Chapter Text
Masks had always been familiar to Nesta Archeron.
Less shiny, less deadly than the one that occasionally framed her face, these were smaller, meant for everyday wear that hid her identity in different, more vital ways.
‘Stop bouncing on your toes, Nesta. Stay still.’
The earliest effort – to stop her body from constantly moving. Constantly needing to sway or rock up and down, be it at tea, or on the promenade.
‘Sound sweet when you talk. Simpering. No one likes a monotone. And for my sake, smile.’
The bane of her mother’s existence – that her voice was not light and melodic, like Feyre’s, but rather deep-toned and inherently cold. How her face rested in a perpetual scowl regardless of her mood.
‘Watch me, copy me. That’s right.’
Rules, upon rules, upon rules of dos and don’ts. Of images she mirrored down to the last detail.
Perfect first born.
Perfect wife to be.
Then, later, different identities.
Perfect, disappointing eldest sister.
Perfect basket case.
Perfect redemption story.
Perfect warrior, laying it all on the line to save her family.
Nesta liked to think of them as parts to a play, an exercise in adaptation, and survival.
And if there was one thing Nesta Archeron excelled at, it was performing.
Even if, most days, her true, genuine desire was to live a simpler life – one without expectation and surrounded by the small comforts she’d found during her time in this world.
Cashmere sweaters, fluffy blankets, warm beverages.
Soft things she could run her fingers over again and again, until her mind quieted.
Soft, yet forced to be hard.
As of late, her primary performance had been loyal warrior, and mate. Rehabilitated and stronger than ever, Nesta’s position as a Valkyrie and Cassian’s latest achievement was an identity she slipped into like a dress each morning. An identity that centered on the unprecedented power she’d stolen from the Cauldron, and her skill with the weapons she wielded.
Naturally, one such weapon was, indeed, a mask.
This mask, though, was different. Even now, its influence rang in her ears, calling her back to a place where it was no longer her playing a role, but rather someone – something – else using her to play theirs.
Even if it was across worlds.
“What happened?!”
Nesta stood primly in front of the rest of the family, her hands tucked behind her back, where her fingers could run along the seams of her sleeves.
Today, she was required to play the villain. The rogue sister who could never be contained within the Inner Circle’s careful keeping.
“What I had to do to protect our family,” she replied evenly, sinking into the familiar persona of cold aloofness.
It was easy to be this way – to compartmentalize her emotions and be still as a statue, rigid against whatever criticisms and disappointments were pelted her way. This was, perhaps, the part she had played the most in her life.
The disappointment.
“That was not your choice to make!” The High Lord barked. “You gave away a vital possession to a random female from another world on a whim. Do you have any idea the gravity of what you have done?”
“The Mask answers to me,” Nesta countered, silently counting each stroke of her thumb over her sleeve in her head. “It is not yours to control.”
What she wouldn’t give to be somewhere quiet, where she could find peace in her own mind.
“You have no idea of the consequences that this choice could bring,” Amren hissed from his side, looking desperately like she wished she retained her powers, if only to doll out a punishment.
Nesta wouldn’t mind trading places with her, if she were honest.
“Your head should already be off your shoulders, girl. It’s treason to jeopardize the lives of your Court.”
“The Trove is not property of the Night Court,” Nesta repeated, her own razor-sharpness bleeding into her tone. “And I do not answer to it either.”
“Nesta,” Cassian said, as if exasperated. “Please.”
He stood in the middle – between her and her opposers, as if at any moment this could turn bloody.
“You still had no right,” Morrigan countered, on the other side of Rhys to form a trifecta of disdain.
No right? She wanted to counter. You made it my right when I was built into the warrior who wields these weapons.
“The dangers you have put us in I cannot even begin to describe to you,” Rhysand continued, as if she were a small girl. “If the Daglan get their hands on the Mask, there is no telling what they could—”
“If the Daglan are not defeated by Bryce Quinlan, that will be the least of our worries.”
“And what was so vital about the Mask that this girl needed it?”
Nesta pursed her lips, unwilling to yield more details than she needed to about her conversation with the other-worlder. “Vital enough she left me her parents as a security deposit.”
