Chapter Text
Nesta sighed as she cast her eyes around the room, taking in the delegates as they piled into Vassa and Jurian’s manor. It was the first of many meetings between fae and humans in the effort to rebuild the wall, to re-establish relations that didn’t end in another war. The Night Court had unofficially taken it upon themselves to lead the effort, given her and her sisters’ special circumstances, and Rhys had asked her personally for her assistance, citing her ability to play the political game as well as he could.
A few of the other Courts had sent representatives as well, while others, like Autumn and Spring, had ignored the meetings entirely. The humans, meanwhile, had shown up with all sorts of iron trinkets, nervous and skeptical as they kept to their individual groups. It would be a tenuous few days, and Nesta would be surprised if anything was truly accomplished other than establishing that they weren’t going to kill each other if they were in the same room for more than a few minutes.
She was only joined by Rhys and Feyre, while Cassian and Azriel dealt with further discontent in Illyria, and Mor and Amren held down the fort in Velaris. Upon receiving the list of human delegations, and seeing Grayson at the top of the list, Elain had quickly opted to remain home as well in the name of caring for Nyx, not that any of them could blame her. Nesta was equally uncomfortable at the prospect of facing former neighbors and wished that Cassian had been able to be at her side, like Rhys was for Feyre. Though her relationship with her sister and brother had improved dramatically, there was nothing to compare to the comfort her mate brought her.
Nesta sipped a glass of wine slowly, eyes scanning the tentative mingling, the stiff conversations that were slowly but surely taking place. It was glacial progress, but at least they had all agreed to talk to each other. She counted each human delegation, mentally keeping track of who was present and who hadn’t. Only Grayson and his father had arrived from their old village so far, the two other village elders who had agreed to participate having yet to appear. She was beginning to think they just wouldn’t show, leaving Grayson to handle the discussions himself. But just as she began to accept that outcome, the door to the great hall opened, and one of the elders walked in, accompanied by…
Ice speared through Nesta’s veins as the world stood still. It couldn’t be, but it was.
Tomas Mandray, eyes just as cold and wicked as the day he tried to force himself upon her, scanned the room as if he owned it, unyielding to even the fae, who raised their eyebrows in surprise at his bold appearance.
Nesta was sure her heart had stopped beating, and a soft ringing started in her ears. Her skin felt as though a thousand needles pricked it, but she was unable to move, unable to do anything but stare, wide-eyed, as he did the same kind of observation she had been doing just moments before, cataloguing each of his potential adversaries, potential allies.
Then, his eyes landed on her.
A slow, satisfied smile spread over his face, and he took a step towards her. Then another. And another.
The ringing grew louder in her ears as she willed her body to move, to run. Suddenly, she could smell the hay stacked in the barn he had dragged her into, the smell of alcohol on his breath, the blood that had smeared over her knees and gotten under her nails, as she tripped and fell through the woods after she struck him, after she ran until she couldn’t anymore.
He kept coming, and she knew, she knew, that he saw the fear in her eyes, the horror, and that he relished in it.
He took another step and finally, blessedly, she forced her lead feet to move back. Again, and again, to put distance between her and the danger coming towards her. She wished for Cassian, needed Cassian, or Azriel, or Feyre, or anyone-
She hit something hard, but she barely realized it, barely noticed the way the mass behind her turned, bringing darkness and starlight with him, until the unmistakable shape of a hand pressed against her back, and a soft, shadowy presence slid into her mind.
Nesta?
Rhysand. It was-
“Well, isn’t this a surprise. Hello, Nesta.”
Her brother’s presence lingered in her mind, but she felt his hand tense, the warmth of him combatting the ice running through her as he stepped closer.
This man hurt you. It was an observation, not a question.
“Tomas.” She said, though her voice sounded foreign, disembodied. The ringing in her ears so loud she could barely hear it.
“You look…much improved since the last time I saw you. So thin you could snap her in half, she was,” he said, offering a charming smile to Rhysand, who was unnaturally still beside her, even as Tomas held out his hand. “I’m Tomas Mandray, I look forward to our discussions this afternoon.”
I have you, his voice echoed in her mind, even as he shook his hand and offered a polite response, I have you, Nesta.
But she barely heard him. Just as she barely heard whatever Tomas said in return. She wondered what would happen if she fainted right here, causing a scene in front of all the delegates. What if she screamed? Or burst into tears? How would they recover from that? She could ruin everything in the next few seconds if this man didn’t get the fuck away from her.
