Fae Courts Echoes of the Elderglen

[Asher]

The world beneath the water was silent, muted by the barrier of cool liquid that wrapped around him like a shroud. For a moment, Ash allowed himself to simply drift, feeling the gentle embrace of the lake as it dulled the chaos in his mind. He closed his eyes and let the weightlessness hold him, the current lapping softly at his skin. But then a noise broke through—the unmistakable thud of metal striking earth, accompanied by the faint rustle of disturbed leaves.

Ash's eyes snapped open beneath the water, his senses sharpening like a blade. Instinct took over, and he surged upward, breaking through the surface in a rush of water and moonlight. His breaths came heavy, chest rising and falling as he scanned the shadows of the forest edge, droplets running in rivulets down his rune-marked skin.

Every muscle in his body tensed, coiled with the sudden shift from calm to alertness. His eyes, sharp and probing, darted across the darkened treeline, searching for the source of the sound. A dagger gleamed dully where it lay in the dirt, its hilt catching the pale light. His jaw tightened; someone was watching him.

“Brave of you to sneak up on a male when he's bathing,” he called out, voice low, resonant, and laced with sarcasm, masking the hint of unease that crept along the edges of his mind. He took a cautious step toward the edge of the water, the tension in his stance unyielding.

“Who’s there?” The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, but underneath, there was something more—a flicker of recognition, an inkling that tugged at the back of his mind. He glanced around, eyes narrowing as he noticed the shadows shifting in the canopy above, leaves trembling ever so slightly.

The forest held its breath, waiting.

And then he saw it: a flash of blonde hair, the sheen of skin amidst the leaves. His eyes met hers, even from that distance, and the realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. Vespera.

Her face was flushed, eyes wide with something between panic and embarrassment. Ash’s stern expression faltered, a mixture of surprise and something else passing over his features.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, arching a brow. There was no malice in his voice, only a dry humor that belied the thundering of his own heart.

This moment—waist deep in the lake, naked, vulnerable, exposed in the moonlight, while she lay perched above him, an unexpected audience—left a strange heat crawling up his own neck, an unsettling dance between indignation and curiosity.

 

[Vespera]

Vespera held her breath, trying to shrink into the tree she was perched on, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Her dagger caught the moonlight, glinting up at her- a mockery after the soft thud of it's landing shattered the peaceful silence.

She could only move so far before freezing completely, watching Asher as he broke the water's surface. His gaze swept through the grasses and trees, pointed fae ears twitching while he searched for the intruder. She dug her fingers harder into the branch, the bark biting into her skin.

Please, please, please. She prayed. Maybe, just maybe he wouldn't notice the dagger. Maybe he would assume it was a deer or an owl. As always, it seemed luck was not on her side.

She tried to will away her flushed face and wide, curious eyes, refusing to let him read so clearly that she had maybe been watching him. Again, it was to no avail. Green eyes met her gold and the silence was broken. Enjoying the view?

Yes. NO.

She rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest, and made an attempt to force herself to look relaxed while she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Not much of a view, is it?" She shot back at him, though her voice, taking on a higher pitch, hinted that she had not been prepared for the confrontation. She shifted on the branch, twisting to get a better angle to look down at him without revealing how unsteady she felt. "Nope. Not much of a view at all." She huffed, cursing her mind for tacking on a quiet, It's a shame, isn't it?

 

[Asher]

Asher felt the anger that had churned in his chest begin to ebb, like the tide retreating from the shore. It surprised him how quickly it dissipated, melting into something softer, quieter, as his gaze remained fixed on her. Vespera, perched awkwardly in the tree, her attempts at nonchalance crumbling under his scrutiny, had somehow shifted the weight he’d been carrying all night. The tight coil in his chest loosened with every huffed response she gave, and though he’d come here seeking solitude, the sharp edge of his fury dulled in her presence.

Ash stared up at her, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wiped a hand over his dripping face, the motion slow and deliberate, giving him a moment to compose himself. Her retort—sharp but tinged with that telltale waver—was enough to spark something almost playful in him.

"Not much of a view?" he echoed, his voice low and teasing, the kind that crawled under your skin and settled there. "You’re either lying, Vespera, or you’ve got worse taste than I thought." He gestured loosely to himself, water still trailing down the lines of his body. His confidence was infuriatingly unshaken, though his sharp eyes didn’t miss the faint blush still staining her cheeks.

The corner of his mouth lifted further as he began wading toward the shore, the water lapping at his hips. Lower. "For someone unimpressed, you’re awfully bad at looking away," he added, tossing the remark like a blade aimed to provoke.

Reaching the water’s edge, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his wet skin, he stooped to pick up his discarded breeches and made no hurry in stepping back into them and fastening them casually.

"You gonna come down," he asked, "or are you planning to sit up there all night pretending you weren’t watching me?"

His tone was light, but beneath the surface was a flicker of curiosity, a genuine interest in what the hell she was doing here, of all places, at this hour. It wasn’t like her to stumble into situations accidentally. And Vespera wasn’t the type to rattle easily, but he could see it—the way her limbs were too stiff, the way her eyes darted to the dagger below. Something had her off-balance.

 

[Vespera]

Beads of water trailed down his chest, captivating Vespera's attention. Why was her mouth watering?

"You're insufferable, Ash." She muttered, eyes betraying her as they flickered over his body before she could stop herself. Gods, why did it have to be him? Why could he not at least have the decency to remain submerged?

Asher Adamou was infuriating. Absolutely, truly delusional.

Was he messing with her head? Glamoring her the way the full blooded fae like to fool humans who wandered too closely? It made sense.

Vespera tried to focus on anything else- grass, her dagger, the tree she was in, her own nails- but she kept going back to him, watching as the water concealed less and less of him.

"Don't flatter yourself." She spat at him, fighting the heat that crept up her neck at the sight of him dressing slowly. Too slowly. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes to concentrate on the grass, but the image was already seared into her mind. His sculpted body with intricate tattoos trailing down his side, halting just before his- Damn him, she was looking.

She waited until he spoke again to look at him, his cocky accusation piercing through her haze. "I was here first, just so you know." She snapped at him, her pride at odds with whatever was burning in her chest. "You intruded on my peace and accuse me of watching you, when my attention was only drawn because I heard a noise while alone in a forest at night. Are you truly that insecure?"

Did she mean any of what she said? Not at all.

Her grip tightened on the branch and, with more force than necessary, she swung down and landed on the ground before him. "Or are you just delusional?" She pushed past him in a flurry of irritation, bending down to pick up her dagger. "Don't tell me you're both." Her scrunched, pissed off features shifted to a sly smile that oozed with the words 'I knew it.'

 

[Asher]

Asher had been enjoying the show—her flustered attempts to regain composure, the way her gaze betrayed her even as her sharp tongue lashed out. Gods, she was entertaining when she was mad and radiating irritation that he could practically bask in.

But then, she had to push. She always did.

“Insecure?” The word left his mouth coated in mockery, his amusement unwavering at first. He watched her descend from the tree, her every movement so forcefully controlled that it bordered on theatrical. She bent to grab her dagger, her jab cutting sharper than the blade in her hand could.

That smile. That smug, sly smile, like she could see right through him, tore through the thin veil of his composure.

