eyes.
“Okay,” she conceded. “I might be a little sore.” The lie burned her throat, but that seed of defense eased as Cassian’s’ smirk returned.
“Sure you don’t want me to kiss it better? I’d be more than happy.” She returned his smile and planted a quick kiss on his lips before turning over and closing her eyes. The thought that she didn’t deserve Cassian echoed in her skull until sleep overtook her.

When she awoke she was in the middle of their bed, Cassian’s absence almost palpable. She knew he’d be with the Illyrians. Devlon had been making sure that every spare moment Cassian had was spent in the frigid mountains thanks to his refusal to comply with Cass’s orders to train the females. Sometimes Nesta would join, but today she needed to see a healer. Rhys had wanted his Inner Circle to use Madja but Nesta didn’t want anyone whose allegiance was more towards the High Lord than their patient to oversee her health care.
She slipped on a comfortable pair of leather leggings and a warm sweater before heading out. Without sending for Madja, she’d have to go into Velaris on her own. As she prepared to take on the 10,000 steps to the city, her stomach lurched much worse than last night’s bout. She ran to the bathroom and vomited until nothing was left. As she rinsed her mouth she realized the stairs weren’t an option. She was too weak, and didn’t want to risk being ill on the stairs. Cass had once told her of a time he, Az, and Rhys had gotten sick on the stairs and how putrid it was.
“Azriel,” she said aloud. Those nosey shadows would fetch him if he was home. Soon enough, quiet footsteps entered the room. Azriel stood there, bare-chested and skin flushed. He caught her eyes roaming him over.
“Training ring,” he said as both greeting and explanation. The warrior was still catching his breath. Nesta quickly snapped her eyes to his face and kept them there.
“I need to speak to Feyre,” she said as evenly as she could. As much as she trusted the Shadowsinger, she didn’t want him to know she was off to a clinic. She figured Feyre taking her to Velaris posed a better chance of her transporter not being privy to her final destination. Her sister was so recognizable in the city, it’d be much easier to slip away from her in the crowd to find a clinic than it would be to sneak away from someone who spoke to the shadows.
Az nodded and tugged on his shirt before carefully laying his scarred hands under Nesta’s knees and around her waist before lifting them skyward. The wind felt fantastic in Nesta’s long hair. She turned her face towards the sun and let the warm rays kiss her face.
Before long, the River House came into view. Nesta knew by the hollow gaze in Az’s eyes that he was sending a mental message to his High Lord and Lady about their arrival. Knowing them, it was also most likely doubling as a warning to get decent for company.
Azriel’s landing was impeccably smooth. So was his swift but secure release of her from his arms. Nesta nodded her head as a thank you before stepping through the front doors.
Feyre and Rhys stood in the foyer, seemingly awaiting her arrival. As she felt Az’s presence enter behind her she knew she’d been right about the mental messaging.
“Glad you got the smoke signal –Lady Death has arrived,” Nesta said, knowing the coldness in her tone got under Rhys’s skin. Feyre said nothing, but wore a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Are you available for a trip into the city?” Nesta cut to the chase.
Her youngest sister shifted against her mate whose hand rested on the small of her back. Always protecting. Always around Nesta.
“I could make a trip,” Feyre replied. “As long as Rhys doesn’t mind watching Nyx alone.”
“I never mind being with my son,” Rhys said. “Besides, Cerridwen and Nuala are always available in urgent matters.” He shot Nesta a look, as if letting her know that he could be at Feyre’s side in a heartbeat. Evil Nesta was the constant refrain.
“Wonderful,” Nesta said, completely void of emotion. She turned on her heel, content to end the interaction there. A moment later Feyre joined her outside. Nesta silently offered her hand. Feyre winnowed them into the Artist’s quarters in town. If she hadn’t been so horrifically dizzy and ill from the winnowing, Nesta would have noticed they’d landed near Feyre’s public art studio. But unfortunately, Nesta’s already uneasy stomach was spiraling. As soon as her feet felt secure on the cobblestone, her guts tried to empty again, producing only bile and a terrible cacophony of retching.
“Nesta,” Feyre gasped, rushing forward to gather Nesta’s long hair.
“Don’t tell them,” Nesta choked out between heaves. “Do not message Rhysand.” Her voice was an icy command. Feyre’s hands which had just been re-gathering the hair at the temples of her sister’s head froze. Faltered. But she said nothing, which Nesta knew amounted to an agreement.
Nesta straightened, summoning every bit of dignity in her as passerbyers ogled at the High Lady and her vomiting sister.
“I’ll send for Madja when we’re home,” Feyre offered.
“Not necessary. I’m here to see a healer. I’m not involving Madja.” Nesta knew the words would hurt Feyre. They were laced with an inherent mistrust of Feyre’s Inner Circle. Of her true family, the one Nesta never would fully amount to. She hadn’t planned on Feyre knowing her whereabouts at all. She hadn’t counted on being ill so publicly.
“I’ll walk you to a clinic,” was all she said, her voice revealing no evidence of the hurt Nesta seemed to so easily inflict. Nesta was grateful Feyre asked no follow-up questions. The silence between them gave way to the guilty thoughts that always seemed to lurk in Nesta’s head.
The eddy of dark thoughts only disappeared as she registered that Feyre stopped and motioned towards a front door. “Do you want to be alone?” Feyre asked. Nesta sensed the forced indifference. She opened her mouth to say yes but the words caught in her throat. Something cracked inside her. The defense that was telling her to keep secrets from Cassian and Azriel turned into fear that stuck in her chest. She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t
“Come with me.” The words surprised Feyre. Nesta let the genuine fear rise in her eyes, letting them express what her words couldn’t. Something was wrong and Nesta didn’t know what.

Feyre sat in the corner of the room, present, but not overbearing. The healer had stunning amethyst eyes and beautiful brown skin. Her nails were long and accented the deep wrinkles in her hands. This healer was experienced. Probably not as experienced as Madja, but enough to earn Nesta’s innate trust.
“You’re pregnant,” the healer said matter of factly. “Barely two weeks. I’m surprised you’re having symptoms. Your scent is barely noticeable.” The words rolled out of the healer’s mouth and slammed into Nesta. Pregnant? How? She’d been taking a contraceptive tonic. She didn’t want this
Besides her Feyre gasped. Fuck Nesta thought. She was deeply regretting asking her sister to come.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” the healer said, likely noting their pale complexions and blank expressions. Feyre composed herself and gave the old female one of her most diplomatic smiles. Nesta didn’t bother. The healer paused at the door to say “There are options, Ms. Archeron. Just so you’re aware.” The door closed behind her.
Feyre quickly threw up a block of air, shielding their conversation from any unexpected listeners. She reinforced her mental shields as well. Right now, this was none of her High Lord’s business.
“Nesta,” she started tentatively. “This is good. Cassian will be thrilled. I didn’t know you were trying.” She was optimistically giving Nesta the benefit of the doubt.
Nesta’s head turned, shadows clouding her eyes. It was as if a flame of that freezing, abandoned fire flared.
“We weren’t trying. I’m on a contraceptive drink.” The words struggled to escape from the tight-lipped expression on Nesta’s angular face. Feyre absorbed the info, unsure of what to think. As someone who’d previously taken the medicine, she knew the rules. Every month, same time, the whole drink.
“Did you miss a day?”
“No,” Nesta said. “Well yes. By one day, but Cassian and I hadn’t been together the day I missed it. It shouldn’t matter, I took it the very next morning after the effects expired, and didn’t even have a male to bed the one day I wasn’t protected.”
For the first time in Feyre’s memory, Nesta looked unsure. She wasn’t sure what thoughts were unfurling but she noticed her chest heaving quickly up and down, followed by a tremor through Nesta’s whole body. Tears slipped down her cheeks and broke Feyre’s heart.
Here was her strong, unrelenting sister. The one who’d beheaded the King of Hybern, completed the Blood Rite, and stolen from the Cauldron. She became the picture of undiluted terror.
The need to protect overtook everything else. That spark of power filled Feyre with light, allowing her to take on wings. Her body protested as she tucked Nesta in her arms and took off. Flying wasn’t her strong suit, but she knew she needed to get Nesta far away. That thought propelled her through the sky, pumping past the burning in her shoulders. There would be time once they landed for Nesta to explain exactly what caused such an intense panic.
Feyre flew and flew and Nesta cried and cried for miles until Feyre’s back was protesting so fiercely she worried they’d fall right out of the sky. She spotted a cave tucked in the expanse below. She knew they were headed towards Ramiel. The image of Nesta strong and powerful conquering the Blood. Rite pounded in Feyre’s head. It was early summer, meaning that this year’s Blood rite concluded not long ago, ensuring there would be no rogue Illyrians. Even the monsters seemed to be out of season.
Once they landed, Nesta stood still. She didn’t move or talk or blink. For a moment, Feyre worried she’d been foolish to run away with Nesta. She was out of range to use her Daemati power and she barely knew the area. They had no food, water, or weapons save the dagger Feyre never left home without.
Numbly, without speaking, Nesta shuffled into the nearby cave. Feyre winced as she tucked her wings in tight enough to fit through the mouth of the dwelling.
Watery eyes peered up at Feyre. She was struck by how clearly her sister’s expression reminded her of Nyx. She recognized that vulnerable, innocent sadness that painted her son’s expression after a bad dream now on her sister’s face.
“Nesta,” was all she said as she folded her into her arms. It had been ages since they’d hugged. Nesta’s body was so different since the last time they’d hugged. She was sturdier, with muscle packed on from hours of training with Cassian.
Cassian… he was blind to this. Of his child’s existence, of his mate’s sadness.
Nesta rested in her sister’s arms until the sky turned into a pinkish sunset. She appreciated the silence that Feyre allowed. She appreciated the solid hold around her. She slid her mental shield low enough for Feyre to notice and understand the gratitude.
“Always,” was all Feyre said. “What do you want to do? Immediately, I mean.” Nesta loosed a breath, not ready to face the biggest of her several impending decisions.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to see Cassian.” Feyre’s heart ached for Cass, but she understood that Nesta needed time to think.
“Alright. What should I tell Rhys? He’s been prodding at my shield for hours.”
“I don’t care,” Nesta snapped. In a way, Feyre was glad to see anything but the shell Nesta was sliding into. “Tell him we’re camping. Tell him I’m running away. Tell him nothing for all I care.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could consider them -- consider that whatever Feyre told Rhysand was what Cassian would be told.
Feyre’s eyes were scanning the blue-gray eyes that mirrored her own. Nesta seemed to be searching for a right answer, but she wasn’t sure there was one.
“Tell him I need space,” she started again. Timidly. Gently. “Tell him I’m questioning my relationship. I needed to leave. That you took me away to stay sober.” The words tasted like acid as they left her lips. She had cried enough today. Weak. She pushed that dark, destructive feeling down until it no longer weighed enough to suffocate her.
Feyre’s jaw hung open. “They’ll never believe that.”
“They will. He will,” Nesta countered, referring to Cassian. “Cassian wanted sex last night and I refused him. He knows it wasn’t normal and he knows I broke my sobriety, he’ll figure staying is a true risk. I’ll need to be away.” She felt her heart tumble towards her stomach and couldn’t bring her gaze to meet Feyre’s.
“I didn’t know,” Feyre whispered. She wasn’t asking for more details, Nesta knew, but it felt right to explain anyway.
“A few weeks ago I drank. It was the first time doing so since I went to train with Cassian. My tolerance was so low. Even after one glass I was tipsy. But there was also euphoria. That drink turned into a second. I don’t even remember how many. My memory turned into blackness. I don’t know how the night ended, but I woke up at home. This was the night I missed taking my tonic. It had expired that night. Cassian wasn’t home.”
The truth of what Nesta was saying sank info Feyre like a stone dropped in water. The panic made sense. If Nesta could have only gotten pregnant on a night when Cassian was gone then that meant…
“It’s not Cassian’s’ child.” Feyre’s heart clenched as she whispered the words aloud. Nesta’s face betrayed none of what she was feeling. “I’ll send Rhys your message.”