“Hello Tomas,” a smooth, feminine voice said, the familiar lilt of her sister offering her something to hold onto, to keep her from being swallowed whole.
Her eyes flicked to see Feyre on the other side of Rhys, smiling coolly at the wicked creature in front of her. Her sister met her gaze briefly, before Tomas addressed her.
Did he hurt you? Feyre’s voice said into her mind.
“Feyre Archeron, a pleasure as always. Or should I say High Lady? I’m impressed. If anyone was going to become rich and powerful, it would be you, out of sheer, stubborn spite. I’m surprised you let your sisters mooch off your success. I can’t say I would have done the same.”
Nesta, just one word. Did he put his hands on you after I left with Tamlin?
Feyre kept her smile on her face, but Nesta could feel the shift in her energy, the way it matched Rhys’ simmering fury, though a mere mortal would have no idea the danger they were in. Slowly, Nesta dipped her chin, and Rhys’ other hand moved subtly, to grasp hers. Her fingers grasped onto his with all the strength she had.
“It is quite the story,” Feyre said, her voice deceptively cheerful, “why don’t we get a drink and I’ll tell you about it?”
Fear pierced through Nesta’s heart at the prospect of Feyre being alone with him, at the threat he posed to her youngest sister. She didn’t know the last time she took a breath, her body both freezing and stifling hot at the same time.
I will take care of him, Nes, Feyre said, pressing a gentle kiss to Rhys’ cheek before taking Tomas’ arm and moving in the direction of the garden outside, Let Rhys take care of you now.
Nesta wished she was stronger, wished she could voice her concern, that she could ward him off herself. But she was pathetic, frozen in fear, like a child. Did she not have the power of the Cauldron within her? Could she not snap him in half if she wanted? Why couldn’t she move?
Rhys squeezed her hand, but numbness had spread through her limbs. She barely noticed the slow movement of her feet as he gently guided her along, out of the great hall and through the corridor. She didn’t know how far they walked or what direction they were going, until the hand on her back slid up to her shoulder, urging her down onto the soft cushions of a couch.
It was silent here, the low drone of conversations no longer fueling the ringing in her ears. Nesta blinked, and as her mind gained just a fraction of its focus, she realized they were in the sitting area of their quarters, a private wing on the opposite end of the large estate. A soft clunk of china caught her attention, and she stared at the tea Rhys had conjured on the coffee table in front of her, before taking a seat at her side.
“What can I do?” he asked quietly, in a tone so soft it made her throat tighten and tears prick at her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, with a gasp, her chest tight, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have frozen like that, I don’t know why I did that,” her breaths came quickly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, “I’m sorry Rhys-”
But the High Lord leaned forward to grasp her shoulders. “It’s okay, Nesta, you didn’t do anything wrong. There is nothing you should or shouldn’t have done. In your position, I likely would have reacted the same way.”
Nesta shook her head, chest heaving. “It’s pathetic, to still fear him this way.” She kept her eyes closed, determined not to cry, not to show her weakness. But it was so hard, her throat burning with the effort, hands trembling.
“It’s not pathetic,” he replied quietly, and reached up a hand to wipe a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “You can cry, Nesta, it’s just us. You are safe in this room, I promise. Don’t hold it in for my sake.”
The words cracked through her walls, and she held on for only a couple seconds longer before she let out a frustrated sob and pitched forward, tears rolling down her cheeks one after the other. Rhys let out a soft, comforting sound, his arms coming around to pull her into his chest as she continued to hyperventilate, to tremble. Gently, he rested his cheek on the top of her head, soothing his hand up and down her back.
“Oh, little sister,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow and understanding, “you’re okay. I have you, you’re safe. I need you to breathe with me, alright?”
She tried, hands clutching at him, needing the tangible connection to keep herself from falling through the despair of her mind, even as Rhys filled it with a soothing darkness, like a warm blanket. He rocked her gently, whispering those comforting words to her over and over again, keeping his breathing strong and even.
“What about Feyre, we shouldn’t have just let her go!” Nesta cried, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, shushing her.
“Feyre has handled much worse than a mere mortal man who relies on harming women to feel powerful,” Rhys said, “as have you, Nes. But he hurt you, not Feyre, and you do not need to be ashamed of feeling that pain, or that fear.”
