Fae Courts Echoes of the Elderglen

She didn't want to move, didn't want to push him away as he pulled her in tight. The slow drag of his fingers through her hair, the warmth of his body pressed up against hers. It was grounding, comforting. They moved slow, trailing through her hair and over her back. Slow and absent, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Like he just needed to touch her. And she let him.

She had woken before him, had felt the way he shifted in his sleep, pulling her impossibly closer. And she had stayed, let herself be held. Let herself melt into him, unwilling to break the fragile peace that had finally settled after a tumultuous night.

Good morning.

His voice, rough with sleep sent a slow shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes briefly, barely able to stifle the little noise that tried to escape her lips. The light, absentminded way his fingers skimmed over her spine sent a ticklish shiver through her body- slow and careful, mapping her inch by inch. Yet, she had to fight the ridiculous urge to squirm. Not because it was unpleasant, no...gods no. But because her back, especially along the delicate line of her spine was insufferably ticklish.

She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to let the laugh slip fully past her lips, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Her muscles tensed slightly, her body betraying her as she instinctively arched into him, pressing flush against his chest to escape the maddening sensation.

"Morning," She murmured, finally shifting just enough to tilt her chin up, blinking hazily at him. Her own voice was still tainted with exhaustion. If he had noticed her struggle before, he had made no comment on it. But something shifted and she was suddenly hyperaware of everything. The warmth of his bare skin beneath her fingertips. The way her legs were tangled with his. The soft scratching of his stubbled jaw against her fingers as she traced the sharp lines of his jaw, where old blood had dried.

She cleared her throat quietly, her touch featherlight as she met his gaze again. "Are you alright?" She asked softly, her voice quieter than before as if she worried speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile, intimate moment between them.

But still, his hand rested against her spine, fingers barely brushing against her sensitive skin there. And still, she fought hard to keep her voice steady. She had faced enemies, exile, had endured so much without a second thought. But Ash absentmindedly stroking her back? That might be her undoing.

Asher should have moved. Should have forced himself to shift away, put distance between them before this became something too raw, too fragile to be anything but dangerous. But gods—he didn’t have it in him.

Not when she was curled against him like this. Looked up at him like that. Not when she had asked him to be here. Not when she had stayed.

His body ached, heavy with exhaustion and bruises, but he felt…at ease. A rare thing. A precious thing.

He felt her shiver first, the barely-there tremble against his fingertips as they traced lazily along her spine. Then, the way her muscles tensed, betraying her before she could hide it. He felt her shift—an instinctive arch that pressed her against him fully, her warmth sinking into him in a way that made his breath stutter in his chest.

Ah.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Her voice, soft and drowsy, tugged at something deep in him. The way she looked up at him, hazy and warm, was enough to make his pulse slow, dragging him deeper into this dangerous sort of comfort. Her fingers brushed along his jaw, the lightest touch over dried blood and rough stubble, and he exhaled slow through his nose, leaning into it despite himself.

Was he alright?

He didn’t know how to answer that. But here, now—with her? He thought maybe he was.

His fingers drifted lower, slow, deliberate. If he had any mercy, he would have pulled away, spared her the struggle. But he didn’t. Not when it made her press closer. Not when it made her fight so hard to keep her voice steady.

Instead, he let his fingers dance just once more over that sensitive patch of skin before settling warm and firm at the small of her back. A quiet, teasing hum left him as he dragged his thumb in a slow circle.

“Mhm. Fine,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something else—something softer, something dangerously close to fond. He tilted his head, let his nose brush the top of her head, breathing her in.

“But you,” he mused, voice quiet, lazy. Testing. “You’re ticklish.”

A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips. Interesting.

She nearly yelped when his fingers danced down her spine again, lingering over the maddeningly sensitive spot. A full-body shudder wracked through her, and she knew he felt it. Knew by the way his thumb lingered, tracing lazy, deliberate circles at the small of her back, by the way his voice rumbled so damn smugly against the top of her head.

She was in trouble.

A growl- soft, playful, and entirely feigned- rumbled in her throat as she squirmed against him, trying to escape his slow, torturous touch. "Ash." She warned, her voice half laughter, half threat. But the bastard was clearly enjoying her suffering as a slow smile tugged at his lips.

Vespera's fingers curled against his chest, pressing and pulling like she might push him away, but instead...instead...she arched into him again, pressing herself flush against him. If he wanted to play this game, then so would she. But she warned him, lips parting and golden eyes flashing with something dangerously close to a challenge. "You're playing with fire," she whispered, the words carrying more weight than she had intended them to.

Because for the first time in what felt like years, Vespera had slept. Truly slept. No injuries. No thoughts racing through her mind. Just darkness that she could truly rest in. And now? With the bond quiet, and no higher power forcing its way into her mind, no magic dictating her actions, Vespera realized something terrifying.

She wanted to be this close.

She wanted to touch him.

To test him, like he tested her.

And so she, did.

Vespera shifted, smooth and intentional, lifting her leg and slipping it over his hip. Her knee pressed against the bed, locking her in position as she hovered dangerously above him, just barely resisting the urge to straddle him completely. She leaned forward, only inches away from his face.