Chapter Text

Back at the River House, Rhysand was becoming increasingly on-edge. There had been no word from his mate since Nesta had abruptly asked her to Velaris. It would have been different if it were Elain that Feyre’d left with – it wouldn’t have been surprising at all if they got distracted in the city. But the nature of Nesta and Feyre’s relationship had always been down to business. The fact that they’d been gone with no explanation for hours now created a brooding force within Rhys. The power rippling off of him was dark. Angry. He’d kept it at bay while with Nyx, but now that the two-year-old was asleep he didn’t bother stuffing it down.
To his left, Azriel was standing straight-backed against the wall, eyes periodically shifting toward the door. In front of him Cassian was pacing back and forth, occasionally murmuring something about where or why Nesta left.
Rhys’s only incentive to stay polite right now was Elain, who sat quietly with her knees tucked to her chest in the chair on his right.
The door swung open, the group eager to see that the Archeron sisters had returned. To his disappointment, it was Amren’s gray eyes and small frame that stepped in. He’d tried to rearrange his face in time to spare her feelings, but it was clear that his Second sensed that brooding energy.
“Why do you look so pissed?” She lobbed the question at Rhysand, wasting no time.
“My mate’s been missing for hours with no explanation – taken captive by her sister.” The words came out angry, even though he’d tried to smooth the edges.
“She wasn’t taken captive,” Cassian snarled. The anger towards his High Lord was never this sharp. Azriel adjusted his posture as if he was ready to jump between them. Rhys quickly provided Amren all the details that he knew mind to mind.
“Nesta and Feyre took a day off, so what?” Amren challenged, completely ignoring the surge of testosterone in the room.
“It’s the circumstances,” Rhys said between his teeth. He continued to stare down Cassian as he said them.
Elain spoke up, sensing a need to fill in the gaps it appeared neither male was willing to provide.
“Nesta has apparently been acting strange. Stranger than usual. She asked Azriel to fly her here to speak with Feyre. She wanted Feyre to winnow her to the city and they’ve been gone since.”
“Out of mind reading range,” Rhys added.
“Why not have Azriel fly her to Velaris?” Amren asked. “She favors him to Feyre anyway.”
“Don’t know,” Cassian bit out. Amren opened her mouth to say something but she stopped short when Rhys bolted out of his seat.
“The bond,” he murmured referring to his mating bond with Feyre. He’d tried to contact them this way earlier but Feyre mysteriously had her walls up thick.
“Where is she?” Cassian bellowed. Rhys became tight lipped and dropped Cassian’s stare. He suddenly couldn’t look at his brother.
“Rhysand,” Cassian bit out.
“They’re fine” Rhys said. He marked the half inch of relaxation in Cass’s shoulders. He felt Azriel’s stare. “She doesn’t know when they’ll be back. Nesta needs time.” The fire behind Cassian’s eyes raged. He needed to know why his mate fled. He needed to hold her. Feel her. Smell her. Protect her.
“Nesta is...” Rhys fumbled. Cassian’s blood chilled. Rhysand wasn't one to stumble over his words.
“Say it,” Cassian ordered. His voice was low and urgent.
“She’s thinking through her relationship and she needed to be away from alcohol.” Rhys said the words quickly. He’d wanted to put them more gently, but he didn’t see an alternative. He was only able to speak the words if he willed himself to forget who they were hurting.
Guilt crashed through Rhys for delivering the news. He willed himself to look at Cassian and hated what he saw. Cassian’s mouth hung open. Rhys detected a wobble in the 500-year-old warrior’s knees.
“What the hell does that mean?” The anger in Cassian’s voice was no longer there – it was replaced by something much worse. Raw, hollow, blackness.
“Oh Nesta,” Elain said, pain and sorrow lacing the words. Azriel shifted towards her.
“The girl hasn’t had a drink in years,” Amren said aloud. “None of this is adding up.”
“She relapsed,” Elain said softly. Cassian’s eyes shot to her.
“How did you know that? She didn’t tell anyone.”
“Lucien told me… “ her cheeks flushed pink as she looked down. Cassian swore under his breath. Rhys got the sense Elain didn’t like speaking of Lucien when Az was around.
“Explain,” Rhys demanded, again angling his face towards his brother.
“You don’t need to know.” It was hard for Cassian to defy Rhysand’s demands outright, but the golden thread that held his heart together gave him courage. Rhysand judged Nesta far too easily.
“My mate and your High Lady are involved. I need every detail. His voice was steady, but laced with rage. Cassian took a long moment to consider.
“Our High Lady,” Azriel echoed, gentler than Rhys. Begrudgingly, Cassian realized he was cornered. Generals knew when to pick their battles.
“Two weeks ago, Lucien Vanserra returned Nesta to the court, completely out of her mind drunk. I wasn’t home. I was a half day’s trip away on the Continent. Lucien handed her off to Az who sent the shadows to tell me to turn back immediately.” Rhys’s eyes shot to Azriel.
“It wasn’t a concern worthy of ringing the High Lord,” Azriel said darkly. Both him and Cassian hated when Rhys tried to pull rank. Luckily, it was abnormal for him to do. He wouldn’t back down from the flare in the violet eyes that watched him.
“Before you start, this isn’t like before,” Cassian continued. “This was an isolated incident,” something like hope vibrated in Cassian’s words. “Nesta doesn’t even want to drink. I’m not sure how this happened, and she doesn’t know either. She couldn’t even tell me if she wanted, she didn’t remember.”
“And you believe her?” Amren asked. Cassian bared his teeth at her, and even Rhys shot her a warning look. Cassian refused to dignify her with an answer.
“She fell off the wagon, spiraled, and questioned her relationship. Then she ran away to resist temptation,” Rhys said, summarizing.
“I think the drinking is worse than you realized,” Azriel added. Large hazel eyes panned over to Az. “She’s been nauseated all week – I’ve been suspecting it might be a hangover. I’ve tried to ask if she needed anything but asking if Nesta needs help is like talking to a wall. We don’t know it was an isolated incident, Cass.”
Cassian felt as if the floor was falling out from underneath him. He struggled to comprehend his brother’s revelation. Nesta had been ill all week? He cursed himself for not noticing.
“Fuck this, I’m finding her,” Cassian said. Before any of his family could respond, he’d taken off.
The surge of emotion peaked as Cassian faded from view. Anger and sadness and confusion filled him – consumed him. He felt he’d been walking around blind. Shame rolled over him as he replayed his attempt to bed her last night. According to Az, she’d nearly vomited and he didn’t notice, too occupied with her physique. He considered hurling himself out of the sky.
But she needed him right now, and he’d be damned if he let her run away.
He wouldn’t care if she needed help getting sober, he just needed to know. He could personally train her again, cut back on Courtier duties. Rhys would have to deal. He would move heaven and hell to make Nesta happy. He turned inward to find that golden thread as he pumped his wings to carry him further, further, further.
Rhys’s words started to echo in his mind. She’s thinking through her relationship. Those words were enough to nauseate him. If Nesta fell out of love with him, he wouldn’t blame her. It would be his fault. The refrain from his childhood and adolescence sounded through his head: Not good enough.
He flew all over until his eyes seared with pain from fatigue and wind. The only deterrent was the darkness overtaking the sky. He wouldn’t let himself go home, not just out of principle, but because he knew he’d just pace and be inundated with jumpy energy. Better to at least stay outside, stay aware. He perched in a tree, content to stay until dawn broke. Then he’d set out again.

Rhys couldn’t sleep. After Cassian took off, he, Az, and Amren discussed different options, with Elain occasionally adding to the conversation. Time slugged by until eventually the group decided to call it a night. Now he was laying in an overly-spacious bed. He disliked sleeping apart from Feyre under any circumstances. This time, he knew she was isolated and probably uncomfortable. Their bond was quiet, the silence screaming at him. He knew Feyre could take care of herself – she’d proven that time and time again. But he was uneasy without her. His mind drifted to their son, whom she adored with every fiber of her being. He knew Feyre wouldn’t stay away from Nyx for too long. The thought grounded him. His mind drifted towards Cassian, who was probably still in the sky.
He loosed a sigh and sprawled his wings out. Nesta and Feyre were handling this in their own way. They requested space, and he would honor that. The day he felt Feyre’s terror from being trapped within the walls of the Spring Court, he swore he’d always give her the space she wanted. And he supposed that promise would have to extend to the space she needed to provide Nesta. The Night Court would never suffocate them.
He sighed, an idea of a difference he’d be able to make in this mess taking form. He rose from bed, dressed, and went in Nyx’s room. The small child, so cherub-like, so like his mom, laid in a peaceful bundle. Rhys sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed his son’s violet-black hair out of his eyes. Nyx stirred, barely awake.
“Daddy has to go, bud. I’ll be back before lunch. If you wake up before mommy and daddy are home find Aunt Elain.” A small nod was the toddler’s only reply. Rhys planted a kiss on his forehead, and decided the best he could do right now was try to ground Cassian.

Cassian could sense Rhysand approaching before he landed in the tree. Rhysand noted the purple bags under his brother’s eyes and the blood-shot hue. Whether the marks were from fatigue, tears, or the elements Rhys couldn’t say.
“I need to find her,” Cassian said, not meeting Rhys’s gaze.
“You want to find her”, Rhys corrected. Cassian sneered but let him continue. “I don’t think Nesta wants to be found. I think she’ll run further away if you try to get to her too soon.”
Cassian said nothing, he just continued to look towards the East, waiting for the sun to rise .
Rhys thought for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. “You can still feel the bond, Cass. It’s intact.” Although he didn’t know this for sure, by the slight ease in Cass’s expression he knew he was right. His gamble paid off – but this peaked his suspicions. Why was Nesta claiming their relationship was troubled if the bond still warmed his brother?
“She could reject the bond,” the Lord of Bloodshed said. His voice was hoarse. Detached.
“Why would she?”
“Because!” Cassian snapped. For the first time since his arrival, Cassian whirled around to look Rhys in his face. “I failed her. She was suffering right in front of me and I didn’t notice. I missed all the signs I should have seen. I let her down. Like I let my mom and you down.” Silver sheen rose to his eyes. Rhys extended his arm and laid it across Cass’s shoulders.
“Failed me? Cassian, I don’t care if you have issues with my sister in law.”
“Not that,” Cass grumbled. He was regretting losing his filter and letting that long lived pain escape. “Under the Mountain.”
Rhysand straightened. Had Cassian really felt he failed him for those 49 years? It was the other way around.
“You kept Velaris going. You did exactly as I needed you to. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It shouldn’t have been you.”
“You bet your ass it should have been me!” Rhys’s voice rose with the fervor of his words. “I wouldn’t have survived if it had been you or Az or Mor or Amren. If you –” he stopped short, visibly flinching at the thought of his family enduring the mental acrobatics and physical abuse he’d gone through.
“Agree to disagree,” Cassian grumbled. He saw that Rhys meant his words, but he also meant every word of his own.
“It’ll never be your fault,” Rhys said. Cassian had learned every intonation Rhys was able to portray to his people over the years, whether it was forced cruelty at the Night Court or the diplomatic gentleness and candor he let his people see. But Cass had never heard Rhysand’s voice quite so sincere – so loaded with meaning. Cassian rolled his shoulders, not wanting to remain on the subject.
Rhys sensed the discomfort but felt he made his point. “Let’s go home, Cassian. Nesta Archeron cannot be rushed. But you two have always been bound. She’s always found her way back to you.” I will find you again in the next world – the next life. His words to Nesta after the war rung in his head.
“I –“
“She needs space to think through her mistakes. She’s safe with Feyre,” Rhysand interrupted.
Cassian said nothing for several heartbeats. “She doesn’t make mistakes,” he said.
Rhys snorted. “Like hell she doesn’t! She’s more stubborn than us and Az combined. Nesta stole from the Cauldron for fuck’s sake. She’s insane in ways that perfectly match yours. Who is this sweet innocent girl you’re trying to drag home?”
Cassian’s eyes went wide, but Rhys swore he could see the ghost of a smile on his face.
“I’m worried,” was all Cass said.
“You can worry at home. I’ll let you know as soon as they come within mind reading distance.” Cassian grumbled agreement and they took off into the cusp of the sunrise.
Nesta didn’t sleep or bother to eat what Feyre foraged and hunted. Besides feeling so drowned by her current situation, allowing Feyre to provide her meals again hurt like a stab wound in the gut. She willed herself to get up, to be useful, but her body failed her. She was sinking.
It had been two days since they’d fled the comfort of Velaris. Nesta still hadn’t eaten, she was hardly surviving. Feyre couldn’t tolerate it anymore. Her whole life she’d shied away from pushing Nesta, knowing her defenses were sharp as swords, but she knew in her gut that this time was different – Nesta wasn’t shaking this one off on her own.
“Nesta, you are pregnant. I can’t let you starve.” Nesta remained still on the ground, the same vacant expression that haunted her eyes peering out. “This is not the person that tried to bring me back from Prythian as a mortal. This is not the female who saved a nation of people and has danced with death. This is not who Cassian wants.” Hearing her mate’s name seemed to startle Nesta. Feyre sat on the ground next to her and pulled her head into her lap, a level of intimacy the sisters had never had. She reached forward to grab a piece of the roasted rabbit she’d trapped and offered it. To her surprise, Nesta ate it. And then another. A glimmer of hope rose inside of Feyre’s chest. Nesta kept nibbling until they were both satisfied – Nesta’s aching belly rested and Feyre was confident Nesta wasn’t going to pass out.
The silence that surrounded them was a little more content. They both knew they were running out of days they could be here. Feyre fiercely missed her son, but didn’t dare voice it aloud. As much as she wanted to help her sister, she wouldn’t spend another night away from Nyx. And Rhysand.
“We could go back to the clinic. Or even go to a clinic in another court. But you need to tell Cassian.”
“Tell him what? That I’m pregnant but I don’t know who the father is? That I turned out to be the whore he thought he was saving me from being?” The words came out of her mouth easily. Feyre could tell she’d been thinking them often.
“As far as I’m concerned this is Cassian’s baby,” Feyre said. “If you keep it, he will raise it as his own. If you don’t keep it, he still deserves to know you were pregnant. Why we truly left.”
“What if he wouldn’t raise it as his own?”
“Then I’d banish him from the Night Court.” She gave Nesta a playful smile.
“I cheated on him and don’t even remember why I did so – or with whom. I wouldn’t want back a partner who’d lost all sense of fidelity as soon as she’d had booze.” Nesta shifted uncomfortably. Feyre saw the heartbreak written across her sister’s face.
“Then don’t tell him you don’t know.” The words were quiet and conspiratorial. Feyre felt like a traitor to suggest such a thing, to encourage lying to Cass. But Cassian was the best thing that had ever happened to Nesta. Before him, she was a shell – a danger to herself. Feyre decided in that moment that she would keep a horrific secret from her friend if it meant saving her sister. “It’s your choice, Nes.”