Nesta continued to tremble, trying desperately to even her breathing. It was no small miracle, that she and Rhys had achieved this kind of care in their relationship, but she knew of his own traumas, that he was perhaps better equipped to handle her than anyone else in this moment.
“I can still feel his hands,” she whispered, “touching me.”
“I know,” he replied just as quietly, “I wish I could say it goes away quickly, but it doesn’t.” He was quiet for a moment, likely settling his own mind from memories of that witch who hurt him. “But that is what family is for, to help you through it. And I told you I would make up for the years we didn’t, including right now.”
Nesta sniffed, the heavy weight of exhaustion already settling on her shoulders. She didn’t have a reply for him, still so unaccustomed to having people care for her, especially when this family didn’t shy from physical touch, as her mother had. Never would she have expected to be embraced like this, nor would she ever have asked. But Rhys continued to hold her, rubbing her back as they sat in silence while she attempted to gather herself. Eventually, he said,
“Cassian is on his way.”
Nesta pulled back, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t pull him from Illyria just for this. He has more important things to do.”
Rhys’ eyes were sad, even as he leaned forward to pour her a cup of the tea he had been keeping warm.
“You are his mate, Nesta,” he said, pressing the cup gently into her hands, “there is nothing more important to him than your wellbeing. And, even if you weren’t, he loves you too much to let you suffer without him.”
Nesta’s eyes were misty, even as she took a small sip of her tea. She still couldn’t accept it, but after Nyx’s birth and the aftermath, there wasn’t a day that went by without one of them telling her something similar to what he had just said. But out of all of them, Rhys was always more patient with her, for he knew how deeply her self-loathing went, how difficult it was to overcome.
It was only a few minutes more before shadows filled the room, announcing the arrival of Azriel, and with him, her mate. Cassian didn’t waste a moment, dropping to his knees in front of her and cupping her face, searching her for injury, for anything he could fix, with a burning gaze. His rage could be felt tangibly throughout the room, and Nesta wondered if he had already decided on bloodshed.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “for pulling you away.”
Cassian’s eyes immediately softened, and he brushed his thumb over her cheek bone, where a stray tear lingered. Leaning forward, he pressed a firm kiss to her brow before pulling her into his chest. “Oh, my love,” he murmured into her ear, “don’t ever be sorry. Not for this.”
And though Nesta still felt guilty for it, she couldn’t resist the comfort he brought, the security. Having him here soothed her in a way no one else could. Her shoulders slumped as she nestled into him, and Rhys rose from the couch to let him sit next to her properly, his wing coming to wrap protectively around her side. She took the chance to glance at Azriel, who looked positively murderous in a way he so rarely displayed. But, upon catching her gaze, he offered her a soft look of affection, one of his shadows slithering over to swirl up her wrist, his silent way of assessing her well-being for himself.
Rhys and Azriel exchanged a few words quietly, but Nesta had settled fully against her mate, her head tucked against his chest as he slowly unbound and ran his fingers through her hair, a surefire way of soothing her that only he had the privilege to do. The exhaustion that had weighed on her threatened to pull her under with every deep breath he took, and her eyes fluttered, body so, so heavy.
She vaguely registered Azriel’s departure and Rhys’ explanation that he went to join her sister, who, the High Lord explained, was making short work of Tomas, if only to placate Cassian, who likely wanted to finish the job himself.
But, as much as her mate wanted vengeance for her suffering, he was loathe to let her go anytime soon, and as he pressed gentle kisses to her temple, he said,
“Sleep, sweetheart, I’ve got you now. We’ll be here when you wake.”
As if to emphasize the point, Rhys sent that soothing presence through her mind once more, giving her the final push into peaceful oblivion, secure in Cassian’s warm embrace.
---
It could have been minutes later, or hours, when Nesta slowly came back into consciousness to the sound of quiet voices. There was a heavy, gentle warmth over top of her, and as her eyes fluttered and she shifted, she felt the soft threads of a blanket, paired with the weight of an arm that was resting over her waist. Taking in a breath, she caught the soothing cedar scent of her mate, and as the world came back into focus, she could feel the even way his chest rose and fell, the wisps of his hair brushing against her nose, which, she realized, was firmly nestled against his neck.
The arm around her waist tightened, before his other shifted, his large hand coming to rest on the back of her head, brushing through her long tresses. His head turned and she felt a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.
“You with me, baby?” he murmured into her hair.