"There." She huffed, feigning triumph while she locked his arms down with her hands. "Now you can keep your hands to yourself," a bold-faced lie considering how much stronger he was. "And you can tell me what happened to your face." Her gaze caught on the deepening bruises shadowing his jaw, the dried blood along his cheek. "Surely I wasn't that violent in my sleep."

Asher let out a husky, low laugh, deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against her as she squirmed in his arms. He could feel her frustration—the full-body shudder, the way she twisted against him, trying in vain to escape. And he enjoyed it.

Far too much.

“What?” His voice was pure, unrepentant amusement as he skimmed his fingers one last time down the delicate line of her spine, just because he could. Just because he liked the way it made her press into him despite herself. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He murmured, all faux innocence, his smirk betraying him entirely.

The use of his own name as a warning only made his grin widen. But then she changed the game.

Asher’s amusement didn’t wane as she shifted, didn’t even flicker when her leg slipped over his hip, her hands pressing down on his arms in some attempt to hold him in place. If anything, it deepened, the corner of his mouth curling as he let out a low laugh.

Really? She thought she could pin him? It was cute. Endearing.

His muscles tensed beneath her grip for the briefest moment, testing, and he knew that it would take nothing to flip her, to remind her just how much stronger he was. But he didn’t. No, he let her play her games, because the way she was looking at him now? Hovering just above, golden eyes sharp, challenging—dangerous—that was far more interesting.

Now you can keep your hands to yourself... He very much doubted that.

His breath left him a little slower, and for just a second, his smirk wavered, something else flashing through his gaze as he looked up at her. A sharp inhale, the flicker of his throat as he swallowed. His grin returned, lazy, amused, wholly unbothered despite the way his pulse had quickened. “Is this supposed to be intimidating?” His voice was thick with sleep and amusement as he quirked a brow.

“Because I hate to break it to you, Sparky, but you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

But then her gaze flickered down, studying his cuts and bruises, and his smirk faltered just slightly. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, before exhaling a rough sigh. “No,” he murmured, voice quieter now, lower. “You were quite the opposite.” A slow, exasperated smirk tugged at his lips again.

“I might’ve stumbled into a pit.” A pause, then a breathy laugh. “But on the plus side, we have enough coin to last a few weeks at least.. You should see the other guys." His fingers twitched, aching to move, but he let her hold him there.

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze locking onto hers, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. His chest tightened as the memory surfaced—how he’d left her, the nightmare that had bled into his own mind. A shadow of regret crossed his face before he murmured, “I’m sorry… about last night.” His frown deepened, the weight of unspoken things settling between them.

Vespera tightened her grip, thighs pressing firmly against his sides, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles stiffening beneath her as she settled her weight on top of him. He moved slightly, as thought he had thought about moving her- moving them. But he didn’t.

Which was a mistake, really.

Because now, she released his arms and left him free of some restraint as she leaned in closer, golden gaze sharp with curiosity. His breath was warm, steady beneath her, but his pulse…she could feel it racing beneath his skin where a finger dragged over it. A slow smirk curved her lips as her eyes trailed over him- from the cut on his cheek, back to his mouth where his lips were parted just slightly. Like he was about to say something. Something smug probably, but she spoke first.

“The opposite?” She mused, a brow quirking as she tilted her head. “What exactly does that mean?” She clearly didn’t know that for the most part, she had slept like a dead log.

She wasn’t sure the answer she was expecting, but it certainly was not ‘I might’ve stumbled into a pit.’ Vess stilled, her smirk faltering as her fingers skimmed his jaw, the rough scrape of dried blood crumbling beneath her touch.

She wanted to be furious, wanted to rip into him for doing something so incredibly dangerous and coming back to her like this. But instead, she just watched him, the way his lips quirked into a half smile, the way he tried to dismiss it with a laugh, like it was just another reckless thing he just happened to do.

Thinking of her mate getting himself hurt made something ache deep in her. She shifted her hips subtly.

Her fingers traced along the cut on his cheek, slowly. “You got into a pit fight while I was sleeping?” Her voice was softer, quieter, unsure if she was amused or terrified.

And then, he kept going.

I’m sorry about last night.

Her stomach twisted and her lips parted, expression faltering slightly before she forced herself to push past it. No, she really didn’t want to talk about last night. About the ache behind her eyes, the dull pounding in her skull, the weight of every single wrong choice she had made out of her own pathetic jealousy.

So she tried a different tactic. She shifted- moved closer, leaned into him and pressed her fingers against his chest as if she could physically push away whatever tension had settled between them.

“You should be sorry,” She muttered, but there was no real venom in her words. No true anger. Just a distraction, an out. Herlips curled into something playful, teasing, as her hands slowly dragged down the planes of his muscular chest, testing. Feeling that slow and steady rise and fall of his breath.

“Not for last night, but for thinking you could get into a fight and come back looking like this.” Her nails traced along his ribs, just enough to see if he was as ticklish as her. To see if he might flinch. “Without me knowing…”

She smirked, golden eyes gleaming with something absolutely wicked. “Now tell me, how much did you win?”