Asher’s amusement dissolved in an instant, replaced by a sharp, blazing anger that flickered like wildfire in his eyes. His hand shot out toward the hand that held the dagger, seizing her wrist with a force to make his point. His grip was unrelenting, firm enough to make her pause but stopping just short of pain.

“Delusional?” he repeated her insult, his voice low and venomous, each syllable a lash. His anger was palpable, a storm barely contained within his taut frame. His chest rose and fell sharply, beads of water sliding over the ridges of his muscles as he loomed over her. “You think you know me, Vespera? I'm anything but fucking delusional.. My father hates me. My brother fears me. What about you, hm? Both, I think.. I don't blame you."

The moonlight glinted off the edge of her blade, but it was nothing compared to the sharpness in his gaze, piercing and raw. Asher’s grip on her wrist tightened, and before Vespera could react, he yanked her hand upward, the dagger now poised at his throat. The blade pressed lightly against his skin, just enough to draw a whisper of a line, a promise of blood if either moved too quickly. His eyes burned with a wild, unyielding fire as he stared her down, daring her, challenging her.

“Go on,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He shifted the dagger slightly, dragging it down over his chest until the tip hovered over his heart, the steady rise and fall of his breathing making the blade tremble. “Isn’t this what you want? To put me in my place? To prove you’re not afraid of me? It'd make your life easier. My father would probably reward you for it."

His jaw clenched, a faint smirk curling at his lips, though his eyes betrayed something deeper—rage, yes, but also pain, raw and unhidden. “Do it, Vespera. Show me you’re stronger than I am.”

The moonlight caught the dagger’s edge, the sharp glint mirrored in his gaze. His voice softened, dripping with venom. “Or are you just as much of a coward as you think I am?”

The space between them felt suffocating, charged with tension. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, his chest a steady target beneath the blade. His expression dared her, but his breathing, shallow and uneven, revealed more than his words ever could.

 

[Vespera]

"Ah, yes. That temper. That's the Asher I know." She purred, eyeing how tightly he held her wrist. Her gaze trailed back to him, to the water droplets racing one another down the muscular planes of his chest. She was ready, feeling more confident to continue this game of verbal cat-and-mouse, but his tone changed and she must have shown her curiosity, or the pain she felt when he yanked her arm too quickly, when he pressed the dagger into his flesh.

The muscles in her arm tensed against his hold. She struggled to pull herself free, but he held her firm with the dagger poised right over his heart. She could feel the heat of his breath as he pressed her, taunting her to put him in his place or be a coward. Her own struggles against him pressed the tip in slightly, but enough to draw blood that ran down the blade and into her hand. It would have been so easy to end it all.

"Let me go." She hissed a demand, "I am not afraid of you. I don't hate you." She spoke truthfully. "Let go."

Ash didn't let go, so with a sharp twist that Vespera knew she would feel a thousand times worse the next day, she wrenched her bloodied hand free. "I am not a coward and I do not pity you." The dagger clattered to the ground and Vespera tilted her head upward, locking eyes with him. Two unyielding flames facing one another, one wild and untamed, the other an unassuming wellspring of something deeper. "Don't flatter yourself, Asher."

She stepped backward, putting space between his fury and her calm, and watched his chest heave with his uneven breaths. Her voice softened, but still carried its edge. "You want me to hate you? To fear you?" She shook her head. "You don't scare me, Asher. You're just a male, lost and bleeding in the moonlight because you don't know how to feel anything but hated and feared."

She noticed, for a moment, that his wildness seemed to dim, leaving him vulnerable. But it was gone in an instant. "I am not going to kill you, Asher. That would be too easy."

Vespera turned on her heel, her heart pounding as she turned to retrieve the few belongings she had discarded near a boulder. Tying the cloak around her throat, she turned to him. "Handle your demons on your own. Don't use my hands to hurt yourself."

With those final words, she turned away and began walking back towards their village, her bloody dagger still lying abandoned at his feet.

 

[Asher]

Ash stood there, his chest heaving as if he’d just fought off a beast twice his size. But the beast was within him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win. He stared at her retreating figure. 'I am not afraid of you. I don't hate you'. Lies, they had to be. Humans lied so easily. Why wouldn’t she hate him? He and his brother had given her every reason to. His brother’s cruelty had been merciless, and Asher—desperate to bond with the only family he had left—had stood by, complicit, sometimes worse. She had been a weak, breakable thing in a world designed to crush her, and yet she stood here now, defying him, unbroken.

Stubborn human. Even now, when she had every right to end him, she didn’t. Instead, she turned her back on him and walked away, leaving him behind with nothing but his guilt, his self-loathing, and the silence that clawed at his mind.

The dagger glinted at his feet, his blood still fresh on the blade. He bent slowly, the motion deliberate, his fingers curling around the hilt. For a moment, he just held it, staring at the crimson smears on the metal, catching his reflection.

Her words echoed in his mind, relentless. “You don’t scare me, Asher. You’re just a male, lost and bleeding in the moonlight because you don’t know how to feel anything but hated and fear.” His jaw tightened, teeth grinding against the truth he couldn’t admit.

She was wrong. She had to be wrong. But gods, the fire in her eyes when she looked at him, the way she stood her ground, even against him—powerless and yet fearless. He hated her for that, too. No, not hate. He couldn’t name it, but it burned just as hot.

And then she turned to leave, and something in him broke. The silence she left in her wake was suffocating, threatening to swallow him whole. For a second, just a second, he wanted to call her back, wanted to say—what? That she was right? That he respected her? That he didn’t want her to go? That even standing here fighting with her was better than being left alone?

He couldn't say any of those things. Instead, he let the anger win. He always did.

The dagger left his hand in a swift, precise motion, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the bark of one of their sacred trees, mere inches from where she was about to pass. It landed with a loud, satisfying thud.

“You forgot something,” he growled, his voice rough and biting, though it wavered ever so slightly at the end.

His gaze burned into her back, daring her to turn around, daring her to keep walking. He didn’t know what he wanted her to do—stay and fight with him, or leave him to drown in the storm she’d stirred. Either way, he couldn’t stop the quiet words that slipped from his lips once she was too far to hear.

“Fearless little thing.”

 

[Vespera]

Having the final word was nowhere near as satisfying as Vespera hoped it to be. Something deep in her felt bad for him with each insult she hurled at him. Even if he was cruel. Even if he was a full blooded fae who, like his brother, seemed to enjoy making her feel lesser for the human blood that tainted her. But her pride outweighed her guilt this time and she continued walking until-

A hiss of metal slicing through the air was sharp, giving barely enough warning before a dagger- her dagger- buried itself deep in the bark of the tree nearest to her head. Its handle still quivered from the force it struck with when she froze. Her breath caught and she glanced upward and to the left. Its edge gleamed in the moonlight only a finger breadth from the almost-point of her ear.

Her hands curled into fists at her side, an electric pain shooting up her left wrist from the motion. Her movement was slow and deliberate. She turned to face him. He remained where he stood, half shrouded by either his own shadows or the shadows of the trees around him, his mouth moving with the whisper of something she couldn't pick up.

Really? Her fingers itched to grab her dagger, to hurl it back at him with just as much force. She wouldn't miss her target, though. But she resisted the urge. Instead, her eyes narrowed, the glint equal parts fury and challenge.