“Yes, two humans,” Amren said, with a scoff. “Hardly an equal trade.”
A snarl fought its way onto Nesta’s face at the slight. At the truth of these faes’ biases which had become so blatant now that they were no longer in control.
You’re one of them now, a voice said in the back of her mind. You’re supposed to act like it.
Nesta pinched the skin on the back of her hand, which remained tucked behind her back, in an effort to keep her emotions level. Her appearance neutral.
“She will return for her family,” Nesta answered. “As we all would.”
“Unless she fails,” Amren countered flatly. “Then what will you do, I wonder?”
Nesta forced her legs to stay still, to not rock onto her toes or pace along the hearth. In the back of her mind, she felt the phantom pain of her grandmother’s cane, whacking her whenever she couldn't keep in one spot.
She pinched her skin harder.
“Nesta will bear the weight of the consequences,” Rhysand declared, as if they were sitting before a formal tribunal. “Any harm that falls upon our people, she will bear a proportional punishment. Publicly.”
For a moment, she thought she saw Cassian flinch at the threat. But her mate remained silent, staring at her with burning eyes. He was practically begging her to apologize, to promise to fix it, to yield.
To take it all back and be the good girl that she had been, for the last few months.
Verbally, though, he said nothing, and it made her want to scream.
This is what you wanted; she wanted to shout. You wanted a warrior, so here I am. You wanted me to care. This is me caring like you taught me.
“You better hope this was worth it,” Amren said. “Or else we’ll have no choice but to be merciless.”
Nesta bit her tongue, tamped down the urge to laugh at such a statement. Instead, she dipped her head, in silent acceptance. Tame, rather than the feral, jagged-edged sister they had all met in the human lands. The hellcat.
Finding a spot on the floor, she zeroed in her focus there, drowning out the moment Feyre burst in. As her sister came to her defense – bless her – Nesta kept quiet, instead picturing the moment she could return to her House, her room, and hide away.
---
The grief that followed was heavy.
For the first time since their mating bond was formalized, Cassian chose to sleep elsewhere.
‘This isn’t what I taught you,’ he’d argued, when they were alone. ‘How could you endanger everyone like this? You said the Mask only answers to you, why give it to someone else when only you can use it?!’
Nesta had taken it, standing just as rigidly as she had in front of the rest of the family. Silent, stoic, and, perhaps to some, seemingly uncaring.
Even if she’d wanted to argue that, just weeks prior, he had yelled at her for using the Mask, down in those tunnels beneath the Prison.
‘You know it’s different to use it now. It’s too dangerous!’
It was horrifically confusing.
She didn’t know how to tread – how to please him in a way that would make her a suitable mate. Nesta had already morphed herself into this creature that lurked the halls of the House of Wind, leaving only when her unprecedented power was needed to vanquish a threat or someone bothered to fly her down. It was something that would surely become the stuff of children’s fairytales, in time.
The witch in her mountain home.
When Cassian decided to speak with her again, it only served to further muddle the waters.
“You have to eat something, sweetheart,” he murmured at dinner that evening, his fingers brushing along her own, as if he hadn’t been ignoring her entirely.
Unprepared for the contact, Nesta was unable to suppress the flinch at his touch. She watched it ripple under her skin, her body jerking just slightly.
She felt, more than saw, the distress it caused her mate.
Across the table, Ember Quinlan watched her with a quizzical eye, her lips pursed in a way that confirmed to Nesta that the woman had seen every second of the brief interaction and had formed her own opinion about it.
Just hours earlier, Nesta had witnessed this woman take on the High Lord like he was nothing more than a boy that needed chiding. Afterwards, she’d let herself be guided to a seat at the table but had not eaten anything. Instead, she’d found more comfort in mimicking the energy that Ember exuded, speaking to her in low tones.
She’d also listened to Cassian and the other males joke at the expense of the two of them – how difficult mates were, and all that.
Now, that lightheartedness had morphed into some kind of resigned acceptance of the situation. Cassian’s side of the bond had opened just a little, and he kept close, even if he hadn’t touched her until this very moment beyond what was necessary.
Perhaps he would be in their room waiting, when it came time for bed.
The idea made her dreadfully anxious, so much so that she found solace in grouping her foods together in neat piles with her fork, her head bowed.