Asher’s gaze softened for the briefest moment as he answered, “You were… peaceful.” A simple truth, but one that sat heavy between them.

'You should be sorry…'

His chest tightened. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before her next words sent relief washing through him. Alright. So she didn’t want to talk about it. Noted.

But damn, she was making this difficult.

She shifted closer, her fingers pressing against his chest, her teasing words curling around him like a trap he was already too deep in. His gaze flickered to her lips—soft, warm, familiar. He swallowed. He remembered how they felt, how they tasted. And judging by the knowing gleam in her golden eyes, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

A muscle in his jaw flexed as her nails skimmed down his ribs, a shudder rippling through over his bruised skin at the teasing, ticklish touch. Shit.

No. Not happening.

His hand snapped to her hip, grip firm, and in one swift motion, he flipped them, pressing her into the mattress beneath him. His thigh braced against hers, his chest flush against her own, pinning her in place. But her arms? He left them free. Just in case she felt like keeping those hands on him.

Asher grinned, dimples flashing, his voice low and teasing. “Well now, only interested in me for my coin, are we?”

Vesper had fully intended to close that sliver of space between them and finally claim what had been teasing at the edges of her restraint since the moment she woke up tangled in him. She wanted to drag the moment out until he was unraveling beneath her, until he was the one begging, the one chasing her.

But with an infuriating ease, he moved first.

Her back hit the mattress before she even had time to react, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as Ash hovered over her. Heat flared through her body at the feel of him. Solid. Warm. Everywhere. His weight pressed down in all the right places. His thigh was wedged between hers, chest flush against her own.

Oh, you bastard.

The arrogant bastard had left her hands untouched. Free. And if he thought she wasn't going to take advantage of that...What with the smirk plastered across his face. Those damn dimples and the cocky tilt of his mouth as he pinned her in just enough to keep her trapped. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, eyes glittering as her fingers trailed down his chest, slow and purposeful. Fine. If he wanted to play, she would play.

"Only interested in you for your coin?" She echoed sweetly, tilting her head as if she were considering it. Her hand roamed lower, lower, lower, over his stomach and down to the edge of his breeches. Her fingers teased at the laces, slipping just beneath the fabric for a fraction of a second, savoring in the warmth of his skin. "Oh Ash...if it was coin that I was after, I would have robbed you blind while you slept." Her fingers curled around the ties, pulling them loose. Slow and precise- giving him every opportunity to stop her, to push her hands away.

"And yet," She murmured, arching just slightly into him. Enough that their breaths mingled. "Here I am."

Asher’s skin burned hot. Too hot. His pulse thundered in his ears, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. And he was looking at her like he was about to devour her.

Gods. She was stunning. Everything about her was pure, unrestrained temptation. Every wicked gleam in her golden eyes, every teasing touch of her fingers, every whispered word laced with that intoxicating sweetness.

And fuck, he wanted her.

His body trembled as her hand drifted lower, his muscles coiling beneath her touch, his resolve hanging by a thread. It would be so easy to give in, to lose himself in her. His breath hitched as he hovered above her, his lips grazing hers, just barely—

But then he remembered.

Everything.

The hesitation in her voice before. The way she had faltered, uncertain. She wasn't ready. The bond. That fucking bond, tugging at them both like an invisible thread, making it impossible to know what was her and what was it. Was this her choice, her desire, or was it something else—something neither of them fully understood?

His chest tightened.

With a sharp inhale, he forced himself to move. To pull away, to ignore the way she arched against him, the way her breath mingled with his.

He rolled away from her in one fluid motion, forcing himself onto his feet before he could think better of it. The air felt too thick, the space between them crackling with something dangerous. He needed out. He needed air.

Crossing the room in a few long strides, Asher reached the window and threw it open, bracing his hands against the ledge as he leaned out. His head dropped between his shoulders, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

Fuck.

The cool air did nothing to soothe him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the fire still burning beneath his skin.

“Don’t do that…” His voice came rough, barely above a rasp. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before turning slightly, his gaze flickering back to her. His jaw clenched.

“Don’t tease me, Vess.”

Vespera's chest rose and fell in a slow, shallow rhythm as she just lay there, still half-buried in the warmth of the mattress where he had left her staring up at the empty space above as though it may offer her some answers. Her pupils were blown wide, golden eyes hazy with something feral and needy- but it was fading now, cooled by the sting of hurt that curled beneath her ribs like a blade. Her lips were still parted, her body still thrumming with heat, and all of it-all of her- had been reaching for him. Wanting him.

But he had moved away. Quickly. Avoiding her.

Her hands slowly dropped to the sheets, curling into the linen as her eyes prickled with tears and her chest tightened, the air suddenly impossible to draw. She blinked once. Twice. Then she glanced up. He stood across the room now, at the window. His shoulders were tense, back turned, and even though she could feel the heat still radiating from his skin, he wasn't looking at her. Not really.

She was grateful for that, swiping the few stray tears that had managed to fall down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and her throat burned.