Vespera took a step closer to the tree, wrapping her fingers around the dagger's hand carved hilt. With a sharp tug and another shooting pain she tried to hide, she tanked the dagger free. Her gaze never left Asher's.

"If you wanted me to stay so badly, all you had to do was ask." Her voice was low, but his ears were superior to hers. Her lips pulled into a faint smirk and her attention shifted to the dagger, twisting it in the low light as she inspected it for any new damage. "Might I suggest working on your aim? Next time, try throwing it at me. Then we can try this again."

She slid the blade back onto her thigh with a quiet laugh and turned away from him. With her final words, she strode off into the darkness, leaving Asher alone. He could stew over whatever foul mood he was in alone. Vespera had her own problems to deal with without daggers flying towards her head.

As she approached Merenor's home again, the forest felt heavy. For a moment, she considered turning back. That voice that urged her to flee, to avoid the weight of Merenor's lack of presence, tugged at her chest. But she ignored it and forced herself to step inside once again.

Learning how to grieve had never been a lesson for Vespera. She never mourned her mother or father who had abandoned her. The fae of the Elderglen would outlive her by hundreds of years, so she had no use learning how to handle death when they would outlast her. She searched for things to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied so that it would never come to trying to understand what to feel or how to feel.

She set her dagger down on the table beside the door, kicking her dirty boots off underneath it. Her wrist ached in protest when she freed her hair from its ponytail. "Fuck." She mumbled to herself, admiring the peculiar shade of purple on her blotchy skin. It would be a problem for tomorrow when Aerion or Rivain would, undoubtedly, give another speech on why Vespera should not be there.

They were right, though. She stared up at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. Hand painted, stars, clouds, and moons dotted the ceiling. Lying on a bed barely big enough for her, she pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. Maybe I should go.

 

[Asher]

Asher watched her go, his chest tight with something he refused to name.

He had wanted her to turn back. He wasn’t sure why, only that the thought of her disappearing into the dark, leaving him with nothing but the echoes of her voice, set his teeth on edge. But she did leave. She strode off without hesitation, without looking back, as though he didn’t matter at all.

Because he didn’t. He was just, another annoyance. A frustration.

A burden.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He had never been one to sit with his thoughts. It was easier to drown them in blood and rage, to throw himself into a fight, to let his fury consume him before the guilt could. But now there was no fight. Only the lingering scent of her in the air, the whisper of her footsteps fading into the trees, and the crushing weight of his own mind.

He turned abruptly, his heart hammering as he strode deeper into the Elderglen. The sacred trees loomed above him, their ancient presence pressing down like silent witnesses to his unraveling. He needed to move. Needed to be anywhere but here.

By the time he reached his quarters, he had made his decision.

No words. No goodbyes. No explanations.

If he stayed, he would break. He would hurt someone—maybe Rivain, maybe himself, maybe anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path on the wrong night. Maybe her. Why did he care so much?

The magic inside him burned too hot, seething beneath his skin, writhing with a mind of its own. He couldn’t control it, not when his own rage only fed the fire. He had to find a way to master it before it mastered him.

So he left.

No one saw him go. He took nothing but his weapons, the clothes on his back, and enough coin to get him by for a while. The Elderglen faded behind him as he walked into the night, letting the forest swallow him whole.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months...

The world outside the Elderglen was sharp-edged and cruel, but Asher had never been one to shy away from pain. He threw himself into trouble like it was an old lover, a familiar vice. He drank until the edges of his mind blurred. He fought until his knuckles split and his magic surged through him like wildfire. He fucked because it was easier than thinking, than feeling, than wanting something he could never have.

But none of it helped.

No matter how many taverns he drank dry, how many bodies he tangled with, how many times he left a man broken and bloody in the dirt, the rage still festered. The magic still whispered in the back of his mind, demanding more, demanding control.

He sought out those who might help him—mages, scholars, old warriors who spoke of fae magic with both awe and fear. Some turned him away. Others tried to teach him, but their methods were slow, tedious, and Asher had never been a patient male.

So he wandered, chasing something he couldn’t quite name, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find.

And all the while, the Elderglen remained behind him, untouched, unchanged.

He didn’t look back.

Because if he did, he might not have the strength to keep going.

 

[Vespera]

After that night, days seemed to blur together. He hadn't come back to train with Rivain, his father, or Vespera which was a shame because Vespera wanted to show him the bruises on her swollen wrist from how hard he had held onto her and the force she needed to remove his grip. In her rare off-time, she threw herself into repairing parts of Merenor's home. The parts she let get shamefully dusty after his death.

There hadn't been a day there wasn't a fire lit in the giant hearth when Merenor was alive. He had always loved his fire affinity, ensuring that the home was warm. Not only in temperature, but also spirit. So Vespera was determined to return that spirit. It was all that she had left of him, but deep down she knew she was avoiding other thoughts and other worries.

Thoughts of Asher plagued her any time she sat still too long. At her post, during a break in her training or cleaning. They flooded her mind and seemed intent on keeping her up.

He never came looking for her after their argument. She told herself she didn't care. He was a stubborn ass- infuriating and quite often the last person she wanted to deal with. She figured if he wanted to brood alone in the forest, then fine. Let him.

Days stretched into weeks and unease crept in.

It seemed that this feeling only affected her, however. Rivain still treated her like dirt in the moments they trained together. Aerion had acted as though he never even had a son to begin with. Did they care or were they simply better at hiding their frustration and their worry?

Weeks turned to months and Vespera had grown from worried to angry. How dare he leave them all to pick up his slack? How dare he leave her alone to deal with his brother and his father? How dare he leave her?

Whatever. Fuck it. If he wanted to mope until she was dead, fine. She would no longer give any of her swarming thoughts to his wellbeing. He was gone. Merenor was gone. She was alone and she would always be alone. She wouldn't subject herself to this torture any longer. He was not her responsibility to find and she certainly would not drag him out of hiding, herself.

Fuck him.

 

[Asher]

The tavern was alive with noise, filled with the drunken hum, the scent of wine and firewood thick in the air. Asher sat slouched against the bar, fingers curled loosely around a half-empty bottle of something strong and burning. His head swam pleasantly, the weight in his chest momentarily numbed, dulled by the drink and the low, golden candlelight.

Beside him, the female who's company he was currently keeping laughed, her voice like the chime of silver bells. She was beautiful, in that way fae always were—too sharp, too perfect, too otherworldly. But there was something different about her, something in the way she watched him, eyes too knowing, too deep. A seer, she’d said. Oakley had never put much stock in visions, in fate. But she was warm, and she was willing, and for tonight, that was enough.

Her hand found his face, cool fingers brushing against the scruff of his jaw, tracing over the runes on his face up toward his cheekbone. Her touch was featherlight, but as her gaze locked onto his, her smile faltered. The amusement in her face faded, replaced by something else—something distant, sorrowful.

Her head tilted, and when she spoke, her voice was softer than before, quieter, carrying the weight of something inevitable.

"The darkness in you…" she murmured, thumb grazing his cheek. "It’ll be the death of her."

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating. Ash stilled. His drunken haze did nothing to dull the way his stomach twisted at her words. He knew better than to ask. He knew. He fucking knew. Still, his jaw tightened, his grip flexing against the bottle. "Her?"