Cassian had hardly slept the past 3 days. He stayed close to Rhys, braced for word good or bad on if their partners were returning. He was so exhausted that when Rhysand finally shot him a meaningful look Cassian’s mind lagged a moment to register its meaning. Finally, the relief flooded him.
“Nesta wants to see you in private,” Rhys reported. “She’ll meet you at home, Az will clear out.” Cassian was halfway to the front door before Rhysand even finished his sentence.
Back at the House of Wind Nesta anxiously awaited Cassian. She had worked out with Feyre exactly what she’d say. It didn’t take much to convince her to lie to Cassian, to let him believe it was his baby. They’d even plotted the timeline together – she’d have to insist she was further along than she actually was. Right now, she was 2 weeks. The healer said she was lucky she caught on so early. In another week or so Fae would have been able to scent in on her. Nesta didn’t feel grateful at the time, but now relief swarmed her. If Fae weren’t able to detect babes in their womb so much earlier than humans, there’d be no way for her to pull this off.
As her story now indicated, she was almost 5 weeks along. She thought back to the last time she saw Cassian before she actually got pregnant – it was the night before he left on his two-week trip to the Continent. Nesta had initially worried that this timeline would have allowed for them to scent it on her, but Feyre revealed a solution. Shortly after Nyx was born, Thesan reached out to the High Lady, understanding the trouble Rhys had gone to in order to keep such an impenetrable shield up at all times, concealing her pregnancy. He’d had his people invent a tea that would conceal the scent of pregnancy in anyone, and gave her several samples.
In this make-believe version, Nesta would have found out of her pregnancy around the time of her drunken escapade – she’d claim that the lingering “hangover” prompted her to find out. She’d have then confided in her sister shortly after, finally receiving the tea that would explain why nobody had noticed.
The plan was so thorough, so logical. Nesta knew she’d be able to succeed in spinning this tale, but she resented every piece of it. Making the decision to lie to Cass was worth it, in her eyes. She wouldn’t face an eternity without him.
The decision to keep the baby was much harder. The day she ran away she’d secretly hoped she’d miscarry. She had every intention of having a baby with Cassian one day, but didn’t know if she wanted to create a life with anyone else. As it stood, her options were to terminate her pregnancy and explain to Cassian why she’d done so, or keep the baby and let him raise it thinking it was his own. This was the only sure-fire way to keep her mate, and the truth devastated her.
Nearly the entire time she and Feyre were in the cave, Nesta tried to recount everything she could remember from the hazy night she got pregnant. She’d had a normal morning of training with the Valkyrie and working in the library. She left earlier than usual, as she’d been requested at the Day Court. Helion’s librarians wanted to record as much as they could about Nesta’s experience in the Cauldron and the rise of the Valkyrie. She’d almost denied it, not wanting to speak about the dark, freezing water and endless free fall that was her time in the Cauldron, but she wanted Gwyn and Emerie to be memorialized and celebrated in every court. They deserved the recognition, so she’d weather the questions about the negative in order to highlight her friends.
The libraries in the Day court were enormous and heartbreakingly beautiful. She could sense the history and power and expanse of knowledge radiating across the court. She’d spent two hours with at least five different librarians and historians. Her brain felt like mush by the end. She’d felt successful, though. None of the Day Court members seemed to pick up on the fact that Nesta’s skin was crawling as she relayed every detail. The more invasive their questions became, the harder it was to control her breathing – she could practically feel the hands stuffing her protesting body into the Cauldron.
Once they left, the trauma paralyzed Nesta. The resurgence of this familiar pain ate away at her. There weren’t 10,000 steps here or a training room to distract her racing, aching brain. Even her Mind-Stilling exercises were failing her.
Helion came in to check on progress and seemed surprised to see Nesta staring into space by herself.
“I blocked out another hour,” he said. His tone was pleasant and inquisitive. The High Lord stood before her in his champagne-colored robes. All Nesta could do to reply was shrug. “Come join me,” Helion said.
Nesta was happy to agree, happy to do anything but sit in this room with the same memories scratching at her mind. He gave her a tour of the palace, repeating endless facts, important dates, and beautiful embellishments in the architecture.
“And this,” he drawled, gesturing to the arched marble doorway of the final room, “is the main attraction.” His smile beckoned her forward.
She entered the most lavish bar she’d ever seen. There were barrels lining the walls, Helion’s own reserves of whiskey and wine. Clusters of cushy sofas and high-top tables were all around. There was even a live band playing light music in the corner. The music filled Nesta to the brim, replacing the sting of the memories that still danced in her mind. Nesta was so occupied with the music that she barely noticed when Helion placed a glass of amber liquid in her hands.
“Cheers,” he said bringing his glass to his lips. Nesta paused. She hadn’t had a drink in more than two years. But she wasn’t the same person she was years ago. After her interview experience earlier, she deserved this. She’d take it slow. Nesta drank deeply, liking the burn of the alcohol going down her throat – delicious pain. The buzzing in her mind quieted.
She remembered enjoying Helion’s company, listening to his stories like they were old friends. She snorted as he recounted his crazier evenings, and he snorted at her unguarded reaction. As the night went on her glass was refilled. Once, twice. Nesta eventually stopped protesting or pausing, blindly accepting the liquid that warmed her soul. The night progressed, becoming blurrier and blurrier.
Had she slept with Helion? He’d propositioned her before, and according to Feyre he was a sex fiend. He didn’t have a partner or children. He would have enjoyed her company for just a night. As Nesta dug through her foggy memories, she remembered Helion needing to leave to attend to urgent matters. The problem was she couldn’t remember where he went or for how long he was gone. She had a vague sense that there’d been other people, but the details didn’t crystallize no matter how hard she willed them to.
This part – Helion being the most likely contender of whom she’d slept with – was the only one she didn’t share with Feyre. She let Feyre assume Nesta had a meaningless romp with someone from Velaris at one of her bars. She could only imagine the headaches it would cause if the High Lady knew she’d be producing another court’s only heir. More than this, Nesta couldn’t risk anyone knowing because someone might take her child away, claiming he or she belonged in the Day Court. Would she be forced to leave the Night Court? Would she ever see Cass again if that news came out? She wouldn’t let anyone destroy her family.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a distinct tug from her midsection. She knew Cassian would be here any minute by the tightening of the golden thread inside of her. She slipped into her favorite breathing techniques.
When Cassian entered the door she never felt such joy. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but all she could focus on was his perfect beauty.
“I’m so sorry, Nesta.” The warrior dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed her hips. The pain in his face made her heart seize. You did nothing wrong. “You needed me,” he said.
She ran her hand through his hair. It was knotted and greasier than usual. It was her fault he wasn’t well. She shifted to a kneeling position in front of him and wrapped her arms around him. His hands snaked around her waist and she wanted to ask him to never let go.
“Are you okay?” he asked. At her embrace, he regained composure. Here she was in one piece.
“Yes,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry.” He opened his mouth to protest but she put a finger on his lips. He had no idea the true weight of her apology. “I left because I was scared. The last two weeks I’ve been struggling to understand something. I made a mistake.”
Cassian’s tan skin took on a pale hue. Nesta could sense his heart rate speed up. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cassian said. Her heart clenched, and for a moment she wanted to tell him the whole truth – how she got drunk and pregnant by another and it’s the worst thing she’d ever done. But she couldn’t. Being in his presence solidified the fact that she couldn’t bare losing him. She couldn’t give him a reason to leave her. She felt the golden thread between them sing… or perhaps it cried.
“I missed a dose of my contraceptive tea,” she continued. “It was one day, but it happened to be the day the effects of last month’s tea had completely worn off. I thought it was okay, but two weeks ago, I found out I was pregnant.” She swallowed, acknowledging she dropped the first big lie. “I was trying to work up to telling you but I got cold feet and ran. I found out I was pregnant the day after I relapsed and I felt like shit. I didn’t think I could be a mom or that you would want me to try. And you’ve been so busy…” she trailed off waiting for him to digest all of the lies.
“You want this?” Cassian said. His face and tone were unreadable.
“Yes,” Nesta breathed. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about it.” Cassian’s face cracked into a smile wider than she’d ever seen. He stood them up and spun her around in a bear hug.
“I can’t believe you thought I’d be upset! I’ve been waiting 500 years for this, Nes.” Nesta fought back tears. She didn’t deserve him. “Can I tell Rhys and Az?” Too easily, all was forgiven.
She nodded her head. The lies she fed him were now burning her esophagus. She watched out the picture window as Cassian flew back to the River House to tell his brothers. She could tell by the rhythm of his wing beats how truly elated he was.
“I hate myself,” she said to nobody in particular. Her body broke into desperate sobs as she crumpled to the floor and cradled her face in her hands. It was several minutes before she’d been able to calm her body down. When she was able to pick her head up again, she spotted a glass of water and a warm blanket in front of her. She didn’t deserve the house’s kindness.
“Thank you. But I’ve done something horrible and I can’t let Cassian know.” The room was chilly. The house didn’t reply.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3
Cassian wasn’t sure if it was his wings bolstering him back to the River House, or the overwhelming joy that made him feel weightless. At Nesta’s admission that she was pregnant, all memory of the anxiety that had previously plagued him vanished. Cassian had always pictured himself freaking out if he found out he was going to be a father – the thought had even crossed his mind with Nesta. And even though this pregnancy wasn’t planned, the idea of being a dad didn’t scare him. Cassian had waited and worked and weathered 500 years, and it seemed so clear now that it was all in preparation for Nesta.
Rhysand and Feyre’s home came into view and it wasn’t long before he barged in, noticing the room had grown since he had previously left. Mor, Amren, Az, Feyre, Elain, and Rhysand all sat in the room, looking worried.
“I’m going to be a dad!” Cassian shouted, too excited to work up to the news. The room reverberated in shock for a half of a second, and then broke out in shouts of excitement and congratulations. Mor flung her arms around his neck, Feyre beamed, and Rhysand was shouting about how Nyx was going to have a cousin. Even Azriel cracked a smile.
“So once again you Illyrian babies were ready to bring a literal house down for nothing?” Mor teased.
“Specifically, Cassian was ready to throw himself off a cliff an hour ago because Nesta needed to ‘think through things’ and now they’re having a child,” Amren said.
“Speaking of throwing me off a cliff,” Cassian said, taking the banter in stride, “I better get back before Nesta throws me off of Ramiel.” He said goodbye to his brothers and gave Feyre and Mor a kiss on the cheek.
“Would it be alright if I came with you?” Elain piped up.
“Sure,” Cassian said. He wasn’t sure why Elain had wanted to come – her and Nesta’s relationship had definitely improved over the years, but Nesta had confided in him that it still wasn’t like before. Regardless, Cassian took Elain in his arms and, yet again, set off.
Elain wanted to see Nesta in person to congratulate her. This felt like a milestone for Nesta. Elain had watched her suffer through the years and shut everyone out. There was a time when Nesta would let Elain in (as much as she knew how) but it seemed their bond had faded. Elain was happy that she had Cassian now to open up to.
When it came to picturing their futures, being Made and mated in Prythian was not on any of the sister’s agendas. However, what may be a bigger shock was Nesta falling in true love. Elain had always been the sweet one, the romantic. When engagement was briefly on Nesta’s radar, Elain could tell it wasn’t born out of true love. Nesta would marry to climb the social ladder, and to secure stability for Elain. And now here they were, light years away from the reality she’d pictured. It almost felt like their roles reversed – Nesta was pregnant and with her prince charming while Elain watched from the sidelines, practically barred from falling in love. She had the unfortunate pleasure of having a mate she didn’t want, while the true object of her affection seemed to resist his feelings for her. Over the years Elain knew for certain that Azriel did care for her – in a different way than he cared for Feyre or Nesta. A deeper way. And yet, any time they got too close, he pulled away. They’d been tiptoeing around this for years now. Elain supposed they’d have decades if not centuries to figure it out. But until then, she was caught in the middle. How awful would everyone think her for rejecting Lucien? Plus, she had been rejected by her former lover, and the imprint that pain left on her wouldn’t let her inflict it on someone else.
Nesta looked extremely at ease when the two of them arrived – Elain supposed she’d been glad to tell Cassian of her pregnancy. She didn’t have that pregnant “glow” yet, but she looked happy. A small smile graced her face, and Elain was struck by her sister’s beauty.
“Congratulations!” Elain said, stepping forward to hug her. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t stop the silvery sheen of tears streaking her eyes. Nesta returned the hug, then held Elain’s shoulders in her outstretched arms, appraising her.
“What’s wrong?” her older sister asked.
“Nothing, I’m just happy for you, Nesta.” She could tell her sister didn’t know how to react to such a revelation, so she continued, “How far along are you?”
“Um,” Nesta said. Her eyes closed for a split second as if calculating. “A little over 4 weeks.” Elain got the urge to rest her hand on Nesta’s middle, but resisted.
“Let me get you some tea,” Cassian said, heading towards the kitchen, giving them privacy to talk.
The room filled with silence for a moment. Nesta was inwardly preparing herself for the extent of the lie she must now live. Elain searched for something to say.
“You could have told me, you know,” Elain finally said.
Nesta met her eyes. “I just found out I was pregnant.”
“Not about that. About a couple weeks ago, when you drank. I wouldn’t have judged you.”
Oh. That. Shame nudged at Nesta, and then suspicion. “How did you know that happened? Only Az and Cassian knew.”
“Well, Lucien told me. He’d asked how you were after bringing you home to Azriel.”
Nesta couldn’t hide the shock on her face. She had seen Lucien that night? As hard as she tried, no glimpse of that red hair appeared in her vapor-like memories.
“Lucien brought me home?” the question rolled off her tongue.
“Yes. I – I thought you knew,” Elain said, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“It’s okay,” Nesta said, instinctively searching to protect Elain’s feelings. “I woke up in my own bed. I thought I got home myself…” If Lucien had brought her to Azriel, then that means that Lucien was the last person she was with that night. Her blood chilled as she considered the implication – was it Lucien, and not Helion, that she’d slept with?
As Nesta studied Elain, her angelic features and quiet kindness, the thought evaporated from her mind. Lucien was Elain’s mate. She was pretty certain Lucien was too good of a male to sleep with his mate’s own sister. She shoved the thought down, committing to the belief that this baby was Cassian’s. She prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t come out with vibrant red hair.

Things settled in the weeks since announcing Nesta’s pregnancy. Nesta found herself becoming more and more detached from her lies. It was easy to live in the fantasy where everything worked out as it should. The reminders of her faults and lies became fewer and farther between.
Another unwelcome distraction from the ever-thickening plot that was Nesta’s reality was the brutal morning sickness. For the first week, she tried to keep all her symptoms to herself, the thought of Cassian comforting her provoking a wave of guilt. But pretty soon, she was no longer able to hide how miserable she was. Her nights were interrupted by throwing up and her mornings met her with swollen feet and aching breasts. Adding to her misery was the fact she could barely lay comfortably at night, preventing her from sleeping.
Nesta broke down sobbing in the kitchen one morning, feeling devastated that she couldn’t keep down her favorite meal. Really, it was a culmination of how ill she felt and this was the last straw. Upon waking and noticing his crying mate, Cassian had rushed to her side, first examining her for blood, bruises, and broken bones. He placed her head against his chest and gently asked her what was wrong.
“I can’t eat anything! Everything makes me vomit or want to. I can’t even smell eggs anymore without gagging and running to the bathroom. I can’t sleep, my feet hurt, my breasts hurt, and I’m hungry and nauseous at the same time!” Her voice raised as days and days of pent-up anger and frustration bubbled out of her.
“Let’s go,” Cassian said, not missing a beat. He picked Nesta up and carried her to bed. He lit a candle in her favorite scent and took her feet into his lap. His strong hands rubbing up and down the arches of her foot was heavenly. He kissed the pads of her toes and exited the room for a moment, coming back with a sampling of different foods on a tray. Toast, grapes, a spoonful of peanut butter, and celery sticks. “Does any of this feel good?” Cassian asked. Nesta met his eyes and cried some more.
After successfully nibbling on her tray full of snacks, she was feeling much more herself.
“This didn’t happen,” she grumbled from bed.
“Sure it didn’t,” Cass said as he carried her tray out of the room.
The next several weeks fell into a comfortable pattern. Cassian and Nesta would operate in tandem, Cassian accompanying her despite her protests to the bathroom when she was ill, holding her hair back. He kept up with foot rubs and even graduated to back rubs. He would offer her different options for food, sometimes trying three or four meals before finding something Nesta was able to eat. He took it all in stride.
“This isn’t very warrior-like of you,” Az said one morning sitting down to breakfast. Nesta was sleeping in after a long night of stomach aches.
Cassian snorted, “Of course it is. I’m taking care of my own, that’s all I ever aim to do.”
“You’ve never stepped foot in a kitchen, I would know.”
“Well, I’m trying,” Cass said. His smile faltered, barely perceptible. Unfortunately for him, a Spy Master was in the room.
“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked, all sense of joking gone.
“I’m just waiting.” Cassian blew out a long sigh before continuing. “I love Nesta and I want this, I’m just waiting for it to hit me.”
Azriel’s shadows perked up. “What do you mean?”
“It feels different, what I’m experiencing versus what I saw Rhys experience. He seemed so connected to the child, right from the start.”
“Your child is about the size of a berry. There isn’t much to connect to.” Cass glared at Az, his wings still pulled in too tight. “I don’t think you need to worry. Give it time.” Cassian let the advice wash over him. When he looked up to reply, Az had left.