Don't do that. Don't tease me, Vess.

That was the part that hit hardest.

Her brows furrowed, not in anger, but in confusion, hurt burning behind her eyes as her voice came, quiet and wounded. "...I thought you wanted...me..." She murmured. It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't laced with sarcasm or searing heat. It was small. Unsteady.

Like she already feared his response.

"...I'm...sorry Ash..."

Her fingers tightened slightly in the sheet beneath her. Her eyes dropped, unable to look at him. She hadn't meant to be cruel. Hadn't thought she was doing anything bad. She had meant everything she was doing. She wanted him. And she thought he...

But now, she wasn't sure.

And she hated how much it hurt.

Asher could feel it—her hurt, the sharp sting of it curling in his chest, raw and unspoken. It hit him harder than he expected, twisting something deep inside him.

His fingers clenched against the window ledge, but as soon as he heard her voice—small, hesitant, wounded—he turned.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She sat there, half-buried in the sheets, golden eyes downcast, fingers curled into the linen like she was holding herself together. He hated it. Hated that he had made her doubt, made her hurt.

He crossed the room without thinking, drawn to her, needing to fix this, needing her to know.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Of course I want you. I’m going fucking crazy over how badly I want you, Vess.”

His hands found her face, thumbs brushing against her damp cheeks as he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His chest ached at the sight of her—eyes wide and glassy, lips parted like she wasn’t sure if she could believe him.

He needed her to believe him.

His forehead pressed lightly to hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You said you weren’t ready, and you were right.” His voice dropped lower, steadier. “It was too fast. This is… new. And fuck, the last thing I want to do is mess this up. I want you. But I want to earn you. I want to know that you want me—and that it’s not fate, or bonds, or anything else.”

He pulled back just enough to search her face, his thumb still tracing soothing circles against her cheek.

“Is that alright?”

Her throat worked around the knot that had formed there, thick and aching. She hadn't expected him to move, to cross the room. Hadn't expected him to touch her. Not after the way he'd pulled away, after how he looked at her like he needed distance more than he needed air. But now his hands were on her face, warm and gentle, rough in a way that began undoing her. Piece by piece.

Her golden eyes met his emerald green and it nearly broke her.

Because the worst part wasn't that he had rejected her again. It was that she believed him now. That he wanted her. That he was trying to do right by her. Gods, it hurt worse. Because it meant the fault wasn't in him. It was in her. In her reaction to the bond, in her scars, in her broken pieces, in her foolish hope that wanting something so badly might be enough.

Her lips parted again, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry." She whispered, the words catching. "I wasn't trying to make it harder for you, I just..." Her eyes squeezed shut. "I wanted to try."

That was all it had been. A try. A fragile, reckless reach towards something she didn't know how to ask for. And it had crumbled. "I didn't mean to..." Her voice softened as she leaned into his palm. "I didn't think you'd think it was just the bond controlling my actions." Another short, sad breath escaped her lips. "That's not what it was, Ash."

There was a long pause. The silence felt so much heavier now. Still, her shoulders fell slightly, as if surrendering to the weight of it. But she nodded at his suggestion. "Yeah," She murmured, her voice quiet again. "We can go slow."

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can earn it," She added gently. "If you want to."

But that ache in her chest wouldn't go yet. She still felt like a fool- still felt the raw, stinging humiliation in her heart, in the hollow space where hope had been burning only minutes ago. Even agreeing to it- slow, steady, earned- felt like another kind of loss when she wanted him now. Now she had hope again. Something she hadn't even felt she had the right to want.

She reached up and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her trembling fingers desperate to do anything but remain still. "I'll, um...I'll just clean up. I think I need a minute." Even her voice sounded tired. Not angry, not bitter. Just worn down and quietly aching.

Her hands lifted, gentle and slowly, pressing to Ash's chest as she eased him back- not with force but a softness that said everything she couldn't bring herself to say aloud. Her eyes flicked away from his, refusing to reveal more of the hurt she knew she couldn't show him without falling apart again. She slipped from the bed, her bare feet landing with a quiet thud. The room felt colder the moment she left the warmth of the bed behind, but she didn't look back.

She was still wearing the same tunic and trousers she had come home in the night before- crumbled, wrinkled, stained, the dried blood over her knee came back as a sharp reminder of a stumble she had taken. A reminder of a night that had spiraled out of control. Without a word, she grabbed a simple outfit from a pile of her clothing, clutching them tightly against her chest as she quietly padded across the room to the bathing chamber. The lock clicked behind her.

Inside, she leaned back against the door for a heartbeat, letting herself breathe. Then, she moved to the mirror. The candlelight was too honest. She stared, unmoving, at her reflection for entirely way too long. The mess of her hair. The puffiness around her golden eyes. The bruised shadows just under. The tiredness etched into every line of her face. She looked so...

Not like the perfect females she saw everywhere else.

She leaned in closer, studying the curve of her jaw, the faint unevenness of her eyebrows. The jagged, cropped tip of her ear. Her gaze dropped to her lips, her neck, the way her tunic lay over her frame.

Flawed. All of it. Every inch.