“Nesta tells me you have decided not to execute her,” Ember suddenly said, as if no longer able to keep quiet. “Is it common for mates in your world to forsake each other so easily?”
Cassian went rigid in his chair, eyes widening.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m just wondering if it’s possible for mates to hate each other here. If it’s just for reproductive purposes, rather than based on true love.”
Nesta fought the urge to snort. True love was something she was quickly learning existed only in fiction. She didn’t know what it would even look like.
At Ember’s side, her own partner, Randall, sighed heavily and leaned back, as if well accustomed to her penchant for addressing conflicts head on.
“I do not hate my mate,” Cassian replied, taking care to keep his voice level.
In the back of her mind, his voice said differently.
Everybody hates you.
“It’s just,” Ember continued, waving her fork at him, “I never heard you come to her defense, during all this. Strange, is all.”
Nesta wanted to tell her that it was her fault. That she’d strayed too far from her accepted role, and he likely didn’t know how to react. That he wasn’t obligated to. But she kept quiet, glancing up to quietly observe.
“Nesta made her choice,” Cassian answered through gritted teeth.
“Sure, and you are entitled not to agree. But partners still protect each other, don’t they?”
“I told you I was not in danger,” Nesta murmured, her leg beginning to bounce in her chair.
“You told me you didn’t think they would kill you. That at least today, you weren’t going to be executed.”
She could practically feel the air shift from the speed at which Cassian’s head snapped towards her. At once, it was that much harder to keep her emotions locked behind her iron will. The mask she’d been wearing from the moment she’d handed a different one away.
With a hand that practically vibrated, Nesta placed her fork down and lined it up next to her knife.
“I just haven’t been able to get it off my mind,” Ember said, picking up her glass of wine and leaning back in a mirror of her husband. “If they’re going to kill you for this. Whether you have any support other than your sister and the two humans who don’t actually belong here. When we leave, what happens to you?”
“And you elected to bring it up at the dinner table?” Azriel chimed in, eyes dark as he assessed her over his own glass.
Nesta watched as the woman shrugged, shameless. “I never expect the luxury of time. Besides, I learned long ago that it is never worth hiding your concerns or true feelings, in the end. Much better to be blatantly honest.”
Her nose tingled as she found the urge to laugh. If Nesta was truly, blatantly honest all the time, she’d probably have been executed a long time ago.
“Like mother like daughter, then it would seem,” Azriel said, and she began to wonder if it was his way of redirecting the conversation, of giving Cassian time to gather himself.
Indeed, one glance over at him and she could see the way he was utterly still, as if in shock.
Ember shrugged, nonplussed. Then, her eyes returned to Cassian’s, and she pressed, without mercy,
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Cassian hissed. “You just had the audacity to ask me if I’d let someone kill my mate.”
“And you didn’t answer the question.”
“Because it doesn’t merit an answer!”
Ember sighed, shifting her eyes to Nesta’s. “I’m just asking because, when my daughter returns, if they still want to punish you, perhaps you should come with us. For sanctuary.”
Nesta heard a glass clank onto the table – Azriel's – in the same moment that Cassian pushed up from his seat, his wing knocking her arm in the process.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” He growled, before striding out of the dining room in a manner that was not so unlike her own, when she’d been here complaining about her training orders.
There was a heavy silence, one where Nesta contemplated if she was going to be sick. All around her, the world seemed too loud, and too bright.
Overstimulating.
Ember offered her a small, sympathetic smile.
“Consider it, at least.”
And while that was the end of the conversation, the tension remained through dinner, which consisted of Nesta meticulously maintaining her neat piles, of lining up her utensils perfectly along the wood ridges in the table, while her three other companions ate in relative silence.
Afterwards, they all dispersed quickly, enough that she was able to make a beeline towards the bedroom she’d claimed when she first arrived here. She and Cassian had since moved to the primary suite, but tonight she needed a space that had once been solely hers. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure she was welcome in their room.
Blessedly, it was just as she left it.
Closing the door behind her, Nesta moved to sink into the plush armchair that the House had conjured for her. It was soft to the touch, deeply pleasing for her to stroke her fingers over, and perfect for calming her mind.