Velaris was in the throes of mid-summer, flaunting vibrant colors in the flora of the city as well as the art that bedecked it. People seemed to move slower in the Summer, feeling no reason to hasten their lives and miss a moment. However, at the House of Wind, Nesta was wishing time would speed up.
Cassian had joked that pregnancy didn’t agree with Nesta, and she couldn’t agree more. Today was their first official appointment with a healer, and she was anxious to see how it would play out. She knew the details of her story like the back of her hand, down to what she would say was the position Cass took her in at the time of conception. The heat of the city and picturesque landscape did little to comfort her.
She continued to refuse Rhys and Feyre’s offers to send Madja, wanting an unbiased third party. This meant planning their day around traveling to and from Velaris. Nesta was careful to select a different healer than the one who’d informed her she was pregnant. She didn’t want any conflicting accounts.
The healer they were seeing today was male. He was handsome, with black curly hair and inviting musculature. He welcomed them and gawked just a bit when he realized who his patients were. Nesta and Cassian shared a look between them, but were both thankful that the healer had the decency to not bring up any wars, or Kings, or Cauldrons.
What was supposed to be a quick and easy appointment turned into something a little more wicked. While scanning the anatomy of the baby, the healer had paused, redone it, and redone it again.
“It could be nothing, but I’m a little concerned,” he stated, now focusing his attention on the parents-to-be. “The baby is just very, very small. Are you absolutely sure of the conception date?” he asked Nesta.
She offered him a signature once-over, asserting her dominance. “A thousand percent.”
“Then we’ll just have to keep a close eye on the little tyke. Usually I’d ask to see you again in a few weeks, but how about you stay off your feet, try taking in some extra calories, and see me again a week from today.”
His orders were strict but polite. “I’ll tie her to the bed if I have to,” Cassian told the doctor with a wink. He was trying his best to keep the mood light for Nesta’s sake, but worry settled deep in him.
Back at home, Nesta agreed to settle in the library for a while, promising not to get up unless absolutely necessary. Cassian went up to the training ring to expel some nerves. Before long, Azriel met him there.
“Let’s spar,” was all Az said. Cass was sure those loud-mouth shadows had told him to say so, but he wouldn’t decline. Something about the connection of knuckles to bone had always been cathartic to Cassian.
The two elite warriors stepped around the ring, their hits and misses flowing one after another like a dance. Azriel started strong with a solid blow to Cassian’s jaw, but he struck back quicker than anticipated with an uppercut to the solar plexus. They were just about equally matched, both executing punches with perfect form.
The match didn’t result in a knock-out, but did leave them both profusely sweating, bruised, and bloodied.
“The baby is too small,” Cassian said between heavy, panting breaths. Azriel studied him in silence.
“Will it be okay? What can you do?”
“Nesta is supposed to be on bed rest –” Azriel snorted, knowing Nesta thrived on motion. “—and eat more. We’re going back in a week to reassess.”
“Do they know why?” Azriel asked. His mind flickered to Nesta’s drunken debacle. She had been newly pregnant then – had it been a detrimental mistake for their child?
“They didn’t say,” Cassian replied. If his brain veered the same way Az’s did he didn’t let on.
“So does this mean we’re going to have to battle it out up here every day for the next week?” Az asked, knocking Cassian lightly on the shoulder.
“Probably. I’ll get Rhys to take some shifts. He’s overdue for a punch or two.”
Azriel nodded in agreement before retreating in his room. He found himself unable to shake the worry and probability that Nesta had harmed the fetus.
Azriel had never been one who slept easily. Despite being friends with darkness, the still of the night did nothing to quiet his thoughts. He laid awake, feeling the soreness from his fight with Cassian peaking and then fading. The sun was rising soon, he figured he’d might as well start his day and abandon sleep yet again.
Upon looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed bags hanging heavy under his eyes. His hair, which was already scruffier than Rhys’s or Cass’s, took on an extra ruffled look this morning due to his tossing and turning. The bruises on his face were a faint yellow, which probably wouldn’t be noticeable against his tan skin had he not gone pale from lack of sleep. He had to admit – he looked like shit.
He knew he wouldn’t feel better until he got to the bottom of this nagging question. And that’s how his plan fell into place. He went for a run that turned into a fly until he had a faint sheen of sweat across his body. He timed it perfectly, knowing Rhys was arriving soon. He’d caught his breath but maintained the sweat by the time Rhys entered the House of Wind. He was supposed to be having a meeting with Az today about word he’d heard from Lucien, but if Az’s plan were to work, he’d be getting out of that – an added bonus.
Rhys looked Az up and down, obviously noticing the unsightly color and expression on the Shadow Singer’s face. “You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible,” Az said. He took a seat and motioned for Rhys to do the same. The key to pulling off a good lie to get out of working is to pretend you’re up to doing the work.
“This can wait,” Rhys offered, instantly taking the bait. Az was careful with his mental shield, keeping it secure but not suspiciously so. He focused on his fatigue to convey to Rhys’s inner mind he did in fact feel awful.
“It’s fine,” Az said. He let his wings sag ever so slightly.
“No, it’s not. I think you should stay home. I’ll send for Madja, you look like you have a temperature.” Azriel pretended to be insulted, just enough to trigger Rhysand’s mother hen mode. “Don’t give me that, Az. Get to bed. Madja will be here soon.” Before giving him the chance to react, Rhys left the room.
When Madja knocked on Azriel’s door he still looked extremely exhausted, but obviously his fever vanished. Madja did her assessment in silence, knowing after all these years that was his preference.
“You need rest,” Madja said, “but you’ve needed rest for years. All of you.” She gave him a grandmotherly smile as she started packing up her instruments.
“Maybe I need a drink,” Az said, breaching the subject. Madja hardly looked up but nodded in agreement. “I’ll have to ask Rhys to build a glass of wine into meeting agendas,” he continued, putting on his most charming smile.
“Careful,” Madja warned. “Everything in moderation. Rhys’s court tends to live in extremes.”
“Indeed,” Az said, nodding his head. “I’m guessing you heard about Nesta?” Madja looked at him.
“Someone may have mentioned she’d drank herself sick recently.” The old healer studied Azriel.
“I only ask because she’s pregnant,” Az said. “But of course you knew that. Cassian privately asked me if I thought the child was okay. I didn’t know what to tell him.”
Madja considered for a moment. “Nesta is not my patient, but I would say the odds are about even, perhaps leaning more towards high risk. I don’t know how much she had or exactly how far along she was, but certainly there could be long-term effects. Or perhaps nothing will come of it. It’s especially hard to tell for her, given she’s Made.” With that, Madja finished packing and gave Azriel a departing smile. He returned the gesture and was deep in thought by the time she left the home.

Author's Note: Who do you think is the baby daddy??????????

p.s. Really appreciating the interaction with this story! My goal is to upload a chapter a night, but I want to make sure it's still quality work. Might include some shorter, fluffier content here and there :)

Chapter Text

Nesta was going stir crazy without being able to train or work or even walk around when it wasn’t necessary. She had been taking supplements that were helping tremendously with the morning sickness, and was able to eat bigger quantities of food at once. She felt much less miserable, and knew that following the doctor’s orders soothed Cassian – even though she knew her babe was perpetually going to measure two weeks behind.
To Cassian’s surprise, Nesta was the model patient throughout the week. Her only request was that she be brought to the library to be with Emerie and Gwyn. Despite being the only Fae in all of history to achieve not only the highest status bestowed upon Illyrian warriors, Emerie and Gwyn were second-generation Valkyrie. Yet Nesta’s best friends refused to give up working in the library. In a way Nesta enjoyed the stability – her friends were always right where they were supposed to be. The biggest thing that had changed had been Nesta.
Emerie and Gwyn were so happy to find out Nesta and Cassian were expecting. She had thought about telling her friends her secret, but didn’t want to burden them with having to live this lie. Gwyn was in the middle of talking about all the songs she’d teach the babe when the trio was distracted by a familiar crown of perfect golden waves approaching.
Mor walked up to them, as gorgeous as ever. She gave Gwyn and Emerie a bright smile, and looked to Nesta with concern.
“Hey,” Mor said, seeming shy. It was unlike Mor to project anything but confidence. The shift in her usually sunny demeanor had Nesta’s mind racing. “Cassian told me about the baby.” She reached out and closed Nesta’s hands into her own. “The size concern,” Mor clarified, noticing Nesta’s obvious panic.
“Oh, right,” Nesta said, easing. “I really think we’ll be okay.” She gave Mor a small smile, hoping to portray comfort. She and Mor had a tumultuous start to their friendship. Even now, Nesta recognized that Mor accepted her more out of loyalty to Cassian than because she actually wanted Nesta around. Once Cassian had revealed to his family those years ago that they were mates, he’d had a conversation with Mor – he told her he understood her desire to protect him, but loving him meant loving Nesta too. So Mor tried. She tried, and tried, until the walls started to ware down, and something resembling friendship remained between the two of them. Nesta’s favorite moments were those when she and Morrigan would team up on Cass.
“You should be so grateful,” Mor said. Nesta got the sense that Mor was more-so speaking to herself. Her eyes traveled to Nesta’s abdomen, which had just started to grow past its normal state. Something lurked behind Mor’s gaze, and Nesta made a note to ask her about it one day, when they had more privacy.
“It’s lovely to see you, Morrigan,” Gwyn said. Mor looked up at Gwyn, then at Emerie. Her gaze lingered on Emerie’s face for a fraction of a second too long.
“You too, Gwyn. Thank you for taking care of my sister in law.” A smile set beneath Gwyn’s teal eyes.
Emerie remained unusually quiet, prompting Nesta to find an end to the conversation. “I’d better get going,” Nesta said. “I’m actually heading to Velaris to check on the baby.”
“You are?” Mor asked. She knew Cassian was spending the evening at Windhaven, meaning that Nesta was solo for this adventure.
“Yes.” Nesta said. She was actually looking forward to going alone, and it took a lot of arguing with Cassian for him to accept that he’d be better off settling the uprooting war bonds in the mountains. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Mor said, standing taller. “I was supposed to meet with Clotho, but I’m sure Gwyn wouldn’t mind sending her a request to reschedule? I’ll go with you!”
Nesta remembered all the effort Mor went to in order for their friendship to blossom, and then remembered Cassian’s desire for Nesta and his family to truly intertwine.
“Fine,” Nesta said. She could make herself agree, but she didn’t have it in her to be as bubbly as her present company. Mor gave her a smile and hooked her arm through Nesta’s.
“Bye, Ladies,” Mor said. As the pair of them started leaving the library Mor looked over her shoulder, directly at Emerie’s dark, wide-eyed complexion. “You’re drooling, Em,” Mor whispered. The words dripped out of her mouth like honey.
Nesta saw her friend scrambling out of the corner of her eye. She pinched Mor’s arm for disgruntling Emerie like that, but something in her heart smiled a bit.
Mor had made small talk for most of the way to Velaris. It was only once they got in the room that Mor quieted, turning inward.
“It’ll be fine,” Nesta said again assuming her worries were on the baby. Mor examined her.
“I think so too. I know how happy Cass is.” Even though she was speaking of joy, Mor’s expression was full of a dull pain.
“But you’re not?” Nesta prodded.
“It’s not that, it’s just sad, sometimes. I know I won’t be able to have a child, that’s all.” She forced a smile before adding, “So I’m really counting on all my nieces and nephews to turn out okay.”
“How do you know you won’t have a child?”
Mor was quiet. She was contemplating a difficult question, from the looks of it. Nesta gave her a moment to process.
“Because I don’t want to marry a male. I want to spend my forever with a female.”
The revelation didn’t faze Nesta. There had been times when she thought that if she had lived for 500 years, she’d likely try sleeping with women -- this was of course before Cassian forced his way into her heart. Nesta knew there were no words that would console Mor right now, so she offered her hand. Mor took it, a single tear rolling down her beautiful skin. “Nobody besides Feyre knows,” Mor admitted.
“Mor, I have a good sense of your heart – it’s obnoxious and big, and it makes sense that you’ve spent centuries sharing it with everyone. Eventually, you have to live for your own heart.” The words pummeled Mor, surprise at Nesta’s deep kindness the prevalent feeling in the room. “Besides, I have a feeling you’ll still be highly favored no matter whom you sleep with,” Nesta said drily. She didn’t have to specify that she was comparing the Court of Dreams’ preference for Mor over herself (besides Cassian’s of course). There was no way that Rhysand or Cassian would have any change of affection towards their chosen family – she knew Azriel would accept her for who she was as well, but the Shadow Singer had obvious feelings for Mor. “Honestly, Mor, I have only two reactions. One, do not flirt so shamelessly with my friends, and two, perhaps we’ll tell Cassian it’s not fair you’ve only slept with one of us.”
A sly grin crept across Nesta’s mouth. Mor snorted, joy overshadowing the tears.
“Those are the only reactions you had? Not how – different – it is? Nothing about Azriel?”
“Not really,” Nesta replied. “just that I didn’t know you publicly acknowledged Azriel’s unrequited love for you.” After a beat, “We all have our secrets and our reasons, Mor.”
The healer Nesta and Cassian had seen last week entered the room and eyed the females still holding hands.
Nesta sat patiently as tests and scans were performed. At long last, the male before them sat back, his expression frustratingly neutral.
“Ms. Archeron, the baby is still measuring small. The amount of fluid around the baby seems adequate, and nothing else besides its size indicates it may be unhealthy.” He finally smiled, triggering the release of bated breath from Mor. “It seems you’ve just been blessed with a fragile little thing.”
“Try telling that to the father,” Mor huffed. The healer looked at her but didn’t reply. “Oh!” Mor exclaimed, startling the room. “And what about wings, can you see wings? Cass will want to know.”
“No wing buds, no wings. This child will be flightless,” he said.
“Bummer,” Mor said. “But maybe it’s for the best. I’ve seen how Cassian flies with Nyx – it’s frightening.” She looked over at Nesta whose face was fighting to convey surprise.
When all was said and done, the pair walked around Velaris for a while and then headed to the House of Wind. Mor seemed lighter, in a way. The heaviest piece of her soul weighed a little less every time she had the strength to come out. Joy seeped into her as she realized how lucky she was – to have this family, who was whole heartedly accepting. Feyre had promised to have her back and Nesta had treated her no different. The female who could silence a room full of warriors with a single look had shown no trace of the all-too-familiar prickly exterior. Nesta’s joke had made Mor seemed all too normal in this very abnormal life (and maybe she would follow up on her suggestion in a difference decade).