The fae only smiled—sad, knowing.

"Yes. The half one you think of now.."

His blood ran cold.

Ash sneered, tearing his face from her touch as he shoved himself upright. The chair scraped against the wooden floorboards as he moved, lifting his jacket with jerky, impatient motions. The warmth of the tavern suddenly felt suffocating, the fire too bright, the air too thick. He needed to leave.

And so he did.

Without another word, he strode toward the door, the heavy weight of her prophecy settling deep in his gut, clinging to him like a curse. The cold night air hit him like a slap, sobering but not enough. The streets were slick with rain, reflecting the flickering lanterns that lined the worn cobblestone paths. Asher pulled his jacket tighter around himself, though the chill that settled in his bones had nothing to do with the weather.

How could he go back now?

They were better off without him. Safer without him.

He knew it the moment he left, but hearing it from the lips of a seer—hearing it spoken like fact, like certainty—made it real in a way he couldn’t ignore. The darkness in him would be the death of her. And there was no question who she meant. Because she was on his mind, always, and he didn't understand why.

The thought made him sick. Made the drink in his gut churn like poison. He braced a hand against the nearest stone wall, inhaling deeply, trying to steady himself, but it was no use. He vomited.

He couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not until he figured out how to control it. The rage, the power, the thing inside him that threatened to tear apart everything he touched.

 

[Vespera]

Like all other nights since Asher left, this one was too quiet.

No snarky comments pierced the gentle wind that pushed through the trees. No insult mingled with the crickets chirping.

Vespera shifted against the rough bark of a tree, scanning the forest for any danger while she was on patrol. Alone again. Before Asher disappeared, she had rarely been permitted to patrol the forest alone. She was always stuck with one of the Adamou boys. But he was still missing.

Rivain finally acknowledged his disappearance after months of nothingness. He tried to convince her not to panic, that Asher had a habit of slipping away from responsibilities whenever it suited him. But in all her years, she had never been a witness of such a claim. She could feel deep down that this wasn't just Asher being reckless. Something had felt off for days.

The forest seemed to still around her, wind dying and creatures skittering away from the area en masse. Vespera shuddered, a chill working its way up her spine. Her hand hovered over a blade on her hip. Something was very wrong.

There was a whisper of movement behind her. A snapping of twigs. A shift in the atmosphere. Vespera had moved one second too late.

The attack was fast. A blur of movement and then the impact.

Something crashed down on her from above, the branch she was perched on snapped below her and they landed so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs. Her dagger was in her hand, extended outward towards the body that had her legs pinned below them. And then, she registered eyes. Two more pairs of golden-green eyes gleaming in the moonlight as they stepped from the shadows.

Fae.

Full-blooded fae, judging by the size of them. Three. Built like the other Sylverglade Sentinels, but she did not recognize them as any of Rivain or Aerion's men. Not allies.

"Well, well..." The one on the left sneered, stepping towards the one who had her pinned. "The little half-breed was left all alone."

The one on the right followed, snatching the blade from Vespera's hands with ease.

Vespera spit in the face of the one on top of her, blood mixing with her saliva. She thrashed ignoring the sting in her ribs. Her movement barely registered. He was stronger than her. "Get off of me." She growled.

They laughed at her, mocking her helplessness.

"Pathetic." The one on the right kicked her in her aching ribs while the one in the center pressed harder until pain flared and white spots danced in her vision. "She fights like a human." His hand fisted her hair and yanked her head backward to expose her throat. "And yet, she still thinks she belongs here. I think we should remind her of what she really is."

Her blade glinted in the moonlight in the hand of her attacker. Vespera shut her eyes tightly. She had imagined her death before. It was easy to do when your life is so insignificant. Old age usually claimed her in her dreams. She had never imagined her existence to be worthy of anyone wanting to spill her blood. It was like if she were to kill a bug.

Insignificant.

Pain exploded through her skull as the knife cut through flesh and cartilage, severing the half-pointed tip of her right ear. She didn't even register the blood-curdling scream that ripped from her throat. Her vision blurred and her body trembled as something burned like fire, running down her neck. Her blood, hot and thick spilled into the dirt beside her as he head was dropped back.

Something snapped the moment the leader stood from on top of her.

Vespera twisted violently and grabbed another dagger attached to her hip, jamming upwards and into the male's stomach. He grunted, and stumbled backward. Her own vision blurred in and out as she dashed for her first dagger and grabbed it. The moment her fingers closed around its hilt, she drove it into the one one the left's side. Deep. He gasped for air and tried to flee. But Vespera didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

The one that severed her ear fled, but the one she stabbed first lunged for her. She slashed up, across his throat before he could even touch her. They thought she would be easy prey. But they were wrong. She advanced, her breathing growing more and more ragged. Blood dripped down her face and neck, soaking the collar of her shirt.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance." She barely managed to say aloud.

One more slash and the forest was silent once more.

She staggered backward against a tree, pressing a shaky hand to the side of her head. Pain still burned, sharp and searing. But nothing compared to the ache beneath the wound. Vespera stared at the bodies.

No matter how much I fight. No matter what I do. It will never be enough. They will never see me as one of them. And I'm not sure I will either.

She blacked out under that tree.

 

[Asher]

The dream swallowed him whole.

The scent of blood thick in the air. The weight of a body pressing him down. Hands in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing his throat bare. Laughter, sharp and cruel. The flash of silver in the moonlight. Pain.

His vision blurred, breath rattling in his chest as fire tore through him. His own scream echoed in his ears, raw and ragged, his body trembling with shock. Blood dripped down his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt, pooling warm in the dirt beneath him.

He moved, fast, brutal, daggers finding their marks, sinking deep into flesh. The scent of death mixed with the night air. A heartbeat thrummed in his ears, erratic, desperate. It wasn’t his.

Something snapped. This wasn’t him.

His mind wrenched itself free from the illusion, from the borrowed pain, and he shot upright with a gasp, cold sweat slicking his skin. His hand flew to his ear, feeling for the wound that wasn’t there, but the sting lingered, phantom and burning. His ribs ached like they had been kicked, his breath still uneven.

His pulse pounded in his skull, but his mind was already made up.

He was moving. Grabbing his things. Running.

The ley lines were close—he could feel them pulsing beneath the earth, a hum in his bones. He plunged through the shallows of a river, water splashing up his legs as he pushed forward, harder, faster. The leys called to him, and he answered, stepping into their current, letting them take him.

The Elderglen greeted him with the thick scent of blood.

Asher didn’t stop running. Through the trees, over roots and fallen branches, feet barely touching the earth as his chest heaved, as dread twisted like a knife in his gut.

And then he saw it. The tree. The bodies.

And her.

He skidded to a halt, breath ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs. His vision tunneled, locking onto the limp form beneath the tree, blood staining the ground around her. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands already reaching. He turned her face gently, his fingers trembling against her skin. Blood soaked her gossamer hair, glistened down her face from where the pointed tip of her ear had been, a cruel wound carved into flesh. His throat tightened, jaw clenching so hard it ached.

"Vespa." His voice was quiet, hoarse, breathless. He swallowed hard, forcing air into his lungs as his fingers traced over her cheek, her pulse still steady beneath his touch.