Nesta’s cheeks flushed at the term of endearment he only used in private, prepared to scold him for its use in front of the family, but as she raised her head she realized that the room they were in was empty, the lights dimmed, and that the voices she heard were coming from the next room over, the dining space for their guest wing.
“What time is it?” she rasped, grimacing at the sound of her own voice, finally meeting his gaze.
“Just a little after dinner,” he said, raising a hand to brush her hair away from her face. “Are you hungry?”
Nesta winced, not realizing she had slept for so long. “I missed the whole day,” she said instead of answering his question, anxiety already churning in her gut.
“There’s still two days left,” her mate reminded her, “all you missed were the boring introductions.”
Leaning forward to press kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and nose, he continued, “answer my question, sweetheart.”
Nesta sighed. She was hungry; actually, she was starving. But she wasn’t ready to leave the bundle they had wrapped her in, taking in the way the blanket was tucked neatly around her shoulders. Cassian placed a gentle kiss to her lips, smiling slightly when she finally nodded at him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing that he likely hadn’t moved from his position in hours, taking in the way he had pulled her legs across his lap to cradle her properly, “I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”
The look in his eyes told her that he had been expecting such an apology, and before she could continue, he pulled her firmly back into his embrace, nestling his nose into her hair.
“Illyria was wet and fucking freezing,” he said quietly, “getting to sit bundled up with you was a significant improvement.”
“Still, you had important work to do,” she said, even as her soul settled farther into contentment every time his fingers ran through her hair, or his lips brushed her skin.
“Nothing more important than this,” he replied, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes once more, “Besides, Az took care of most of it before we arrived anyway. You know how he is.”
Nesta’s lips quirked, unsurprised that her brother had everything in order before they even stepped foot on the ground in Windhaven. Cassian matched her tiny smile with his own before shifting, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders as he let her sit up properly.
As if on cue, as soon as her feet touched floor there was a soft knock before Feyre peaked her head in, smiling softly at them both before walking over to set a plate of warm food on the coffee table in front of her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Nesta softly, coming to perch on the arm of the couch.
“I’m fine,” Nesta automatically replied, but when her sister gave her a soft, skeptical look and Cassian squeezed her shoulder, she sighed and admitted, looking down at her hands, “I’ve been better.”
Feyre hummed in acknowledgement, shifting to sit beside her properly as Nesta made room for her on the couch.
Nesta let out a breath as Feyre laced their fingers together. After a moment, her sister said,
“He’s gone, Nes. You don’t have to worry about seeing him ever again.”
Nesta frowned, squeezing her hand. “Did he hurt you?” she asked on reflex, even though now, in a calmer state, she realized how ridiculous the question sounded. As if a mere human could hurt her.
But Feyre didn’t tease her for it and there was no amusement in her eyes as she shook her head. “He didn’t get the chance,” she said firmly.
Slowly, Nesta turned her head towards Cassian, who had the same rage in his eyes that he did when he arrived. “Did you kill him?” she asked, not knowing if she truly wanted the answer.
“As much as I would have liked to, sweetheart, I was already occupied with something much more important and worthwhile.”
She offered him a tiny smile, despite the urge to reject such a notion about her worth. Beside her, Feyre slowly slid her arms around her waist, resting her cheek on Nesta’s shoulder.
I’m so sorry I didn’t know, she said into her mind, I wish I had.
Nesta squeezed her tighter, before responding, you warned me when you left. I broke it off with him not long after. He just disagreed, is all.
I don’t consider it so trivially, her sister replied, voice firm, no one puts their hands on you like that. Not now, not ever.
Nesta let out a shaky breath but let the matter die. Her family had been assertive in their protectiveness of her, after the truth of her traumas came to light, and she had learned not to try and convince them otherwise. Instead, Nesta let Cassian place her dinner in her lap, he and Feyre making light conversation as she ate in an effort to lighten the mood.
When she had finished, the plate disappeared, only for another to plop into her lap, this time with a small slice of her favorite chocolate cake. The House’s cake. Nesta raised her eyebrows to Feyre, but her sister looked just as surprised, and she followed her gaze to find Rhys smiling gently from the doorway, though sadness and fury still remained in his gaze and his shoulders were stiff.
“Where the hell did you get that from?” Feyre asked, “and why don’t we all get a piece?”
Rhys smirked as he settled in a chair across from them. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, darling, I have to have something up my sleeve to earn your forgiveness the next time I incur your wrath.”