Nesta was laying in bed when she heard the front door. She was tired – exhausted from Mor coming back home and talking her ear off for an hour, but she wanted to stay awake to tell Cassian that his child was healthy.
“Hey,” he said entering the room and leaning down to kiss her cheek. He smelled of sweat and Earth and Nesta marked new bruises on him. “How did things go?”
“Good, really good. Morrigan came with me, actually. The doctor gave us the all clear. Oh, and no wings.”
Cassian felt his mind clear for the first time all day. Thoughts of Nesta’s appointment preoccupied his thoughts throughout the entire duration of Windhaven. He was anxious to get home and see her. When he walked in and saw his mate half asleep on their bed relief washed over him – she was at peace, and had confirmed that all was right with the little thing growing in her womb. He supposed Nesta expected him to be disappointed that their child didn’t have wings, but he was relieved. The chances were small, anyway. Cassian was half Illyrian, giving their child only a fifty percent likelihood of having wings – what was more important was the impact it would have on Nesta. No matter how you looked at it, birthing a baby with wings was entirely more gruesome and painful and risky, and Cassian would never wish that on her. Even though her anatomy had been adapted after Nesta had begged whatever magical force saved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx, Cassian still didn't like the idea of her having to deal with more baby than she has to. In fact, in all his most painful moments, he had trudged forward just for the sake of trying to keep any and all harm away from Nesta. He had always wanted to protect her, even prioritizing her over Feyre, his High Lady, in front of Hybern. Cassian was well aware at how much Nesta had endured both before and after being Made. He had nightmares about losing her – about being forced to attack her on Ramiel. That one in particular made him wake up in a cold sweat. It affected him so much that for months after they returned home he’d gotten rid of all the knives in his room. Now that she was pregnant, he had nightmares about losing the baby, or even her being in pain, which was the common theme for the first few weeks.
He stripped naked and crawled in bed next to her. Her nightdress was sheer, and her hair was falling in her eyes. He unfastened the leather strap in his hair and started gathering her silky strands in his fist. She smiled faintly at him for the small act of kindness. He kissed her lips slowly.
“You deserve good things, Nesta,” he said, touching their foreheads together. He meant that from the bottom of his heart. He raised a hand to the side of her face and held it there. Nesta’s heart fluttered at the gentle touch that was reserved only for her. She rolled her neck to the side, exposing the delicate skin for Cassian to kiss. He first kissed her lips again, then her jaw, then finally made his way down to the side of her neck and collar bone. The heat of his mouth lingered, tenderly kissing and sucking.
After a long moment, he made his way back to her lips. His tongue found its way into her mouth and Nesta immediately felt herself get wet. She nipped his lip which elicited a growl.
“Do you want to?” he asked, his voice husky. Nesta nodded, the electric impulses in her body making her forget how to speak. He leaned her back down against the pillow and helped lift her nightgown over her head. “So beautiful,” he said quietly, looking at her perfect, soft nude form. He was hard but he resisted temptation. His mind darted to sliding into her and feeling her intoxicating grip around him, but Nesta needed something special. He would be slow, careful. He’d cherish and worship her body as deeply and lovingly as he felt about her soul.
“Cassian,” she breathed between deep kisses. He licked her lips and brought a hand to her breast. He’d noticed they’d already grown – a turn on he’d been much smarter than to voice aloud. He rolled her nipples around between his fingers, not as hard as usual. Just enough to send perfect ripples of sensation through every line of her body. He saw her body quiver and lowered his head, taking her breast into his mouth. She whimpered as he sucked and grabbed her other breast with his hand. He felt her hips gyrating beneath him. Gods, this would be hard to draw out.
Cassian switched between kissing, sucking, and stroking her nipples until she was literally dripping wet. His arousal grew in response.
“Fuck, Nes,” he said. She grinned at him and sparks flew in his stomach. He kissed down her abdomen and on the inside skin of her thighs. Nesta was like a drug. She was perfect. He bit down on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh until her hips bucked, then he released and showered her with kisses. His lips traveled higher until he was where he’d been dying to get to.
He used his finger to circle the outside of her entrance before filling her with two fingers. Her back arched and she let out a deep moan. Cassian pumped slowly in and out of her, feeling the inside of her stretch. “Good girl,” he said. With his fingers still wet, he moved them to the apex of her legs, tracing slow light circles. While he did this his tongue mirrored his finger, circling her entrance before plunging in. She was so wet for him. He licked ferociously in big strokes from bottom to top before sliding his tongue into her center. His fingers continued, faster and faster on her clit until she was shaking, cumming on his face. He gripped her hips and wouldn’t let go, letting her ride his face until she was satisfied. The jolts of pleasure slowed and slowed until they finally halted. Her breathing was ragged, her body shaking. She looked at him, her expression absolutely awed.
“That’s my girl,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I forgot my own name,” Nesta said. She still felt her pulse. Everywhere.
“That’s okay, you can scream mine.” That sexy, devilish grin crossed his face. Nesta abruptly sat up, nearly knocking Cass over. Her fingers were tangled in his hair as she kissed him in a frenzy. She pulled at the roots of his hair – hard. He snarled in pleasure. Her tongue was dancing in his mouth, tasting her own body within. She reached down to feel his cock. It was hard and perfect and she needed it in her right now. Without a word, she threw herself back down and spread her legs, opening herself wide – giving all of herself to him.
Their beautiful, slow melding gave her one of the most explosive orgasms of her life – but now she wanted all of him, frantically. He wasted no time slamming into her, filling her. She could cry from how good it felt.
“More,” she yelled bucking her hips in time with his to deepen his entrance. She scrambled to flip over – they had perfected their angles and knew which ones got her screaming in ecstasy. “Cassian – fuck!!” she yelled. He was breathing hard, sweat covering both of them. He’d never moved himself this hard and fast inside of her. He felt her climax building as her inner muscles tightened around him. He folded himself over her, kissing her back before slapping the swell of her ass. She yelped again.
“Headboard – now,” Cass panted. He was seconds away from combusting. Nesta did as she was told, bracing herself for his strength behind her. Once again, their bodies worked in tandem, both peaking at the same time. Nesta savored the feel of him dripping out of her. She rested her head against her forearms, body too numb to even release the headboard in front of her.
Nesta was awake long enough to feel Cassian bundle her into his arm and rest his hand across her stomach. “Every lifetime, Nesta,” he mumbled into her hair. She had a night with no dreams.

Chapter Text

Nesta was nearing nine months pregnant now. Cassian was happier than anyone in the Inner Circle had ever seen him. As for Nesta, the life she never dared to let herself envision was taking shape. Cassian traveled less and trained more. She watched his already exquisite form take on even more muscle, which she didn’t previously believe was possible. The weather cooled and her belly swelled. Just a few months in, Nesta sported a decent sized bump. To her shock, Cassian was ravenous for her.
The first time Cassian tasted Nesta, he understood what it meant to have a religious experience. He awoke daily with an ache against his boxers. Just the idea of Nesta Archeron would bring heat to his body. He didn’t think he could be any more attracted to her – and then she got pregnant.
Her body, already full and curvy, grew. Her breasts grew, causing them to strain against all of her garments. Her hip spread wider. He liked Nesta with a little extra weight. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
What’s more, he finally noticed her scent changed. It was heavier and sweeter now – it was nothing like Feyre’s when she was pregnant. Feyre had embodied more of a jasmine and citrus scent. Nesta smelled so much more grounded – like freshly tilled earth and sweet rain. He chalked the difference up to Feyre being High Lady and embodying more traditional Night Court scents.
He was aware of the extra blood coursing through her body, heightening the effects every time she got wet. He’d taken to ravishing her nightly. If he wasn’t buried in her center, he would throw her legs over his shoulders, enjoying her like a Solstice feast.
The weather outside chilled, now Winter Solstice upon them. The house set up a cozy reading nook for Nesta, complete with blankets, books, and pillows. She was grateful the house seemed to forgive her for her indiscretion.
“Are you almost ready to go?” Cassian asked her. Nesta was snuggled into her makeshift reading nook, gazing out the window at the falling snow. He smiled to himself, seeing her use her bump as a table to lay her half open book on.
“Yes, I can be.” Nesta said. She looked to her mate, something unsaid going between them.
“What is it?” Cass asked.
“Nothing, it’s just nice, watching the snowfall. And it’s nice and warm here.” She turned her head towards the window again, then made as if to get up.
“Wait,” Cassian ordered making it over to her in just a few strides. He scooted her over, nestling close in the nook. He pulled her on his lap and she arranged the blanket so they were both cozy before laying her head on his chest, listening to his heart. “This is what you wanted, right?”
“Just for a few more minutes,” Nesta said. They sat thee in the quiet, enjoying each other’s company.
She and Cassian stayed put for twenty minutes before she acknowledged she had to get going – Feyre and Rhys were hosting the Solstice at their house. She liked that it was a casual affair and put on some comfortable clothes before braiding her hair. Cassian’s own sweater perfectly matched her eye color, a detail she couldn’t help but relish. She also enjoyed the sight of his Illyrian tattoos trailing out from underneath his clothes.
“Do I look okay?” she asked. She had gotten to the part of pregnancy that was constantly uncomfortable, which made her less keen on focusing on her appearance. Most days how she woke up was how she went through the day.
“Stunning,” Cassian said. She rolled her eyes, but knew he meant it.
At the River House, the family was all gathered in the living area. Nesta and Cassian were the last to arrive, their tardiness largely unnoticed on account of the wine that was already freely flowing throughout the room. The couple made their rounds, greeting, hugging, and receiving well wishes for the baby.
“Gifts!” Mor exclaimed. At her command, Rhys made the stacks of gifts appear. Mor gifted Nesta something for the baby – a onesie that was a horrible shade of brownish green. To Cass, she gave goggles, intending for them to shield his eyes while flying. In fact, she had gotten them for Rhys and Az, too. Nesta strained to keep herself from laughing while she watched Cassian’s reaction.
The rest of the gift exchange was nice in a familiar way. Even the awkward exchanges between Elain, Azriel, and Lucien started to lose their bite after all these years. Nesta had quietly (and at times loudly) hoped that Elain would just pick one of the males, so they could all move on. The real event of the evening was due to Mor’s announcement.
Armed with a hefty glass of wine in hand, Mor asked for everyone’s attention, eventually clearing her throat so Amren and Varian would stop necking.
“Have you gathered us all here today to tell us that you got us real gifts?” Cassian asked. The room chuckled in response, but Nesta whacked him lightly on the chest – she had an inclination on what this would be about.
Mor stuck her tongue out, but pushed forward. “You’re going to feel like an ass in a minute,” Mor warned him. “Now, since it’s so hard to get all of us in the same room lately, I wanted to use this to tell all of you something I’ve been trying to say for years now.” She gazed around the room, lingering on Azriel. “Despite my, um, sexual history –”
“Whoa, where is this going?” Rhys interrupted motioning to Nyx, wide eyed looking at his aunt from his spot at the table.
“Hush, Rhys,” Mor spat. “What I’m trying to say, is that those actions were not true to myself. I’ve known this for a long time, but I wanted to formally let you all know that I prefer females, and I intend to live the rest of my life being with a woman.”
She paused and looked around the room. A mix of surprise and kindness surrounded her. “One more thing,” she continued. “There is a specific woman I have in mind when I say I want to be with one for the rest of my life. We’ve been seeing each other in private for a few months. She’s lovely. I think Nesta would agree.” Mor smiled in her direction, but Nesta’s mind was blank.
Suddenly, something clicked into place. “Oh my gods, you’re dating Emerie!” Nesta yelled, jumping out of her seat. She ran to Mor to give her a hug. Sensing the positive direction of Nesta’s reaction, the room collectively eased. “I’m happy for you,” Nesta said. Then, dropping her voice an octave, added, “but I will not hesitate to rip you apart if you harm her - -she’s too special.”
“I know that,” Mor replied, just as quietly. “Besides, I think Emerie would carve me up herself.” Mor gave her a wink that Nesta did not return. In truth, she was happy for the two of them, but she felt it best to let that cool sheet of ice skim the surface for just a moment to let Mor know she was serious about her warning.
The evening was winding to a close. Nesta could hardly keep her eyes open. When she caught Cassian’s eye across the room, he cocked his head to the side, motioning for her to get to bed. As was tradition, the couple stayed in a guest room on Solstice Night, Cassian and Az typically too drunk to safely fly home. She struggled to get up out of the chair – not yet accustomed to navigating the world with the large bump that was attached to her. Cassian barked out a laugh and stumbled over to her.
“You know, we’re going to be at square one with training after the baby’s born,” he chided, helping her to her feet.
“With your big head I’ll be on bed rest for a year after.”
“You’ve never had a problem with my big head before,” the Illyrian replied with a wink. “Come on, Nes, want me to fuck you to sleep?” his voice was a growl. She gave him a shove.
“You know I was fine for a lot of this pregnancy, I think you need to cut me some slack. I only got sick right before you found out.”
“What?” a reply sounded from behind her. She turned around to see Azriel.
“Nothing,” she said, “just remembering when I got sick.”
“Besides when you were hungover, right?” Az said. His voice was neutral, but Nesta thought she saw a hint of something prickly behind his eyes.
“Well, yes,” Nesta said. Shit, she had told them that being hungover and sick for the days following were what prompted her to find out she was pregnant – two weeks before she actually was. She couldn’t believe she was so stupid to forget. She forced a yawn and pulled Cassian out of the room. He was too drunk to really internalize what Az had asked. “Goodnight, Azriel.”
What Nesta didn’t know was that Azriel had a rather illuminating chat with Lucien early that evening. He got stuck next to Lucien for a longer amount of time than he planned. Filling the silence, he decided to ask the Autumn Court alum about his business in the Day Court. There was none.
To his surprise, Lucien’s brow had furrowed. “How do you mean?” he’d asked Az.
“When you found Nesta last summer and brought her home.”
“Oh, that wasn’t from the Day Court,” Lucien said, taking a casual swig of his drink. “I don’t go there much.”
“Where did you two meet up?” the Shadow Singer asked, every sense on high alert.
“The Spring Court, Tamlin said she and him were doing business. I met up with him to let him know that Jurian had set up a new rounding route for his troops and where they’d be on his land. I found her there clearly plastered and said I’d get her to Velaris.”
Azriel could have sworn his heart stopped beating. The shadows were pulling at him, begging him to retreat inward. He didn’t want to believe it, but he felt his evidence was now irrefutable – his suspicion had been peaked months ago when he’d asked Madja about the baby surviving Nesta’s drinking. He had also wondered how Cassian, someone who was trained to notice everything around him, hadn’t noticed that Nesta had been ill and suspected her pregnant. The inconsistencies kept adding up – her scent hadn’t smelled Illyrian now that she was pregnant, and he closed out the night hearing her refute her own timeline.
Despite it being the solstice, Azriel decided he’d better get to work. He would find the solid evidence he needed about what exactly Nesta was lying about.