His eyes flickered to the bodies littering the glade, rage simmering beneath his skin. The magic inside him stirred, dark and volatile, but he shoved it down. Now was not the time. Without hesitation, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her as gently as he could.

He carried her through the trees, his steps sure despite the way his mind reeled. He didn’t stop until he reached her home, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Setting her down on the plush sofa, he moved with purpose, his hands steady even as his chest burned with unspoken fury. He found cloth and water and cleaned the blood from her face, careful, almost reverent, dabbing gently at the wound where her ear had been severed.

His hand settled over her ribs, feeling the shift of broken bone beneath his palm. The simmering rage inside him burned hotter.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Her words from the dream echoed in his head. They had hurt her. Humiliated her. Tried to break her.
They didn’t realise she was unbreakable.

Asher exhaled slowly, his jaw still tight, his hand still resting gently over her ribs.

"No one touches you like this again." He didn’t say it aloud, but the promise settled deep in his bones.

 

[Vespera]

Darkness stretched on for an eternity. Thick and endless. Vespera felt herself drifting through it, untethered and weightless. Pain had pulsed at the edges of her mind, dull and throbbing. It tried to drag her back to her body, but she resisted for now. In the void, thick blood didn't stick to her skin. She wasn't broken. But she could still hear the world around her.

She thought it was them, thought she was hearing laughter of her attackers. Attacker, rather. She thought the survivor had come to finish what the three had come to accomplish. The unbearable, searing heat broke through her trance momentarily and she realized the sound she had been hearing was her own whimpering as she lie on the ground, trying to sink deeper into the darkness where nothing could hurt her.

Vespa

Something warm pressed against her cheek, refusing to let her sink any further. For a moment, she thought the warmth was more of her blood soaking her face...but no. It was fingers- calloused and familiar. They twisted her face to reveal the damage.

She had missed those hands, guiding her into the correct position during training. Even if they'd never been kind to her. She fucking missed them.

His scent hit her, grounding her when he brushed her hair away and tore apart the scabbed flesh. Her mind struggled, caught between safety of the abyss and the agony of returning. She fought to keep a grasp on his scent. Her ribs ached. Her head throbbed. Her ear, whatever was left of-

Gods. My ear.

The pain was sudden and violent, ripping her from unconsciousness with a sharp gasp. Her body jerked, muscles tensing as she tried to move, tried to fight.

A firm hand pressed against her ribs, stilling her.

It fucking hurts. Her mind reeled as bones shifted back in place. Vespera forced her eyes open. The world blurred into place. The forest had disappeared, replaced by soft golden light flickering across the wooden walls. The scent of rare herbs filled the air. Home. She was home.

And Asher was sitting right beside her.

His face was drawn tight, brows furrowed and jaw clenched so hard she swore she could hear his teeth grinding. Shadows clung below his eyes, where a storm seemed to be brewing right behind. There was something dark and dangerous in his gaze, something she worried that he could barely contain. His hand still hovered over her ribs.

Vespera tried to speak, her throat raw from screaming. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. A sharp pain shot through her skull and she flinched, squeezing her eyes tight. Tears formed and fell down her cheeks. When she reopened them, she couldn't look at him. She had never been one to show her emotions in front of anyone except Fionn in the short time they spent under Merenor's wing. She'd been discouraged from such a weak behavior.

What the fuck else could she do but cry? It was embarrassing.

She felt too exposed, too pathetic. But she couldn't even force out the one word, leave. A word she didn't want to say in the first place. Ignoring the blinding pain, she forced herself upright and wrapped her arms around Ash's neck, squeezing tight as she sobbed into his shoulder.

 

[Asher]

Asher had never been a safe place for anyone.

People sought him out for a fight, for a drink, for a fuck—but never for comfort. Never for warmth. He wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t know how to be.

But now, as Vespera clung to him, trembling, sobbing, breaking in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. His breath was shallow, his muscles coiled tight, his mind screaming that this wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be holding onto you like this. You’re nothing good. And yet, he stayed.

“Hey…” His voice was quieter now, roughened with something he couldn’t name. He could feel every shuddering breath she took, every broken sob that tore from her throat. She was always so strong, so untouchable—seeing her like this, feeling her like this, did something to him.

His hand, still pressed firm against her ribs, stayed steady, grounding her as much as himself. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

And gods, he did.

Her fingers dug into him, clinging so tightly it was as though she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. Her warmth seeped into him, shaking him, unraveling him. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to being held, being trusted. His body was built for violence, for war, for destruction. But here she was, pressing herself into his chest like he was something steady, something good.

His throat tightened, his hands twitching at his sides before finally, his arms wrapped around her.

His grip was uncertain at first, but then his fingers curled into her hair, his other hand pressing firm against her back, holding her closer. Tight. Safe.

She was so small in his arms, so fragile, but gods, she had fought. He had seen it, felt it, lived it through her as though it had been his own body bleeding into the dirt. And now, here she was, breaking against him. Letting him hold her together.

He exhaled sharply, burying his face against her hair.

No one had ever held him like this.

So he wouldn’t let go. Not until she was ready.

 

[Vespera]

Vespera squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to force her breath to slow and steady, but it was completely useless. The world still swayed and threatened to pull her under. Her body ached, her ear burned hotter than the fire in her ribs. But her hands still clenched the back of Ash's shirt, knuckles white and refusing to let go.

You're safe. I've got you.

He didn't pull away. Instead, his arms surrounded her. Slow at first, like he was unsure of what he was doing. But then his fingers speared into her hair and his other hand pressed firm against her back to hold her against him in a way she needed to feel.

But he wasn't real. He couldn't be real.

Her mind had been playing tricks on her. Clever hallucinations to dull her mind as pain and infection likely settled in her like a death sentence.

Asher was gone.

He had left- vanished like smoke in the wind. Like a spirit with no grave. He left nothing behind but silence and scars that still hadn't had the decency to heal after months. Months that had passed on and on until she had stopped waiting for him to come home. Stopped expecting him.

And yet, here he was. Solid and warm, holding her like she was something precious. Holding her like she was something worth holding.

Another broken sob forced its way out of her throat, a terrible, desperate sound. Vespera pressed closer, her body shaking so violently that she might shatter. She wanted to shove him away, to scream, to demand why. Why did you leave? Why now? Why come back only to find me like this?

But there was nothing she could do to force any words out.

She turned her head- just enough so that she was no longer sobbing into his neck. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder and the air bit where the tip of her ear had been. Pain jolted through her again like lightning, sharp and electric. She flinched hard, hand flying up to fumble with her ear before she could stop herself.

Her fingers trembled as the traced, confirming what she had already known but could not bring herself to believe. A sob tore through her again, sudden, violent and absolutely strangling. She tried to pull away, but Ash's arms were still tight around her. Solid and unyielding.

Her breaths came in sharp, short gasps as panic clawed its way out of her. "It's gone." She rasped. "They..." She had no words, only more tears.

 

[Asher]

Asher’s chest ached with something raw and unbearable, something clawing at the edges of his ribs, tightening around his throat like a vice. Gods, her sobs… They were breaking him. Every ragged, shuddering breath chipping away at the walls he had built, cracking them wide open until there was nothing left to hold them together.