The bond, she reminded herself bitterly. It was the only reason he looked at her the way he did. The only reason he had touched her and held her like she was something worth keeping. She needed to remind herself of that. Because gods, if he saw her how she saw herself...he wouldn't have stayed.

She bit down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling, blinking hard to clear her eyes. She wouldn't cry again. With stiff hands, she turned from the mirror and undressed, folding her bloodstained clothes before washing up and slipping into the clean ones. Another new color. It was a sky blue today on her tunic. Her pants, tighter leggings, were black. It didn't fix anything but it was something. Something she could control.

"All yours. You should probably clean the blood off." She murmured as she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

Asher exhaled slowly as he watched Vespera slip into the bathing chamber, the soft click of the lock sealing her away from him for a moment. He let his head fall back against the window frame, staring out at the quiet stretch of sky beyond. His chest still ached—not from bruises, though there were plenty of those—but from the way she had looked at him. From the way her voice had wavered when she said, I wanted to try.

Gods, he wanted her to try. He wanted to try. He wanted to prove himself worthy of her.

By the time she emerged, fresh and dressed in sky blue and black, he was sitting on the window ledge, his arms draped across his knees. He met her gaze, his lips quirking up slightly at her words.

“I probably should.” He nodded, his voice a little lighter.

As he moved past her to the bathing chamber, he caught the scent of her—warm, clean, still Vess. Still the first sunlight on the Elderglen. It was grounding. The moment the door shut behind him, he braced himself against the basin, his hands gripping the edges, staring down at his reflection in the water.

Fuck you're an idiot, Ash.

He stripped off his bloodstained shirt, hissing softly at the deep bruises along his ribs. His knuckles were still raw, a reminder of the night before, of the fights he couldn’t seem to stop getting into. Of the trouble he always brought with him.

He washed up as best he could, running cool water over his face, letting it numb the tiredness in his bones. When was the last time he hadn’t been covered in bruises? When was the last time he hadn’t been a mess of mistakes?

She deserves so much more than this.

And yet, she had looked at him like she wanted him. Not the bond. Not the fate that had tangled them together. Him.

By the time he stepped out, towel-drying his damp white hair, his expression had softened. He tugged on a clean white shirt and fresh breeches, rolling his sleeves to his forearms.

Then, he turned to her.

“No trouble today,” he said, watching her as he tucked the towel over his shoulder. “Just us.” His emerald gaze traced over her face, searching for any sign of hesitation before he added, “I want to take you out. The market’s open, and the river’s quiet this time of day. We can get something to eat, talk…”

He hesitated, then, he reached to take her hand and pull her to him, tilting her chin up to look at him.

"Thank you. For wanting to try.. It means more to me than you know. You're not something I just...deserve, because fate said so. I want you, in every way, Vess." he rumbled, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

Vespera hadn't meant to sit still for so long, but the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind Ash, a strange quiet settled over the room. She remained at the edge of the bed, still barefoot, knees tucked into her chest as her fingers fumbled with her damp mess of hair.

She started to braid it. Not for fashion, nor for neatness. It was just to keep her hands busy. Her fingers wove steadily, muscle memory guiding through each twist. Near her temples, she tugged some strands free, pulling them across her ears until her left ear- jagged...small like a human's- was mostly hidden. The right's point stuck out slightly, but she hid that too. It was easier to not see the reminder that she wasn't enough fae or human to belong anywhere.

The braid was loose by the time she finished, but her hands wouldn't stop their fidgeting. She shifted on the bed, dragging her fingernails lightly against the inside of her forearm. Over and over. Slow, rhythmic, but slightly rough. Her nails scraped lightly against skin. A habit she'd developed as a child, long before she learned to bite back tears. It hadn't happened in years.

Now with this self-imposed exile, the uncertain changes that came with the bond between them, the mess of the last night, lingering shame...of course it had returned.

She stilled her hands and pulled down her sleeve when she heard the door open. Ash emerged with damp hair, clean shirt that exposed the skin she had been touching just a little while ago. He looked...peaceful, for once. Less haunted. Her hand dropped from her sleeve.

Ash's words had been unexpected. No trouble today. Just us. She blinked as he stepped forward and reached for her hand, her heart skipping. A little confused, a little more curious, she let him guide her until his fingers found her jaw and tilted her face up. Her eyes met his when he said those words.

Thank you. For wanting to try..

Her breath caught in her throat. And then he kissed her cheek. She flushed instantly, coloring her ears and neck, too, in a sickening shade of pink. She hated how warm it made her feel. How sweet. She wasn't used to the affection. To being kissed on the cheek or at all, really. His passion, the highs and lows, had come in blinding bursts and she wasn't sure what to expect if she had leaned into it versus ignore it entirely. But she wanted to try.

She swallowed hard, her voice soft when she spoke. "You don't have to thank me for wanting you. I just..." She paused, a touch of shame curling in her stomach. "I wanted to give it a chance, too. Us." A chance to change her lonely world.

Vespera stepped back just a little, to breathe. To think. To hide the way her skin still burned.