Chapter Text

Rhys and Feyre had started the tradition of inviting the High Lords of Prythian to enjoy an evening at the Night court a few days after the Winter Solstice, once they had ample time to recover from their respective festivities. After the decades of wars and secrecy that befell Prythian, the High Lord and Lady saw fit the opportunity to unify the people – Rhys also enjoyed mollifying the High Lords’ distaste for his court, knowing that these get-togethers served to neutralize the space. He’d have the home court advantage if they ever needed to convene under more serious pretenses. But until then, he enjoyed watching Feyre light up a room as she entertained the company.
More than that, Nyx got to play with a child his own age – Kallias and Viviane’s babe. It was generally a peaceful, high-spirited time, made better by the fact that Beron and Tamlin routinely declined the invites. The River House was decorated with twinkling lights and icicles, garlands and glitter. When thinking through their home, Feyre had made sure to designate a space to live up to the grandeur that one might expect while entertaining High Royalty. Looking around, Feyre was pretty sure that there was never a time or place in history that held as much beauty than this room. Everywhere she looked, her guests, already with their pristine good looks, wore elegant threads that only accentuated their subjects.
Rhys had hired a live orchestra to play music for the evening, and she had fallen in love with him all over again as he twirled her about the room. Her black velvet gown was classically beautiful, with its high neck but low, draping back that rested just below the dimples of her back. It tapered down her legs then flared around her feet, the mermaid-effect accenting the spins she made across the dance floor.
Nesta of course looked stunning while she danced so effortlessly, the belle of the ball. Even nearing her due date, Nesta was breathtaking in her indigo blue floor length gown. It had a sweetheart neckline and mesh sleeves. The whole thing sparkled with glitter that looked as if starlight was woven into the garment. Feyre looked on as she danced with Cassian, their expressions at odds – hers perfect bliss, and his in deep concentration as he aligned his steps with hers.
“Nesta looks well,” Helion said playfully as he cut in to take Feyre in a dance. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.
“She and Cassian are thrilled to be parents,” Feyre said as she adjusted to the new body holding her. Her sister’s secret gnawed at her.
“Of course,” Helion replied. “I only mean I was surprised to see her step into motherhood so soon.”
“Meaning?” Feyre asked, her defenses flaring. She hadn’t meant to be so direct with Helion, but she knew the male would not take it personally.
“Just that in personal experience, when you’re all too happy to get wasted in another court, parenthood isn’t close behind.” His white teeth seemed to glow in the room.
Feyre’s confusion must have breached the surface. Helion bent down to dip her, the song around them reaching a crescendo, and whispered quietly in her ear, “Did you not know how entertaining my court could be?” If Helion knew of Nesta’s drunken escapade, and claimed it was his court that offered the entertainment, then that meant he was with her sister the night she conceived. And yet he seemed none the wiser that Nesta seemed to be carrying his heir.
Feyre forced a breathy laugh, fighting to return their conversation back to casual. “Excuse me, I think I’ve indulged in enough fun tonight. I need to sit for a moment.” She broke free from his hold without giving him a chance to react. She was about to send a message down the bond to Rhysand, but a flicker of guilt hit her. Was she going to betray Nesta? Her gaze found her sister and Cassian, the picture of love on the dance floor and her stomach knotted.
“A dance?” she turned around to see Azriel in his dark suit, looking just a pinch uncomfortable.
“It’s not a good time, Az,” Feyre started to say.
“A conversation then,” he said. His eyes hardened as he held out his hand for her to take. She obliged. As they began moving, Azriel continued, “You seemed surprised to learn Nesta was at the Day Court.”
“I can never keep track of her,” Feyre said, trying her best to deflect. Azriel raised an eyebrow then spun Feyre. When he caught her hips again to steady her she knew for certain that Azriel knew something was off-kilter.
“What happened?” Azriel said to her, his voice a rich baritone, barely loud enough for Feyre to hear. “I know she was bouncing from court to court that night. I know she’s fabricating something, protecting something, and I know you know.”
Azriel had never taken this tone with her. She’d heard it, of course, hearing him interrogate plenty of times throughout the years. She’d even heard him use it with Rhys, usually when the latter would try to order Az to hold back, protecting his safety. That was the thing about Az, he felt protecting his court, and especially his friends, was his first duty. He didn’t find it fitting of his job description to worry about self-preservation.
“Enough, Azriel.” Feyre’s tone was commanding. She was speaking as High Lady. Despite the anger clearly on his face, Azriel dropped her from his grasp. He studied her expression for a few heartbeats, recognizing she would betray nothing. Without another word, he left.
Feyre and Helion’s conversation sparked Azriel’s curiosity and will to dig into this situation again. He surveyed the room around him, assessing who might have information that would confirm his true suspicion. Just then, he spotted Thesan, the High Lord of Dawn Court and the one who had provided Feyre with that drink to disguise the scent of pregnancy. His gut urged him forward, years of training sharpening his instincts and letting him know when to pursue a lead.
Thesan was conveniently alone, lounging in a feather-stuffed lounge chair. Azriel approached with a refreshed glass of the wine Thesan was nursing. He handed it to him by way of introduction.
“Thanks,” Thesan replied. Az marked his lover watching the two. The Spy Master backed up a step for good measure. “Has Rhysand kept you busy?” Thesan asked congenially.
“Always,” Azriel replied, “but he makes an extraordinary effort to give us the days before and after Solstice off.”
“I heard about your Snowball fights,” Thesan said. He cracked a smile which Az couldn’t help but return.
“Yes, they’re a favored tradition.”
“And am I speaking to this year’s reigning champion?”
“Let’s just say if you have to bet on one of us winning, statistically I’m your best chance. This year can back me up.” Thesan let out a throaty laugh, signaling to Azriel that the conversation was sufficiently warmed. “While we’re whipping snowballs at each other, your court is working on the stuff of dreams. The pregnancy scent masking solution? Incredible,” Az said, feeling it smart to stroke Thesan’s ego. To his surprise, the High Lord’s face faltered.
“If only it worked correctly,” Thesan said, taking a deep drink. Azriel felt something inside of him melt, but wouldn’t let any of it show on his face. He stayed quiet, giving the revelation room to breathe. At his silence, Thesan continued. “I thought Feyre had let everyone know – we discovered the half-life of the solution to be shorter than expected. The dose we gave Feyre in the sample was off, to work effectively she’d need much more. We’re still workshopping it. It’s better, but still not ready for distribution. Feyre will be first to get some,” Thesan said. Azriel couldn’t care less that Thesan seemed to think Azriel judging him for dismaying his High Lady. He set his jaw, anger unfurling from deep within him as realization snapped into place. Nesta was hiding the paternity of her child, and Feyre was helping her, conveniently keeping the message of the solution’s faults private.
All the pieces suddenly made sense – her slip up on the timeline, Cassian not knowing she was ill, Nesta not being truthful about her night in the Day Court/Spring Court, and now an inexplicable gap in time where they would have known she was pregnant, supposedly only covered by Thesan’s solution. With this element out of the picture, it was clear Nesta couldn’t have been pregnant then, and only got pregnant when Cassian was gone.
“Of course,” Azriel managed to say, forcing his closest interpretation of a smile on his face. “Rhys is signaling me,” Azriel lied, excusing himself. Thesan seemed none the wiser.
True to his word, Azriel headed towards the High Lord. But he slowed, catching Nesta sitting atop Cassian’s lap, engrossed in a kiss. His gut twisted, something like disgust and pity unfolding. He had wanted to tell Cassian and Rhys immediately, as he always had done with big news – but he knew that wasn’t smart, not with all the other High Lords here. This was part of being a Spy – weighing when to wait and when to strike. He decided that as soon as the other High Lords left, he’d gather the Inner Circle.

The evening carried on until color started streaking the night sky, transitioning them to morning. Rhysand had offered lodging to all of his guests, but they of coursed refused. These gatherings had gone a long way in bridging trust between the lands, but there were still limits. After all, Rhysand couldn’t blame them, he preferred to spend the nights in his own court as well.
As everyone cleared out, and his family went to bed, Azriel stayed up, not an ounce of fatigue hitting him. He felt wired, plagued with the information that had the potential to shatter his family apart. The sick feeling was only worsened knowing that Feyre knew, at least in part, of the scandal. Had Rhys known? So many question marks danced in Az’s head. All he could do was count down the hours until it was appropriate to summon everyone for a meeting.
The clock struck 10 AM and Az decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He had planned on giving them until noon, given that most of the group hadn’t retreated to bed until 4 or 5 in the morning, but his patience evaded him. He got out of bed, still dressed from the night before and one by one knocked on everyone’s doors, letting them know they needed to meet in fifteen.
Before long, everyone was gathered. Despite being the one to call the meeting, Azriel hung around the perimeter as he usually did. The only one who looked at all stressed was Feyre, perhaps suspecting the direction of this meeting given his interrogation of her while they danced last night.
“What is it, Az?” Rhys asked. Azriel knew his brother was tired by the dark half moons under his eyes, but Rhys betrayed none of it in his tone. He was sensible enough to know that if Az was calling an emergency meeting, it was worth being alert for. Few of the others were taking this as seriously.
Azriel locked his jaw as he saw Lucien and Elain enter at once, both idly talking and in their night clothes. Jealousy warmed his core, steeling him to start the conversation he dreaded.
“Nesta, I know.” These were the only words he said as he held her gaze. He put every ounce of meaning in the phrase. By the absolute slack in her jaw, he knew she understood. Cassian’s arm, lazily slung around her, tightened. Nesta’s mind seemed to be running a million miles an hour as she held Az’s gaze. Cassian was only looking at her.
“Az—” Feyre tried to step in. Azriel looked at her, unable to tamper the anger beneath.
“Feyre, Cassian must know.”
This time, the hesitation came from Cassian, who said, “Az, what is this about? Back off, she’s pregnant.”
“That’s the problem,” Az said quietly, dropping his head to the floor. He saw Cassian’s bright red siphons flare. Rhys was lobbing messages into Az’s head the same time Feyre was. The effect was dizzying and overwhelming. He tried to shoot them a look, signaling them to stop but neither yielded. “Whose is it?” The words were icy as Az spoke them.
Raw, sharp pain cut through Nesta. Her demented, cruel fantasy was unraveling. Had she really thought she could live this lie? Had it really felt that easy? Cassian’s touch, which had always grounded her, now felt repulsive.
Nesta knew all eyes in the room were on her, but she only cared about one person. She turned to look at Cassian, his hazel eyes looking more vulnerable than they ever had. “It’s mine,” Cassian answered for her. He didn’t break his eyes from hers. He didn’t bother looking at Azriel.
It was time. It was time to stop lying. She had made this bad enough. She wanted to reach out to touch Cassian’s face, but couldn’t find the strength. She shook her head, barely perceptible. Cassian stilled, his eyes still on her.
“I don’t know whose it is,” Nesta said. Tears burned her eyes, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of running down her face. She would cry in private. Cassian stood up, letting his hand fall away from Nesta’s waist. She suddenly felt unbearably cold.
“Tamlin,” Lucien said from the edge of the room. Stunned expressions whipped his way – all except Nesta who stared at the floor. Feyre looked wounded.
Rhysand growled, “Anyone but him.” It was as if it was a command. Lucien met his stare, not backing down.
“The night I picked her up from the Spring Court, Tamlin said they had business, but she was already drunk. He wouldn’t let me in the house for a while, saying someone was getting dressed. I… I didn’t think it was Nesta.”
Silence hug heavy in the air. Nesta’s tears of rage turned to embarrassment. She couldn’t help them freely running down her face.
“Does he know?” Lucien asked.
“Not a chance in hell,” Rhysand said.
“He has to know.” Lucien stood now.
“No!” Nesta spoke for the first time since her world broke apart. “He can’t know. This is his heir. He’ll take the baby, take me.” Cassian’s silence cut through the air sharper than any wound his blades could inflict.
“Exactly, it’s his heir -- most likely, at least. He should be able to raise the baby with Spring Court customs!” Lucien’s long-time allegiance to the Spring Court and its High Lord was rising to the surface. The argument sustained for several minutes, Lucien arguing that Tamlin had a right to the child, and the Night Court at large arguing that this was Nesta’s child too, and they didn’t even know for certain that this child would be the heir of the Spring Court.
The arguments went around and around in circles, until Lucien finally said, “I don’t need anyone’s permission. I’m telling him.”
Elain stood up quickly and faced the lone Spring Court supporter. “Lucien, you can’t. You can’t let him take my sister away. Please.” Lucien softened seeing Elain. He looked away and inhaled.
“Elain, I have to tell him. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll marry you. I’ll give us a chance. Just, please, don’t tell Tamlin. Swear to me you won’t.” Feyre and Nesta protested. Elain had let her sisters take on risks for too long. She ignored their dismay, finalizing her offer, “We’ll make a deal. As long as Tamlin doesn’t know Nesta is pregnant with his heir, I’ll marry you.” Lucien held her gaze for a long, long time. Weighing his decisions. Azriel’s blood chilled in his veins as he awaited the answer.
“Okay,” Lucien said at long last. Azriel felt something in his chest shatter. Tattoos of long, weaving vines and twinkling starts appeared on Elain and Lucien’s forearms, sealing this fate.
The room felt suffocating. Nesta’s worst fears came true – in fact, the reality was so much worse than the atrocities she’d dared imagined. Azriel and Lucien had revealed her child’s biological father, the answer being so much worse than she imagined. Cassian knew, and probably hated her. And now, because of her mistakes, Elain was bound to Lucien. Elain had lost her choice in the matter, and it was all Nesta’s fault. She felt the weight of her mistakes pressing down on her. She turned to Cassian, who looked as if he were in physical pain and disbelief.
“I’m so, sorry. I will spend the rest of my life being sorry and regretting what I’ve done to you.” He looked to her face as she said the words and it was all too much. She turned and ran away.
Nesta ran and ran until her lungs burned and she actually feared her child wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Memories of her and Cassian slammed into her. Every time he met her cruelty with kindness, all the times her blood went cold as she thought she lost him. Now she really had. She was no better than the monsters Cassian had spent centuries slaying.
“Filthy creature,” she said aloud. The word hung heavy in the air and it felt like something was pressing on her mind – something foggy and uncomfortable. “I should have died in that Cauldron, or by Hybern, or with the kelpie,” Nesta sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. She let the painful memories flood over her. The horrid time with each near-death experience consumed her.
She let each moment watching her father die drift slowly inside her head. The snap. His last words. She thought about laying over Cassian’s body, sure they were both about to meet their death. She even thought to their time on Ramiel – how Cassian had fought through the mind control and with his last ounce of free-will, stabbed himself instead of her. And this is what she did to repay him?
The misery was not enough for her – she deserved far worse. She willed her worst moments to the forefront of her mind. When she’d gotten to her fight with the kelpie, she could viscerally feel the way its claws came for her, and how it forced its foul tongue down her throat. She tried hard not to gag. The nightmares played on – she knew she deserved this spiral as punishment.
She closed her eyes and felt the chill of water and the kelpies’s golden blond….
Her eyes whipped open. The kelpie had inky black hair. Not blonde. That thing at the back of her mind pressed harder. Memories rolled over her again – of the kelpie’s putrid, rotting skin and green eyes looking down at her. At the thought of its male-hood pushing into her…
Nesta’s eyes opened again and she clamped a hand to her mouth. The memory pressing on her mind burst forward. It was Tamlin, striding into the Day Court unannounced. He forced Helion to leave to take care of urgent business. It was Tamlin who found her, already too drunk to walk straight and suggested she get some fresh air. Tamlin, who took advantage of her drunk mind and got her to agree to listen to him play music at the Spring Court. Tamlin who forced himself upon her while she was too drunk to make memories of it.
Nesta screamed so hard the trees shook. She hated Tamlin – the male who trapped her sister, destroyed his court in a child’s tantrum, and wasn’t even male enough to convince Nesta to fuck him by her own free will. He let her leave his court with Lucien under the impression that she had enough faculties to decide to fuck him. He would never, ever admit that he assaulted her. He would let the world think that Nesta desired him in a drunken night, free of her mate’s watchful eye. And now, Nesta had a piece of him growing with her. Forever entwined with that wicked male.
She would make him pay. Whether or not he knew of this pregnancy thanks to Elain’s sacrifice, Nesta would make him pay.