His eyes burned, his pulse hammering in his ears as he held her tighter, feeling every tremor that wracked her small frame. She was shaking so violently it sent tremors through him. He had felt her pain before—through the dream, through whatever anomaly that had let him see it—but hearing it, feeling it in his arms, was worse.

She flinched hard against him, her breath hitching in panic as her fingers fumbled at the ruined remnants of her ear. Then another sob ripped from her throat, jagged and strangling, and she tried to pull away. But Asher wasn’t letting go. Not now.

It's gone...they...

No more words, only more tears.

“I know,” Asher whispered, his voice unsteady, thick with a rage so consuming it made his hands tremble where they held her. He pulled her gently from the sofa and down into his lap, wrapping his arms around her completely, cradling her against his chest like he could shield her from the world itself. Like he should have been here to do in the first place.

His fingers curled into her hair, his other hand gripping the back of her shirt, holding her as close as he possibly could. He rested his cheek against her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice low, strained. Lying. Because it did matter. It mattered to her. And if it mattered to her, it mattered to him.

“It doesn’t make you less.” The words felt bitter on his tongue, because hadn’t he done just that? Hadn’t he spent years making her feel like she wasn’t enough? That she wasn’t one of them? Rivain had been worse, but Asher had been there. Hadn’t stopped it. Had laughed when he should have fought for her. The guilt clawed at him, burning its way up his throat like bile.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his fingers tilting her chin upward, forcing her teary gaze to meet his. His brows drew together, his expression dark and heavy. “You hear me?” His voice softened, but there was steel beneath it. “It doesn’t make you less.”

He swallowed hard, thumb brushing along her cheek, wiping away the tears that kept falling.

“In the end,” he murmured, his lips barely moving, his voice a quiet promise, a death sentence, “you’ll still be beautiful.”

His gaze flickered, shadows flickering behind his emerald irises, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. “And they’ll all be dead.”

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers, his grip never loosening. “All of them.”

 

[Vespera]

Beautiful.

Vespera's face paled. The word barely registered at first, slipping through her haze of grief and exhaustion. Drowned out by the way Ash held onto her tightly. The way he promised death to those who hurt her, the one survivor, like it was the only offering he knew how to give. Like it was the only thing he had left.

But the word then settled. It sank deep. And Vespera did not understand it.

She stiffened in his arms, breath catching. Her fingers gripped his shirt tighter, anchoring herself into something solid. Something real. But that word made reality twist, warp, stretch too thin between what she had known and what she had heard.

Beautiful.

He wasn't lying- he couldn't lie. He was a full-blooded fae male. He. Could. Not. Lie. Knowing that only made it worse. Why would he say that? Why now of all times? When Vespera was a wreck in his arms, her body aching from wounds that were slowly healing under his touch. When she was still angry with him for leaving, for abandoning the Elderglen. When she could still feel what had been taken from her every time the cool air brushed against the ruined tip of her ear.

She was no longer whole. No longer strong.

She wasn't beautiful.

So why would he say such a thing?

She swallowed hard, fingers twitching against his chest. Something twisted in her stomach, sharp and angry, making it impossible to breath when combined with her aching ribs. She pulled back and forced herself to look at him through big, golden eyes. Forced herself to look into his green eyes that burned with something raw and far too real.

"You don't-" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. She swallowed again, shaking her head. Her pulse was frantic, uneven. She was panicking. "I'm not. Don't.." But she couldn't finish. Couldn't make sense of the thoughts that tangled in her head, doubt clawing at her mind, confusion burning beneath her skin. "Why?"

Ash had called her many things in the time she had known him.

Broken.

Tainted.

Half-breed.

Feral.

A thousand things, some cruel and some downright careless. Some that were used like blades, cutting deep enough to scar her.

But never that. Never beautiful.

She searched his face for some kind of answer, an explanation. But all she saw was him. Solid and steady, his expression dark and unrelenting. Something dangerous brewed in his eyes and something in them made her chest ache. Something that made her wonder if he meant it.

Why?

 

[Asher]

Asher felt the way she stiffened against him, the way her breath caught, the way her fingers dug tighter into his shirt as if she could anchor herself to something real. But it wasn’t the pain that had frozen her—it was him. It was that damned word.

Beautiful.

He hadn’t thought about it when he said it. It had slipped from his lips like a truth buried so deep he hadn’t realised it had been there at all. But now, seeing the way she looked at him, like he had just undone her entirely, he wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Because she didn’t believe him. Of course she didn’t.

She had spent years hearing the opposite, from him, from Rivain, from all of them. She had spent her whole life clawing for a place in a world that refused to make room for her, fighting tooth and nail just to be seen as something more. And all he had ever done was make it harder.

Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, shaking like she might shatter.

'Why?'

Gods, she was searching him now, golden eyes wide, desperate, looking at him like she needed an answer. Like she needed him to make sense. But Asher had never made sense. Not to himself. Not to anyone.

His jaw clenched, something thick and unmovable lodging itself in his throat. He should say nothing. He should let it go, let her believe what she wanted, let her hate him, because wasn’t that easier? Hadn’t it always been?

Asher’s throat was tight, his pulse hammering too hard against his ribs. She was still looking at him—wide golden eyes full of doubt, of something raw and fragile that he wasn’t sure he knew how to fix. But he couldn’t let her believe the things they’d made her think about herself. Not this. So he swallowed down the anger, the shame, the fucking fear that burned in his chest.

His fingers twitched where they held her, the weight of what he was about to say making his chest ache. But he had never been one to shy away from a fight.

"You are beautiful, Vespa." The words came quiet, but steady, firm. No hesitation. No teasing grin or cruel edge. Just truth.

"It’s not just your face," he continued, voice rough but sure. "Not just your eyes or your hair. You're beautiful in all of those ways but, not just all of that shallow shit." His fingers curled at her waist, anchoring himself to her warmth, to her presence. "It’s the way you never stop."

His breath hitched slightly, but he pushed through, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

"It’s the way you stand when the world tries to knock you down." His hand slid up, brushing against the blood-matted strands of her hair, tucking them behind what remained of her ear. He was careful, like touching her too hard might break her apart completely. "The way you take every hit, every insult, every fucking ounce of the hate—and you keep going."

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven. "You could have died tonight. They tried to break you." His hand moved to her cheek, tilting her face just enough that she had to look at him, had to see the fire in his eyes, the anger burning in his chest. "But they didn’t. They couldn’t. You're a far stronger fae than most I know. Far stronger than I am."

His thumb brushed against her cheekbone, lingering there, his fingers curling just slightly.

"And that?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, but there was nothing soft about it. "That is what makes you beautiful."

His voice was rough, unsteady, his hands still gripping her, still holding onto her like she might slip away if he let go. His throat ached, his ribs tight, but he meant it.

The silence between them stretched too long, too heavy, his own pulse thundering in his ears. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his hands flexing against her back.

"I don’t care what they’ve told you." His voice was quieter now, but there was something fierce beneath it. Something immovable. "I don’t care what I’ve told you." His jaw tensed, his expression darkening, guilt gnawing at the edges of his words. "They don’t get to decide what you are. I don’t get to decide what you are."