"No trouble today," she echoed with a tiny nod. Her fingers toyed nervously with the hem of her sleeve. "What do you think about grabbing something to eat from a stall. We can have a picnic along the river." She needed air more than she needed to sit for a meal in another tavern.

Then, her eyes flicked back up to his. "And I would like to talk, too. I think." Gods, she already didn't know how to talk to him. "I want to know more about you. Not just your alleged talent in a fighting pit, though I am grateful for the coin. Feeling a little useless that I hadn't managed to swipe any from an unsuspecting drunk..." She hesitated, then added with a ghost of a smile. "I don't know that much about you. Like.. your favorite food. Or color." Or whether he'd ever actually loved someone before her.

No, she didn't want to know that one.

"Let's go?"

Asher watched the blush bloom across her cheeks, her ears, down the graceful line of her throat. Beautiful. That soft, rare pink that painted her skin made something stir in his chest—something warm, something new.. something dangerous. He should stop looking at her like this. But fuck, how could he, when she was standing there, looking at him like she was trying to figure him out? Like she wanted to.

When she admitted that she wanted to give them a chance, his lips parted slightly, his breath catching. For all his teasing, his arrogance, he hadn’t expected her to say it so openly, so simply. As if it wasn’t a risk. As if she didn’t realise just how much he wanted to hear those words.

His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to reach for her again, but she had already stepped back.
He let her change the subject, let her guide them forward as she suggested food, a picnic, getting to know more about him. A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips as he rubbed somewhat shyly at the back of his neck.

She wants to know more about me.

No one had ever cared to ask him those things before. The small, mundane details that had never mattered to anyone. As if he were a person and not just a shadow of the family he came from, not just the violent thing people feared or used.

He nodded slightly, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he said, offering her his hand. “No taverns. No fighting pits. Just food and the river.”

He didn’t let her hesitate before he took her hand, wrapping his fingers gently around hers as he led her out into the streets.

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The market was alive.

The Spring Court streets were woven in cobblestone, winding through the heart of the riverside town, splitting off into little alleys filled with shops and merchant stalls. Fresh flowers were strung between buildings, spilling from baskets and window boxes, their scent thick in the warm, sunlit air. The breeze carried something sweet—honey, perhaps—mingling with the aroma of roasting meats, fresh bread, and fruit stalls overflowing with the season’s harvest.

Magic was thick here, but not in the way it had been in the Elderglen. Here, it was woven into the way nature thrived, into the soft golden glow of faelights hanging from wooden posts, into the lighthearted laughter of the vendors and musicians performing along the walkways.

A trio of fae played lively music near a fountain in the center square, their tune carrying over the murmur of conversation and the calls of merchants hawking their wares. Children darted between the crowds, their small hands reaching for bright ribbons and candied fruit.

Asher kept Vespera close, his fingers still wrapped around hers as they moved through the bustling square.
His eyes flicked over the stalls of every sort of food he could imagine. "Alright. Take your pick," he smiled down at her.

The streets were nothing like how they'd been last night. No drunkards leaning against buildings, no stumbling feet or slurred voices, and whatever god's awful noise two fae had been making in a nearby alleyway. Morning had transformed the town into something alive and radiant. The cobbled roads shimmered with sunlight, broken only by the patterns of moving fae, flower petals, and faelights bobbing overhead like little fireflies. It was...beautiful.

Not like the Elderglen, no. That place was wild. Preserved. Older than time itself, she thought. But this was...tamed magic. Shaped and molded by fae hands that didn't fear the consequences of their power. Magic hummed in lampposts, in every glimmering sign. They carved magic into the civilization here, and no one seemed afraid of it.

She stared, wide-eyed, for longer than she'd like to admit. Then, a child came barreling toward her, a blur of wild brown curls and sticky hands. Vespera dodged at the last second, barely avoiding the collision. The child laughed and shouted an apology of sorts as he darted past, and...she laughed. Really, truly laughed. A bright sound that startled even herself. She pressed a hand over her mouth, blinking as if she hadn't heard the sound in years. Possibly ever.

Ash was already ushering her towards the stalls, his grip still secure around her hand, grounding her. She clutched a soft fabric bag she'd taken from the room- a pillowcase, actually, which she had stuffed with a sheet to act as a makeshift blanket- and allowed herself a moment to explore her options. She picked meat first- sliced lamb on skewers with a mint sauce, still hot and tender. Then, fruit: strawberries, grapes, sliced apples and peaches drizzled with honey. A jug of water was easy. Hesitantly, she picked a bottle of sparkling faerie wine. It was much weaker than what she had been pounding down the last night and light on the tongue. Something her body might forgive her for.

Eventually, they found a quiet patch of grass along the riverbank, tucked beneath the branches of a willow tree whose leaves dipped down to kiss the edge of the flowing water. The currents glittered in the sunlight. Vess set everything down on the blanket, organizing the food with little hums of approval and then finally settled herself, with her knees pulled up to her chest. She popped a grape into her mouth.

For a while, she watched the river, but then her gaze slowly shifted to Asher. She didn't speak right away, but her thoughts were spinning.