Chapter Text

Back at the River House, the fallout from Nesta’s secret unfolding was bombastic. Cassian hadn’t said a word, and Azriel was quietly seething, both about Nesta and Cassian’s debacle, and the bond that now was so plainly between Elain and Lucien.
Nobody had gone after Nesta when she ran away. Rhys was busy staring at Feyre, consumed by the revelation that she had known and not told him. They were having a back and forth between their bond, Feyre maintaining her ground and staying loyal to her sister. Rhys had a rebuttal for everything, until Feyre whispered the truth he couldn’t deny:
“You’d do the same for Cassian.” Rhys had yielded arguments, considering if this were true. His affection for Nesta had definitely grown over the years – he’d warmed to her bitter demeanor, but even still, his bond with Cassian was too definite. He would do anything for his brothers. While their bicker ended, Rhys kicked into defense mode, making sure Feyre wasn’t too hurt by Nesta’s choice in whom to bed.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she told him later in their room, once everyone had parted. “Nesta hates Tamlin. There’s no way she slept with him. I wonder if… he hurt her.” The words hung in the room, an air of icy fright behind them. Rhys wondered to himself the likelihood that Nesta bed Tamlin. She was happy with Cassian as far as he knew, and she had been especially hostile towards Tamlin.
The pieces started clicking into place. Feyre felt fury rippling off of her mate. She looked at him, her eyes searching for answers. Rhys was too angry to articulate his hunch, so he opened his shield.
Feyre saw at once what he was inclined to think – Nesta couldn’t have chosen to sleep with Tamlin. Until now, Feyre had assumed the worst of her sister, that she started the night flirtatiously pursuing males, and had lost memory after the fact. Deep shame washed over her. Rhysand was right, it now seemed perfectly clear that Nesta had been out of her mind before even running into Tamlin. Helion’s bits and pieces of story aligned. Bile rose is Feyre’s throat.
“We have to fix this.” The words came out of Feyre’s mouth strangled, her throat feeling too dry to work.
“He will never see that baby. This will never happen again.” Rhys’s words were definite. He had spent half of his lifetime trying to fight for females to be protected, whether through his work at Windhaven or for the priestesses in the library. And despite it all, despite his efforts, Nesta – his family – had been hurt right under his nose.
Mor, being privy to the drama now invading the inner circle, had alerted Emerie that Nesta needed her friends, likely more than ever. Gwyn had found Nesta, her state an even mix between self-hatred and undiluted rage. After a little coaxing, Gwyn had the full story.
“Nesta,” she said reaching her hand to touch her friend’s soft arm. “You have to know this isn’t your fault. Cassian will not leave you.” Gwyn’s attempt at soothing made Nesta’s skin prickle. Deep down, she knew it was Tamlin’s fault entirely, but closer to the surface, shame still burned her. She let herself get drunk. She didn’t fight enough against Tamlin. She missed a day of her birth control. And worst of all, she hadn’t realized the truth, and instead chose to lie to Cassian. His hatred towards her was the punishment she deserved, even still. She didn’t care how much Gwyn and Emerie protested. Nesta swore them both to secrecy – she was prepared to be an outcast among her family. Emerie was not even to tell Mor about the painful truth.
“There’s nothing to do but ruin Tamlin,” Nesta said. She’d spent endless hours plotting how to get away with whatever revenge scheme she’d decide on after the baby was born. She still owed this baby protection – it had done nothing wrong. Besides, when she thought of this baby, she still thought of it as Cassian’s. And wasn’t it? Did his investment -- his words and songs the fetus had heard all these months, the promises and feelings of love Cassian projected – mean anything? Nesta knew that this child, despite its biological parentage, was good. Good for being loved and formed in the womb under Cassian’s influence.
The inner circle had not been this distant for some time. Rhys and Feyre were traveling to other courts, traveling to the Court of Nightmares, to Velaris, and staying up all hours of the night. Cassian was barely getting by, but not willing to let his family in. He spent his daylit hours in the fighting ring with Illyrians, craving the satisfying snap of bone and blood vessels, it didn’t matter whether they were his own. By night, he lay awake, slowly forgetting what it felt like to speak. The house procured glasses of water for him, and at times tried to lay out some of Nesta’s favorite books. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand thinking about her. That’s why he spent all day active, using all mental energy on sparring, thoroughly exhausting his body so when he lay awake at night, it wasn’t long before his brain gave out. He couldn’t spend hours thinking of his mate and his baby – or what he felt was his baby – he preferred it this way, sleep overtaking him before he had a chance to put sentences together in his mind.
If he thought too long about Nesta, his heart would ache. He missed her. Despite what she’d done, despite the white-hot anger that was in his gut, he missed her. He missed her face, her baby bump, her wit. Thinking of her in his arms quelled that heat in his stomach. There was no reality in which he didn’t belong to Nesta. And yet, he wasn’t strong enough to face her. Truthfully, he was embarrassed, worried that he felt the shine of that golden thread much stronger than her. That he was disposable to her. Embarrassed that he’d spent 500 years training to be the Lord of Bloodshed, and was too cowardly to see her, and too pitiful to stop caring about her.
Azriel was suffering in his own right. The Shadow Singer was plagued by intel from his shadows of the developments between Elain and Lucien. She’d sketched a wedding dress. Discussed what kind of flowers would be in her bouquet. Lucien had kissed her on the lips and held the back of her head with his hand. Azriel had dreamt the same scene between Elain and himself many times, switching out Lucien’s pristine, tan hands with his own scarred ones. Each day they grew closer, the upset and the nagging feeling in Az’s head grew louder. He thought endlessly about Elain’s dedication to her sister – how she’d promised herself to Lucien to keep her secret, and he only loved her more for it. He’d watched Elain blossom for years now, from a quiet, complacent girl to a fearless leader, an equitable part of his family. And now, though she’d fought for a better life here, her choice was taken away. He was taken away from her. His shadows, despite all the togetherness they reported, also told him of her weeping to herself each night. Of her whispering his name when she slept. Azriel and her were together in their dreams.
The House of Wind was quiet. Cassian hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone since the news broke. Rhys and Feyre were out and about, even Mor was biding her time between her Courtier duties and seeing Emerie. Amren had been spending an unprecedented time at the Summer Court, not wanting to venture into the weeds at the Court of Dreams. This left Az by his lonesome. His insomnia was not his friend, all but encouraging his negative thoughts to fester. To take over. In the early hours one morning following yet another sleepless night, the thought of Elain walking down the aisle – a picture of beauty in white, flowers tucked behind her pointed Fae ears – solidified in his mind. He couldn’t stand the image of her walking towards a man that wasn’t him. And so, without giving himself time to rethink it, he set off towards the Spring Court. In Elain’s words, as long as Tamlin didn’t know that Nesta was pregnant with his child, their bond remained. It would be cruel, he knew it to be true, but he would tell Tamlin of Nesta’s pregnancy, letting him know of his potential heir – her deal never specified how Tamlin could or couldn’t find out. He’d free Elain, and deal with the rest later. He’d protect Nesta and Cassian. He’d protect the baby. But this would be better – it would have to be.
The floral scents and bright colors of the Spring Court hit Az as he glided through the air. He felt more conspicuous than usual, his dark coloring at odds with his surroundings. The enormous palace that was Tamlin’s home came into view. Trellises of ivy snaked down the walls, and the flowering bushes were overgrown. The sickly-sweet smell of tulips and lilies reminded Az of death – how human custom was to use limitless bouquets of the fragrant things to mask the smell of decay.
He landed quietly and wasted no time stalking to the entrance and entering. Tamlin would know he arrived, introductions a formality lost to the Spring Court before the last war started.
Unsurprisingly, Tamlin was in the foyer. His face conveyed disinterest, his body language infuriatingly lax. Tamlin contrasted against Azriel, whose posture was ram-rod straight and held his wings taut – on alert. Anxiety pulsed through him. He hadn’t run this decision by Cassian or Rhysand or Feyre. He was moving as a rogue agent, only focused on dispelling the truth to free Elain. He hadn’t been totally irresponsible – he weighed the different possibilities Tamlin might throw his way, and was prepared for each one. The High Lord assessed the Shadow Singer, curious, but not invested in why he arrived on his lands. He was blissfully ignorant to the news Azriel intended to declare.
“You slept with Nesta Archeron.” Azriel’s voice was cold and accusatory. He studied Tamlin from head to toe, measuring the reactions that revealed themselves throughout his body. “You got her pregnant. She is almost due with your child. We were just made aware.” Azriel chose his words carefully, not willing to give away too much information. Tamlin’s jaw hung open, shock apparent.
In reality, it was mere moments before Tamlin’s mind caught up, but it seemed to take ages by Azriel’s perception. The High Lord adjusted his posture, suddenly much more imposing. This information brought life to his eyes again. He did not like Nesta Archeron, but his mind was quickly thinking of ways he would have the child to himself. He’d get servants again, a nurse and tutor available 24 hour a day. This child was his family, his heir. Precursory laws were on his side – children belonged to the court they were to rule one day. He could offer customs and history where Nesta couldn’t. If the child inherited his powers, it was his job to oversee its mastery of them. Nesta wouldn’t know where to begin, not having full control over herself in the Fae form.
“You’re telling me this why?” Tamlin asked. He, too, was carefully choosing his words, not divulging any of his plans. “Is Nesta requesting anything from me?” The pesky Archeron sisters again…
“So you don’t deny you slept with her?” Azriel challenged. Tamlin gave a curt nod of his head, confirming everything.
“When will the child be born?” Tamlin asked. The two were set to volley questions back and forth for a while, it seemed.
“Soon,” was Az’s only reply. “I wouldn’t say you’re welcome at the Court, or at Nesta’s side.”
“I intend to be at my child’s side. That’s my right as his or her father.” Azriel restrained himself from grimacing. Best case scenario, Tamlin would have been too disgusted to have a child with Nesta, a common High Fae with questionable powers, and a symbol of the time he lost with Az’s High Lady. This seemed to be leaning towards worst case scenario – a world in which Tamlin wouldn’t walk away, in which he demanded to be present. This was a much more complicated path for Azriel to navigate.
Azriel opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the hairs lining the back of his neck stood at attention. A chill raced down his spine. He listened to the shadows around the room, urgency settling in his bones.
“The baby is coming,” Azriel said. He moved to leave, aiming to head home, to support Cassian – to support Nesta, but Tamlin grabbed him just in time. “I’m coming,” Tamlin said. Azriel rolled his eyes before breaking free. He set to the sky alone.
While Az was at the Spring Court, Nesta was suffering sharp pain across her abdomen. Cramping so severe it threatened to knock her breath away. Gwyn was at her side, rubbing small circles in the back. Nesta refused to admit the baby was coming. She was just over nine months, this was too soon for a Fae baby.
“Nesta, we should call for someone.” Gwyn’s eyes were full of panic and concern for her friend. It was difficult to see Nesta, someone so strong, in so much pain. Sweat beaded across her brow, and she was grinding her teeth.
“This isn’t happening,” Nesta said. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be with Cassian. He’d keep her calm. He was supposed to be the one holding her hand. Her insides burned with the longing she felt for her partner, secondary to the selfishness of the desire.
Nesta doubled over in pain, the cramping feeling like it could tear her in half. A small part of her relished in the pain. It was a few heartbeats before she realized Gwyn left.
Gwyn, for all her shyness, ran as fast as her legs would carry her to the library. To Clotho. Her heart was pumping, but she was on a mission. She wasn’t the person Nesta needed right now. He was likely in the House of Wind. Clotho promised to send for him – somehow, someway.