He let out a bitter huff, his fingers pressing just a little firmer into her spine. "You think losing part of your ear changes anything?" His gaze locked onto hers, unrelenting, daring her to argue. "It doesn’t. You’re still you. You’re still this."

His hand moved, brushing over the bloodstained strands of her hair, over the curve of her cheek where her tears had dried, thumb lingering just beneath her jaw. His fingers curled there, not tight, but firm enough to make her listen.

"You survived." His voice was barely a murmur now, something raw bleeding into his tone. "You always survive. And it doesn’t make you less." His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but he swallowed it back.

Instead, his thumb stroked once over the sharp line of her jaw before he let his hand drop, exhaling roughly as if letting go of her was the hardest thing he had done in years.

"And if anyone says otherwise," he added, voice quiet but laced with something dark and final, "then they don’t get to keep breathing."

 

[Vespera]

Asher kept speaking, saying things like they were facts. Saying things like they were unchanging. Like she was worth the words he was wasting his breath on.

Her own breaths were coming too quickly, too shallow. Her heart hammered against her chest, uneven and frantic. Vespera tried to pull away, to force back the familiar and comfortable distance between them, but his hands would not allow it. His hold was not rough, nor demanding, but anchoring like he was afraid she might disappear if he was willing to let go.

Maybe she would disappear. Maybe she wanted to.

Because she sure as hell did not know what to do about the way he was looking at her. What to do with the way his voice wrapped around her, speaking like he actually meant it when he kept trying to make her believe his words. It was too much. Too unreal.

"You don't-" Her voice cracked again, her throat too raw to force the words out properly. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You don't mean that."

He must have found a way to lie, a way to deceive her. He had to have.

But Ash didn't lie. Didn't trick people.

Not like this.

She felt his grip tighten slightly before he let go. His forehead, or maybe it had been his, dipped forward as she let out a sharp exhale. Her eyes locked onto his while they space between them diminished into something almost nonexistent.

But Vespera froze when the world around them faded. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the crackling of the fire in the hearth, masking the wind howling outside the windows. She could feel his breath, warm against her lips. Like hers, it was uneven, heavy. Fingers were still locked on the fabric of his shirt. She wasn't sure if she was holding him there or trying to hold herself together.

She couldn't think. Not past the weight of his touch. Not past the heat of his presence. Not past the passion in his words, still coiling around her chest and rattling something, that had long since been locked away, loose.

She hated him. Gods she hated him for this- for making her feel this way. Whatever this way was! She hated him for holding her like she mattered and for saying the one thing she did not know how to believe.

"Asher..." His name was barely a plea, barely a whisper.

Her fingers lifted and traced along his jawline, slow and hesitant, but deliberate. There was stubble now, the rough surface darkening parts of the ink that trailed over the side of his face. She trailed upward, tracing along the runic design where it led into his hair. Hair that had once been neatly trimmed was now longer- not nearly as long as Rivain's- but what it lacked in length it had made up with in messiness.

Vespera speared her fingers through the white blonde tresses, her other hand gripping him tightly like he was the only thing keeping her upright and grounded. Like she needed him.

But she didn't. She couldn't.

Yet, she was still leaning in.

Space between them shrank, her golden doe eyes flickering to his lips before she could stop herself, before she could shove this imaginary moment away like she should. And she knew he saw, yet he didn't immediately move Didn't pull back. Didn't let go.

God's help her, because she didn't either.

In a single breath, a tiny shift, and they would crash together. Vespera didn't know if she could survive it.

 

[Asher]

Asher’s pulse stumbled, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. He was staring, transfixed as she spoke his name in a way she never had before. Not with anger. Not with reprimand. Not with that sharp, scathing wit she used as armour.

No, this was something different. Something dangerous. Something he wasn’t sure he knew what to do with.

Her fingers traced along his jaw, her touch was gentle, different to the way she had clung to him moments ago, breaking apart in his arms. Her fingertips ghosted over the runes on his skin, trailing upward into his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp in a way that sent a sharp jolt of something unfamiliar straight through his chest.

His eyes closed a moment too long as a breath worked its way free of his throat. Vespa.

She was leaning in. Was she leaning in?

His mouth went dry, his pulse hammering as he watched her eyes flicker downward—to his lips. His fucking lips.

Gods, he couldn’t tell her how many times he had thought about this. How many times her face had slipped into his mind while he was far from home, while his hands were on someone else, while his lips roamed another. She was never supposed to be there, but she always was. Lingering like a ghost, like a curse, like a quiet, nagging thought he could never quite shake.

But she was supposed to hate him.

She did hate him. Didn’t she?

His fingers curled against her back, and fuck, if she got any closer, if she so much as breathed in the space between them, he was going to lose the last ounce of restraint he had left. But then a thought struck him like a blade to the gut—she would regret this.

Maybe not now. Maybe not tonight. But eventually, when the world settled back into place and her anger returned, when the weight of everything that had happened came crashing down on her, she would look back on this and hate herself for it. She would hate him even more. He couldn’t live with that. He wouldn’t.

A deep sigh shuddered from his lips, and before she could close the space between them, his hand slid over her hair, his fingers curling at the nape of her neck as he tilted her head just slightly—just enough—and pressed his lips to her forehead.

It was soft. Brief. His chest felt too tight, his ribs barely expanding around his next breath. “Come on,” he murmured, voice strained. “I’ll fill the tub.”

But he didn’t let go of her.

Instead, he shifted, tightening his arms around her as he stood, still cradling her against his chest like she was something precious. Like she was something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

And maybe, just for a little while longer, he wouldn’t.

 

[Vespera]

Her breath caught, fingers tangled in his hair, heart beating erratically as his lips pressed against her...forehead...? Not her mouth. The warmth of his touch burned, fiery and hot, but not in the way she wanted it to. Not in the way she needed-

Gods. What had she been thinking?

Vespera felt it in the moment he pulled away from her, felt the space settle between them like a chasm. His absence was colder than the night air. Shame lanced through her, sharp and hot, a mortifying realization creeping up her spine like the bile that mirrored its way up her throat. Vespera had almost kissed Ash. She wanted to kiss Ash.

And he didn't want her.

Of course he didn't.

Stupid. Gods. I am so fucking stupid.

It wasn't because she was filthy. It wasn't because she was covered in blood. It wasn't because of the pain burning in her ear every time the air hit it. He didn't want her because she was her. He. Did. Not. Want. Her.

She clenched her teeth and held her breath as he gathered her up, still gentle like he worried he might break her. Though, she wasn't sure why. Gods. She was so embarrassed, she hoped he might break her just to put her out of her misery. If this was not some terrible hallucination as she was succumbing to an infection somewhere out in the forest, then she was fucked. She could not look him in the eye after trying, like a fucking moron, to kiss Asher.

She wanted to fight him, to shove him away. She should have clawed herself free, but she didn't. Because despite the roaring in her head, the bitterness and shame curdling in her stomach, she was just too fucking tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to face whatever had possessed her in that moment, madness or infection. She couldn't fight whatever had made her think that, even for a fleeting moment, he might want this. He might want her.

Her body went still in his arms as he carried her up the stairs and past the bedroom to the right- her childhood bedroom. Her fingers flexed weakly against his chest and then relaxed, dropping away entirely. He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't speaking. She was grateful for both. The world blurred around her, shifting in and out of focus while he pushed through the door beside the next room and entered a small bathing chamber. Her eyes remained locked on the tiled floor while he worked with a quiet efficiency, setting her down on a bench beside the tub before he began to fill it.