So many questions.

So many things she didn't know about the male sitting beside her. And now, she wanted to. Not because of the bond that would tether them for life. Not even because of what almost happened that morning. But because she liked the sound of his voice. Liked the sound of his laughter when it wasn't forced. Because she remembered the way he touched her. Gently. And still let her choose. Because he hadn't left when he should have.

Plucking another grape, she popped it into her mouth and finally asked, softly. "You made a face when I picked lamb. Do you not like it?"

Asher had been quiet as they settled beneath the willow, stretching his legs out on the blanket and leaning back on his elbows. He let the warmth of the sun seep into his skin, let the quiet between them settle like the hush before a storm. It was a different sort of quiet than what had lived between them before—less heavy, less filled with the weight of all the unspoken things that had built up between them. For once, he wasn’t bracing for a fight or waiting for her to shut him out.

He fought a grin at the little sounds of approval she made to herself which were, quite frankly, fucking adorable. And then she spoke and Asher huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I like it fine,” he said and reached for one of the skewers she’d picked, rolling it between his fingers before pulling off a bite.

“You’re observant,” he noted after a beat. “When you want to be.” A hint of amusement in his voice. “But no, it wasn’t the lamb. Just sore.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t spent years learning to ignore pain so well that sometimes, he forgot to hide it.

His smirk softened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Alright, your turn to tell me something. Lets start small. Easy. What’s your favourite flower?”

Vespera squinted at him, an exaggerated narrowing of her eyes that screamed suspicion. "When I want to be?" She repeated slowly, dragging the words out like they tasted foul and ruined her appetite. She popped the remainder of one of the lamb skewers into her mouth, chewed and then pointed at him with the pointy end of the skewer. "When am I not observant, Ash? Go on. One scenario. Enlighten me"

Her tone was playful, but a challenge. One that died when he mentioned his soreness. "Oh.' She leaned in slightly. "You think you want to see a healer after we are done?" She bumped against him and began to say something- lightly joking, when he stopped her.

What's your favorite flower?

She blinked at him. That had not been a question she expected, which was clear on her face with the way her brows knitted together as she plucked another grape from the bunch, suddenly much quieter. "I don't really know." She admitted. "I wasn't exactly skipping through fields with a crown of daisies on my head." She forced a laugh.

"Most of my time had been spent in Merenor's study or running around in the mud. Trampling around." She thought for a moment. "I guess I never really took much time to stop and admire the pretty things."

Her gaze drifted to the rushing water beside them. A breeze pulled at her hair and she tucked a bit behind one ear, then thought better of it and let the strands fall forward again, hiding the jagged, destroyed ear.

"But.." She started again, softer this time. "There was one. I was really young. Barely into my thirties, I'd say. Maybe even late twenties. You'd probably remember a harsh winter hit the Elderglen one year. The kind that turns everything into a blanket of white. There was no sun, just clouds and snow...every day. For forty days."

She paused, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile- caught somewhere between nostalgia and awe.

"The river," The one connected to the leyline he had so kindly plunged her into in order to shut her up, "froze solid. Everything looked so dead and still. And then...I saw it. Just one. A frostbell." She stared her her fingers, twisting the empty stem where the grapes had been. "It bloomed beneath a dead oak tree. Just there...alone. Barely visible under a dusting of snow. And I remember thinking that nothing should have survived that kind of cold alone. But it did."

She turned to Ash, her eyes a little glassy in the sunlight. "So I guess that's my favorite." She said quietly, like it was a secret or a confession. "I only ever saw it that one time, but I hear they bloom in the Winter Court. Not that I'd ever want to find out. I don't think I'd fare well in that climate."

She laughed. Then, with a breath and a shrug to clear the weight from her tone, she leaned over and poured herself a glass of the sparkling wine. "Your turn." She murmured thoughtfully. "And because you were so cruel with your comment on my observation skills, you can answer two." She smiled like she had won something.

Vess plucked a slice of apple from the plate and chewed while she thought. "What is your favorite color?" She followed it up with her second question. "And season."

Asher swallowed, quite unsure how to answer her question, flustering as she pressed him. "I… There have been many scenarios. It's difficult to pick just one," he said a little awkwardly, rubbing absently at his jaw.

"And no, I don't need a healer. I just need a few days without being punched or kicked, and I'll heal up fine." He shot her a wry look. "Which, with you around, might be wishful thinking." he added with a light smirk.

Her next questions made him pause. Season was an easy one. "Summer," he said without hesitation. His tone had softened before he even realized it.

"When I was young, I used to love visiting the Summer Court," he admitted. "The heat, the smell of citrus and jasmine in the air. The lakes, the rivers—gods, I could spend whole days swimming, or just lying on the beaches, letting the sun burn my skin. And the nights..." He exhaled, a little lost in the memory. "The nights were warm, the sky so clear you could see every star. I used to dream of having a place there one day. Somewhere near the water." His lips curled slightly, but the expression was distant. "Stupid, I know."

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, thoughtful for a beat before answering her second question. "And my favorite colour…" He let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head as if amused by himself. "For much of my life, I'd have said it was the turquoise of the shallow seas.."