Feyre scowled even as Nesta held the plate between them, a silent offer to share. Cassian let out a bright laugh, and she offered Rhys a thankful smile, one that soothed some of the lines of tension from his brow.
He’s been livid for hours, Feyre said into her mind as they steadily took turns eating the cake, at Tomas’ audacity. We all are. It will never happen again, Nes.
Instinctively, Nesta felt apologetic, guilty for stirring up so much drama at such an important event. Feyre nudged her with her shoulder, allowing her to finish the remainder of the cake. One day it won’t feel so strange, to let us protect you just because we love you.
Nesta’s throat tightened, and Feyre placed a gentle kiss to her temple. As she finished her cake, she felt a cool wisp brush against her shoulders and watched as Azriel stepped out of the shadows to sit beside Rhys. She hadn’t realized he wasn’t in the other room when she woke, but now she could smell the cold air on him, the pine. And though Azriel smiled gently at her, there was a cold depth in his eyes, the same as when he came back from a long mission, or from the Court of Nightmares. Nesta didn’t want to ask why.
Instead, she let them keep their conversation light, happy, accepting the effort they made to take her mind off the sound of his voice that still taunted her in the depths of her mind, the feel of his hands. Cassian had slipped his arm back around her shoulders, affectionately nuzzling into her shoulder. She knew that the nightmares would come with a vengeance, that she likely wouldn’t sleep until they were back at the House. But, for now, with Cassian murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, Feyre holding tight to her hand, and Rhys and Azriel keeping a soft, teasing conversation as they dealt cards between them, she had the hope that she’d get through it.
---
It was hours later, when Cassian had finally taken his mate to bed and the family had settled for the evening, that Rhys approached Feyre, smiling as he watched her take off her earrings at the vanity, her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders.
Coming to rest behind her, he ran his hands up her arms lovingly, catching her eye in the mirror. “Are you going to tell me what you did to him?” he asked, placing a gentle kiss to her head, “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
Feyre sighed, leaning back into him. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening her mind to him, to show her what had become of Tomas Mandray. Rhys let out a long breath, leaning over to kiss her deeply.
“Mortal minds are like glass,” he murmured, “you must have barely lifted a finger.”
Feyre hummed, removing the bangles around her wrists.
“My wicked High Lady,” Rhys purred, brushing her hair over one shoulder to place a kiss to her neck. “Where is he now?”
“Azriel has deposited him somewhere. He won’t last long.”
Rhys nodded, having felt the rage coming off his brother when he returned from wherever he had abandoned the pitiful mortal man with a shattered mind. It was a rage they all shared, not in the least when a sharp sense of fear sliced through him as the first of many nightmares wreaked havoc in Nesta’s mind down the hall. From the way Feyre stiffened, he knew she had felt it too. But Nesta was in the safest possible hands, and soon, he felt the fear ease, just slightly, as Cassian began what would be a long process of re-establishing a sense of safety and security for his mate. Squeezing Feyre’s shoulders comfortingly, Rhys moved to pull back the sheets of the bed, holding out an arm for her as she came to settle against him.
They sat quietly for a few moments before she spoke again. “I wanted to kill him,” she said quietly, “but when I entered his mind, I saw what he did to her. What he did to so many others. He was so smug about it. I wanted to make him suffer.”
Rhys pulled her in tighter, kissing the top of her head. “And he will,” he said, “he’s wandering around whatever harsh wilderness Azriel dropped him in without a single wit about him. I imagine my brother had a few parting punishments of his own, at any rate.”
Feyre nodded, settling more comfortably. “And we,” he continued, “will do everything we can to make sure Nesta feels safe.”
Feyre smiled slightly. “The chocolate cake was sweet of you.”
Rhys huffed a short laugh. “I’m just sorry there wasn’t a Pegasus available on such short notice.”
His heart warmed as his mate laughed with him, relieved that her mind had soothed, at least enough to sleep. Waving his hand, he dimmed the lights; the exhaustion of the day having finally caught up to him. But, before he faded off, his mate asked quietly,
“Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“She will be,” he replied, “it will take time, but she will be. You know Cassian will take care of her.”
Feyre hummed sleepily, though her relief at his affirmation was felt through the bond.
“We will take care of her too,” she whispered, before closing her eyes.
“Yes,” he said, holding her close as she finally drifted off, “we will.”