The gods, the Mother, and the Cauldron above each seemed to be pulling strings, frantically guiding the Inner Circle on their separate journeys. Some semblance of faith and creation was a puppeteer, unbeknownst to any of its puppets. Cassian was rushing to Nesta’s side – she was his only thought, his only reason. Clotho had alerted Rhysand of Nesta’s labor, as he was her quickest means of communication. Upon notice, Rhysand told Cassian and Feyre. The High Lord and Lady were letting the ink dry on their secret weapon before heading to Nesta’s side. Azriel was nearing the group too, the ball of anxiety getting larger and larger with every wing beat. Had he made the right decision? Even Elain was facing her own demons, shock and confusion blanketing her as she lay in the bed she now shared with Lucien. Her tattoo, promising herself to him faded away. Hope bristled against her heart.
Nesta was in active labor at this point, not realizing Madja was on her way. Gwyn knelt beside her, eyes looking between her friend and the door. Any minute now, Cassian should be there – if he chose to show up. Nesta let loose a string of swear words, her body locking up in pain. Her grip was vice like against Gwyn’s hand. Her groans were so loud that she didn’t notice the soft open and close of the door – didn’t notice Cassian, hair hanging down to his shoulders, his eyes locked on Nesta.
When she looked up and saw him, tears fell freely. She reached her arms out to him, no words good enough. She needed to touch his skin, trace his tattoos, be protected by his strength. The urge was primal. He raced to her, folding her into his chest like she was the most precious thing he’d ever handled. She breathed in his scent, closing her eyes. With the exhale came another splitting cramp and she dug her fingernails into his skin.
“Sorry,” she said between clenched teeth fighting to loosen her fingers. He chuckled with his mouth against her hair.
“I think I can stand your fingernails,” he said. She felt a small kiss against her temple. Cassian noticed Gwyn in the corner, tears shining in her eyes. He noticed Gwyn move aside.
Cassian moved behind Nesta, straddling her. He kept his knees up for her to hold and rubbed his thumbs deeply into her shoulders, undoing knots as quickly as they were coming on. They were quiet while she labored, waves of pain seizing and subsiding. He braided her long hair in one of the quiet moments between contractions.
The room filled slowly, first with Madja, thankfully, followed by Mor and Emerie. Azriel arrived but wouldn’t enter the room. Elain and Gwyn stayed kneeling on either side of Nesta.
“It’s almost time to push,” Madja said. Cassian felt Nesta tense so he whispered reassurance into her ears.
Almost time to meet our baby – the words were on Cassian’s tongue, but he restrained himself, an unpleasant hurt filling him. He refocused, zeroing in on Nesta. She threw her head back against his chest and yelled, Madja said words of encouragement. A few moments later, a new little voice filled the world, its cry echoing off the walls.
“A girl,” Madja said, moving quickly to swaddle the baby. Nesta was openly sobbing as her daughter was placed on her chest. Her body shook against Cassian whose eyes stayed focus on the two girls in front of him. When her eyes opened, Nesta swore she saw Gwyn cock her head towards Cassian, signaling Nesta to say something.
“Could we have a moment?” Nesta asked the room once everyone had their fill of ogling the baby. An awkward tension overtook the joy in the room, but everyone obliged, leaving just Cass and Nes. Neither of them said anything, nor looked at each other. Cassian stared at the little girl’s cherub face purposefully. Nesta was afraid to move, to speak, to think something wrong and make Cassian vanish. It felt like a miracle that he was here to begin with, but not saying anything, as she’d learned, was worse. She adjusted the baby slightly, and angled her body to face Cassian. Her arm jolted upward, her hand intending to caress his jawline, but she resisted.
“No matter the circumstances, I shouldn’t have lied to you. I was too afraid of losing you. Every day I have to remind myself you’re not a fantasy. It hurt to think of telling you the truth and knowing I drove you away.” Tears stung her eyes and it felt as if her throat was swelling. Cassian had a similar expression.
“Why did you do it?” Cassian’s question came out in an even tone, no trace of emotion. It was as if curiosity, not anger nor pain, was at the forefront. “Why did you cheat on me?”
Nesta was about to say because she’s horrible, that she didn’t know. But Gwyn’s words echoed in her mind. Nesta, you didn’t choose to sleep with him. You didn’t cheat. Your mind wasn’t there.
She looked down at her baby, knowing that for her daughter’s sake, she would no longer shoulder the blame. “I didn’t.” Nesta said the words with her chin tilted up. Cassian remained still and a tension deep within her eased knowing he didn’t explode in anger. “I was blackout drunk at Helion’s home before Tamlin saw me. I was led back to his Court and he forced himself on me. I didn’t choose this, Cassian.” Saying this aloud felt like being set free. She had never told Cassian about Thomas Mandray’s lingering touch and aggression, but she knew he suspected something close to the truth. She knew he sensed the memories flooding her, but could distinguish that this was much, much worse.
Upon hearing Nesta’s confession, every instinct Cassian had was set on fire. He had to take several breaths to calm himself, his control so beyond himself that he could only envision tearing Tamlin to bloody ribbons. The other part of him felt a dull ache for the pain Nesta endured – the urge to comfort her. The war between these feelings left him still as a statue, still sitting with Nesta between his legs. His siphons, however, were casting a furious red light upon the room.
“Nesta,” was all he managed to say, before he was interrupted by the sound of shouting outside the room. Cassian slickly got out from behind Nesta, now if a defensive pose, his wings stretched wide to block her and the baby. The baby he hadn’t yet held.
The door caved inward, slamming against the wall. Tamlin stomped in, and behind him, Azriel was getting back to a standing position – Tamlin must have landed a lucky blow. Cassian saw his brother reaching for Truth Teller.
“He’s mine, Az,” Cassian snarled.
“My child,” Tamlin said, chest heaving.
“Fuck off!” Nesta yelled from behind him.
“I won’t be leaving without him or her.” The claim Tamlin felt on the baby without even knowing who she was sickened Cassian and sharpened his anger. He flexed his hands.
“Let’s take this outside,” Cassian said. His voice was a scary, ice-like calm. Tamlin made no attempt to move, he didn’t even look at Cassian, but stared through him.
“Legally I have custody over that child. You can’t get out of this, Nesta. I’ve learned from Dear Rhysand how easy this can be – split time from week to week is your best option,” he hissed the words. Cassian nearly lunged.
“Don’t you dare say her name,” Cassian warned. “How did you find out?” A wicked smile warmed Tamlin’s lips and he threw his head back in a haughty laugh.
“Your brother has loose lips.”
Azriel held Cassian’s gaze but did not deny the claim. A new wound tore at Cassian’s heart, but he would tend to it later. Examine it later. Right now, Tamlin was his focus – getting him out of here.
“You have seconds left to leave before I make you,” Cassian ordered. He summoned every ounce of command into his voice.
“Loose lips sink ships,” Tamlin taunted, enjoying the rise he was getting out of Cassian. “Looser than your wife’s legs.”
Cassian could no longer restrain himself, and soon found that neither could Azriel. The Illyrians brought Tamlin down and punches were being thrown haphazardly, technique be damned. Pure, hot rage was propelling their arms forward. Nesta brought her daughter close to her chest and was murmuring stories from children’s books, trying to protect her fragile innocence.
“Get out!” she said to them. Cassian was unable to control himself, landing punch after punch into Tamlin’s chest, face, gut. Azriel heard the plead in her tone and dragged Tamlin outside of the door before closing it. Cassian continued pummeling the High Lord.
“Cassian!” Feyre yelled, suddenly appearing with Rhys by her side. Azriel noticed that Rhysand looked far too clam for the circumstances.
“Cassian, that’s enough,” Rhysand drawled. As he said it he was inspecting the cleanliness of his fingernails. The picture of nonchalance. Cassian didn’t stop, not until Rhys ordered it again, then finally threw a thin shield between them with impeccable aim. Cassian was breathing hard, his nose trailing blood from one of the knocks Tamlin got in. He stared Rhysand down, his eyes erratic.
“Rhysand, he assaulted her. That’s not his baby!” To his side, Azriel felt his heart skip a beat.
“Method of conception doesn’t matter,” Tamlin said, not denying his atrocity, “I have rights to the baby.”
“Oh, but it does matter,” Rhysand said, stepping forward. He stood over Tamlin who remained a bloody mess on the floor. Rhysand relished the sight for a moment before snapping his fingers, procuring a sheet of paper. “According to this Law: Parental Rights, Custody, Visitation, and Heirdom will be stricken from any High Lord who conceives offspring without consent.” Tamlin only blinked lamely at Rhysand.
“That’s not a law,” he challenged. Rhysand laughed.
“I have it right here. Not only did I expedite a Night Court specific version protecting any child conceived without consent but born in the Night Court against their perpetrator parentage, but I have this version of the Law signed by 5 High Lords. That’s majority, the Law rules the land. And wouldn’t you know, it went into effect this morning.”
“You lose. Get the hell out of my court.” The words came from Feyre, who stood with her arms crossed. Tamlin tried to protest, but the magic in that Law was binding. No matter what, that child would not be Tamlin’s heir, so he should move along. He argued that it was still his family, to which Cassian had to be restrained by Azriel.
“You don’t get to bully and force your way to a happy ending,” Rhysand said. “Have you learned nothing?” He placed his foot on Tamlin’s chest as he said the words. The High Lords locked eyes. It was never more apparent how much stronger Rhys was than him. “Now leave the Night Court, and do not return. If you step foot in my Court without my express permission, I will kill you. Mercilessly.” Rhys took his foot off of Tamlin and bobbed his head towards the door. “That’s a promise,” he said before turning around.

Nobody talked about Tamlin, or the paternity of the baby for two days following her birth. Nesta named her Ember. Cassian was attentive. He held Ember while Nesta slept, changed her, and soothed her when she cried. He left Nesta more or less alone, always there to bring her water, snacks, or a wash cloth, but never there how he was before.
“Are we co-parents?” Nesta blurted out one day. Ember had just fallen asleep in her bassinette. Nesta needed to bathe, covered in spit-up, her hair going on day 3 or 4 without being washed.
Cassian took a long pause before answering. “I don’t know how you want me, Nesta. All I know right now is I’m helping you and Ember. I know I love her.” Nesta’s eyes watered, she silently blamed the hormones. “I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t.” His voice was colder here, like he was trying to stifle anger.
“Why would you want us? I ended up being exactly what I set out to be after the War.” Cassian’s jaw set and he walked over to Nesta, cupping her face in his hands.
“Never say that. Never think that. You think I would blame you for being hurt? Nesta he took advantage of you. Even if you didn’t remember but told me anything close to the truth, even if you did cheat on me, I’d more likely spend years trying to figure out how I let you down enough to make you do it. I watched Ember grow with you for months. Tamlin might have shared his DNA but I’m sharing my life with her. That is my daughter.” His words were fierce, but his calloused hands around her face remained gentle.
“Cassian, I don’t want you to be afraid of wanting more for yourself. If I fuck up, don’t settle for me.” Her words were earnest, but Cassian couldn’t help but smile.
“Nesta, you are so much more than what I ever thought I deserved. If you fuck up, I’ll help you fix it. Always. I am so painfully under your spell.” His hands slipped down to her waist, pulling her closer. The deepest part of her soul felt repaired.

*****Epilogue*****

It took a long time for the Inner Circle to forgive Azriel, but they couldn’t remain mad at him, considering he wasn’t the only one who failed to see the reality of Nesta’s situation. Even after Nesta had silently forgiven Az, and had returned to checking on him when she saw him retreating to the corners, he punished himself. The only consolation was that Elain got her choice back, and she chose him.
Ember was four years old now, and she loved trying to keep up with her big cousin, Nyx. Cassian braided Ember’s hair every day, and she followed him to his morning workouts, trying her best to mimic her Daddy’s moves. Ember’s hair was golden blonde. They told her she got it from Auntie Mor, who she adored. Ember had sleepovers with Auntie Mor and Auntie Emerie weekly, which was a relief to her parents, given that they were now busy taking after twin Illyrian baby boys – Sage and Storm.
The season’s chill was finally breaking, giving way to the rising heat of Spring. Nesta had never felt further away from her life before Cassian. Every day she woke up next to Cassian as surrounded by the delightful giggles of their little girl. Ember was Cassian’s in every way that mattered, and by her second birthday, nobody in the Inner Circle seemed to recall her ever belonging to anyone else. She had Cassian’s humor and boldness, but Nesta’s attitude. She had Nesta’s eyes and her pout – features that made it very hard for Cassian to ever say no.
“You’re in for it, man,” Azriel and Rhys often teased him. He rolled his eyes, pretending that he wasn’t putty in her chubby little hands.
And now, they were officially outnumbered. Three children to two parents. Sage and Storm were almost a year old. Nesta and Cas had been trying to conceive, eager to rewrite their pregnancy experience. Both boys had been born with wings, and Cassian was already writing flying lesson plans for them before they could stand.
Feyre was due to give Nyx his sibling any day now. Elain and Azriel were taking it slow, and in no rush to deliver any kids. Elain’s whole life she’d dreamed of becoming a wife and then a mother, but now that her time was nearly limitless, she figured she owed it to herself to explore more, to see what else she can dream about. She was the only one who couldn’t find it within herself to be mad at Azriel – she knew he did what he did for her. Once her bond with Lucien was broken, and she felt her choice restored, it was all too easy to fall into Az’s arms. He was tender, and then sultry. The night she confessed her feelings and her choice in him he took her to bed and made love. Elain had placed her hand on her heart as her and Azriel became one – she felt a new flicker of warm gold pouring over her heart. She looked at Az, and knew he felt it too. They mated. She spent the next several hours in his arms.
Things within Prythian and beyond were not perfect – they never would be. But the Court of Dreams was fulfilled, peaceful, and growing. Nesta and Feyre were creating a new generation. Rhysand and Feyre kept themselves busy governing their court and parenting Nyx. Nesta was teaching her children the importance of helping others – of reaching out your hand. She read to them at bed time and let Cassian tire them out with small wooden weapons on the weekends. The parts of Nesta that were prickly and hard to crack open softened. She no longer feared to look at herself in the mirror, half expecting to see a monster. She saw herself – her high cheekbones, her long hair. Her sister’s eyes – her daughter’s eyes. She saw a mom, a Valkyrie. Someone who was needed. Someone who was wanted.
She thought, maybe one day, she’ll stop feeling surprised when she likes what she sees.