Then, slowly, he glanced up at her. "Until some years ago."

He didn’t elaborate at first, just studied her in the golden light, the way the sun turned her eyes molten, how it warmed her hair that was always the most beautiful colour in the moonlight.

"My favorite colors are gold," he murmured, "and silver."

Vespera pressed a grape to her lips, chewed thoughtfully, and didn’t even try to suppress the sly little smirk tugging at her mouth as she side-eyed Ash’s awkward, flustered answer. Many scenarios, huh? She didn’t say it aloud, but tucked the moment away in her memory. He might have flustered her plenty, but seeing him trip over his words? That would certainly be replayed when she needed cheering up.

Still chewing, she rolled her eyes at his follow-up. “Wishful thinking, he says…” She popped another piece of fruit into her mouth. She didn’t say more aloud, but tucked that away, too. No more trouble. Not today. Not for a while. He’d been through enough and deserved better than what Vespera had done.

Gaze drifting out towards the water again, rushing and endlessly moving. There was a pang of sadness in her chest as he described the summer court. Of warmth and jasmine and endless skies. Gods, it sounded like a paradise.

“You really have seen so much of the world, haven’t you.” She murmured, not even considering how much of it may have been spent hiding from who he was rather than trips for the sheer pleasure of it. “This is the farthest I’ve been from home.” Her smile faltered slightly. “I don’t know if that is sad or pathetic, but it’sthe truth. The Elderglen never let me wander far, even when I begged.”

She picked at the edge of the blanket underneath them.

“It isn’t stupid,” She added after a moment. “The Summer Court sounds beautiful. I’d like to see it someday.”

Her eyes drifted back to him just then, just in time to catch the way he looked at her when he said gold and silver. Something about it made her cheeks go hot. She fumbled with her wine, needing something to hide behind. “What made your favorite color change?”

Still flustered, she shoved more honeyed fruit into her mouth, mumbling through it. “My favorite color is green.” She answered a question he hadn’t asked. Maybe one he had never planned to ask. “It always has been.” Her fingers toyed with a small patch of grass beside the blanket.

“Not that I had much of a choice. I grew up in green. Slept under it. Trained in it. It’s always been around me. It’s comfortable.” Her voice softened again. “Maybe that is why im so overwhelmed out here. The magic is different. The colors are different. It’s all so loud…”

Asher ate a little more, taking his time as he chewed. The food was good, and he wanted to enjoy it—though he suspected Vespera was enjoying watching him fumble even more. He rolled his eyes slightly at himself at the thought.

Reaching for the wine, he uncorked it, took a drink, and then passed it to her without a word. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered her words.

"It's not pathetic," he said at last. "I've… been places, yes, but…" He shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't have many fond memories of them."

That much was true. The Summer Court had been the exception—his one escape as a child. But most of his travels had been less about adventure and more about necessity.

He followed her gaze to the river and inhaled, steady and slow, before turning back to her. "We can go anywhere we want to, Vess. Our life is ours to do whatever we want with now."

He didn’t know why he said it like that—our life. Maybe it was just easier to phrase it that way, rather than admitting he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with freedom now that he had it.

What made your favorite color change?

"You did."

He said it simply, without hesitation. "Like sunlight and moonlight.." he added quietly and cleared his throat, moving right along..

"And I hate the silence," he admitted, shifting the conversation before she could press him. "Always have. Probably why I like water so much." His gaze flicked to the rushing river beside them, watching it carve its way through the land. "I sleep better by rivers or waterfalls. When things are too quiet, my mind gets too loud."

He looked back at her then, something knowing in his expression. "Guess we're both overwhelmed by something."

Vespera took the bottle from him without a word, her fingers brushing up against his before she raised it to her lips. The sweet and light fizz hit her tongue and she tilted her head back for a longer sip than intended. Partly because it was refreshing. Partly because of what he said.

You did.

She swallowed hard, from the wine and that knot forming in her throat. Sunlight and moonlight. It sounded beautiful. Too beautiful. She handed the bottle back with a small, satisfied exhale, and turned her gaze away from him.

The sun and moon. Vespera had always felt like the stars she was named after- distant, quiet, small, insignificant. Something looked at only when everything else was gone. She was not the sunlight. She was not the moonlight. But he believed it, so she wouldn’t argue with him.

Her fingers returned to toying idly with the grass beneath her, grounding herself in the moment.

She glanced sideways at him as he spoke of his dislike of silence. It was in fact, another new thing she had learned about him. Another new thing to catch her off guard. She studied his profile, how the light caught on his blonde lashes and the way his face had settled into something unreadable.

Vespera leaned back slightly, pressing her palms into the blanket. “What do you think about?” She asked. “When it gets too quiet. Where do your thoughts go?”

She hesitated before adding. “Do you think of what you wish for your life to look like? If there was no father, no brothers, no responsibilities breathing down your neck. If there was no exile, just you. What would you want?”

She didn’t look at him when she asked that. She just plucked another blade of grass and rolled it between her fingers, waiting.