Water splashed, the sound echoing in the room when the tap was turned. Quickly, steaming water began to fill the tub. Vespera chose the time to pick at the dirt and dried blood on her arms. Her stomach twisted though, and she couldn't fight the creeping thoughts asking her if she should say something. Should she break the thick silence before she let it crush her?

What the fuck was there to say? Sorry I'm such a fucking idiot? Sorry for thinking you would ever- For thinking I wanted you to-

Her fists clenched in her lap, eyes watering. She was losing herself, unraveling thread by thread. She hated it. Hated that he had seen her like this. Hated that for a fleeting and fucking foolish second, she had wanted something impossible for the second time in her life.

The tub was nearly full now. Vespera could feel the warmth of the steam against her skin, but she still felt cold. Still felt hollow. But finally, she found her voice. It was hoarse and quiet when she said, "I think you should go. I'll be fine."

It was a lie. Perhaps the only power she had over them.

An obvious one, however, when she struggled to undress from the pain that still wracked her body. But she would not ask him for help.

 

[Asher]

Asher’s brow furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensing as her words hit him.

He understood why she said it. Gods, he understood it better than anyone. She felt broken—physically and emotionally—and the last thing she wanted was his pity, his help, his presence.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

Her ribs were cracked. Her ear was mangled. There was blood caked into her skin and hair, and still, she tried to act like she was fine, like she hadn't been crumbling in his arms. He knew her well enough by now. Well enough to see past the angry deflection, the pride that bled through her every word.

She was hurting.

He took a step closer, but his eyes never left hers. He gave her space, giving her the choice to either send him away or let him stay. He’d let her make that decision, but the silence between them was suffocating. It ached in a way that no physical wound could. His throat burned with something he wasn’t willing to name, but the words came out anyway.

"Your ribs are broken." His voice was low, his expression softening. "And I need to clean that ear and dress it..."

He stopped short, his hand hovering, unsure of the line between helping and pushing her too far. “I won’t.. look at you, but let me help?” His voice was quieter now, almost a plea, though he didn’t fully understand why he felt it. He wasn’t used to asking anyone for anything.

But when it came to her, when it came to Vespera, something in him had shifted.

He waited. Held his breath, just as she was holding hers. He wouldn’t force her, but he wouldn’t leave either. Not yet. He could see her body shaking. She wasn’t fine, not even close. But she didn’t need to say it. He could see it in the way she held herself, in the way her shoulders were hunched, like she was fighting a battle that no one else could see.

But he could.

 

[Vespera]

Vespera hated this.

Hated him.

No. Not him. The way her body betrayed her when she tried to move. The way she had to curl her hands into fists just to stop the trembling when she tried to remove her tunic and felt something shifting that definitely should not have been shifting inside of her body. She hated the heat that burned beneath her skin, bright pink in a wildfire of shame that no amount of steam in the air could mask. She hated that he was still here, that he hadn't walked away when she asked him to, like he saw so easily through her failed lie that she didn't want him to.

Most of all, though, she hated that she needed him.

Her ribs ached, sharp and splintering with every shallow breath. Something in her shoulder clicked and the pain that shot through made her stand a little straighter, as if becoming immobile might make it stop. Her ear throbbed in a way that made her skull feel like it was splitting apart. Gods she wished it fucking would, if it would make the pain stop. She could still taste blood in her mouth, metallic and thick, coating her tongue like a reminder of her weaknesses- wait, had that been there before?

She felt filthy. Broken. And she wanted to wash it all away and scrub her skin raw until she could just feel like herself again. Before this, before Merenor had died. When life was almost okay.

But she couldn't do it alone and Ash knew it. But he didn't seem to be phased by the awkwardness and embarrassment that threatened to consume her. If anything, he didn't even notice. His words still hung in the air, his voice quieter than it had been before, almost gentle. I won't.. look at you, but let me help?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Gods. Every instinct screamed at her to send him away, to push him from the room and lock the door. She knew if she let him do this, if she accepted help from him after the stupid move she had pulled, she didn't know if she could come back. Didn't know if she could maintain that distance they had always fought so hard to keep.

But what choice was there?

She swallowed hard. Once. Twice. The lump in her throat was thick and suffocating. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she finally spoke.

"...Fine." It felt like a surrender, it tasted like defeat. Vespera could not meet his eyes when she said it. She couldn't stand to see what expression crossed his face, whatever was in his eyes- pity, concern, or something worse that she knew was impossible. Something she couldn't even name.

Exhaling slowly, she stared down at her bloodied hands, nails caked in dirt and red. Was it even her blood? Had she really managed to take two of them down while all they got away with was her identity? "Just...don't talk." She muttered, her jaw clenched so tight it fought with the pain in her ear. "And don't..." She turned away from him as she felt him approach to help her out of her filthy garments. "Don't look at me."

It was a plea. Not because she feared him seeing the intimate parts of her body. No. It was the jagged, twisting scars that had been carved into her back spelling out the word 'tainted' in Old Fae.

 

[Asher]

Asher swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as the word left her lips.

..Fine.

It was barely more than a whisper, but it hit him like a blow to the chest. Not because of what she said, but because of the shame she seemed to say it with. Like this was breaking her in ways the attack hadn’t. His intent hadn't been to make her feel any weaker than she likely already did.

She wouldn’t look at him. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands curled into fists on her lap, dirt and dried blood crusted beneath her nails. He didn’t know whose blood it was, but he knew she wanted it gone. Needed it gone.

Just...don't talk. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he nodded. And don't... Don't look at me. His brow furrowed as he nodded in mute promise.

Without a word, he stepped closer, carefully, cautiously. She didn’t move away. That was something.

He kept his promise. His eyes stayed averted as he helped her out of her clothing, slow and methodical, his fingers brushing hers only when necessary. He was careful, so fucking careful, as if one wrong touch might shatter her completely. She was warm beneath his hands, her skin feverish, but she let him help.

He let her hold onto him as she stepped into the tub, to grip his arms to steady herself as she sank into the steaming water. He had added bubbles, and they frothed thick over the surface, curling around her like a shield, giving her back a little modesty.

Asher exhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line before moving to kneel beside her. His heart pounded in his chest, steady but fast, and yet he felt strangely calm all at once. He had never done anything like this before. Never cared for someone like this before.

Dipping a jug into the water, he filled it, reaching to gently tip her head back and slowly pouring the hot water over her golden hair. It darkened under the weight, clinging to her back, trailing down her shoulders in wet, curling strands. He still did not look at her.

He reached for the jar of soap, scooping a handful into his palm. The scent rose between them, warm and rich, vanilla and amber and wildflowers. It suited her, something soft yet untamed, something that lingered long after it was gone.

Slowly, carefully, he lathered it into her hair, his fingers working gently, kneading small circles against her scalp. His hands trembled slightly, but not from nerves. From something deeper.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he. He just kept washing her hair, his touch careful, reverent, like she was something precious in his hands. Like he could wash away more than blood and dirt.

Like he could wash away the weight of everything that had ever been done to her.