As she sat, a blanket appeared before her, one that was heavy and warm and soft – different from what was on the bed in her current room, followed by a small stack of books. Her House had long learned the tiny things that made her feel most sane.
Nesta set it over her lap and reached up to pull the pins from her hair, unweaving the strands as it came to rest over her shoulder. For several minutes, she contented herself by running her fingers through the tangles.
A few minutes was all she was granted, though, in the end.
The way the door creaked open grated against her ears, which battled ferociously with what she assumed was the primal sense of comfort she was supposed to feel in the presence of her other half.
Cassian stepped carefully into the room, his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, he merely stared at her, taking in her position, before he rasped,
“What are you doing in here?”
Nesta’s fingers twirled the ends of her hair, down by her lap.
“In my experience, the person at fault is supposed to find somewhere else to sleep.”
Her mate’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Why did you tell that woman you didn’t think we would kill you?”
Nesta’s leg bounced lightly against the floor.
“Because I don’t think you would kill me.”
“But you said it as if you didn’t know whether that was true or not.”
“I don’t.”
The outrage was present in his eyes, burning hotter than the flames she could conjure from her fingertips. Nesta straightened, prepared to match his energy, to wield her barbed words and impenetrable composure. Abruptly, she stopped bouncing her leg, forcing herself to be still.
But he didn’t yell at her. Instead, he watched the way her foot had frozen, bent with her tiptoes on the floorboards, as if waiting for what would happen. He breathed in slowly, before letting it out in a great, shuddering sigh.
“I would never let anyone hurt you, Nesta.” He said. “No matter what position you put yourself in.”
Nesta blinked. Then blinked again. His softness was not what she was expecting.
“Okay.”
“Do you understand that?”
“I said okay.”
Cassian frowned, perhaps wanting more of an answer from her. She didn’t have one to give him, unsure as she was as to where they stood.
Still, he waited a full minute for her to speak, his eyes practically begging for it. But when nothing came, his shoulders slumped, and he turned on his heel to go back into the hallway. Before he shut the door behind him, he said quietly,
“Okay. Just… Come to bed. Please.”
---
When it was all over, when Bryce returned with the Mask, and Ember Quinlan hugged her like the mother she never knew could exist before disappearing forever, it only got worse.
In the weeks that followed, she treaded the line between hero and villain once again. No one outright said they were grateful that the threat from another world had been eradicated, but just as similarly no one ever brought up the idea of punishment for her decision.
Instead, it was subtlety that expressed the sentiment.
“Well thank the gods for Nesta I guess and her inability to ask permission.”
“Perhaps we trained her too well. She acts just like you, Cassian.”
“Next time Nesta decides to go rogue, let’s make sure all our made weapons are accounted for.”
Always said with a light tone – teasing, almost. The joke-like nature of it confusing, especially when jaws would tick in irritation, or eyes would flash in poorly concealed judgement.
Soon enough, she could barely tell if it was passive aggressive chastisement or lighthearted attempts at moving past the entire thing. It made her antsy.
Off-kilter.
Afraid that the next misstep she made would be her last.
Perhaps next time, they would really kill her.
Cassian didn’t help.
There was a tension between them, one that didn’t go away when the threat no longer existed. Ever since that night, he was quiet, subdued, hardly touching her unless necessary.
But she just wanted it all to be better. She wanted to earn her forgiveness and move on and make everything calm and easy again. She wanted to feel safe in her own home, not waiting for a judgement to be passed down at any moment.
Whatever part she had to play, she would do it.
The anxiety of it all dug up habits that she had suppressed long before the Cauldron. Long before the awful cabin they called a home.
More than ever, the masks she’d long clung to, to appear composed, seemed to slip from her face. Suddenly, she couldn’t go for more than an hour without ripping her cuticles, or rubbing at her skin, over and over and over. Her leg bounced more often than not, and she found herself staring intently at random spots, her blinks deliberate.
All the habits that her mother had beaten out of her, that had been even further concealed after the rigorous training she’d undergone with her Valkyries.
Her Valkyries, which were currently watching as Cassian instructed a new batch of Priestesses through morning exercises.
It was warm out, likely one of the last warm days of the year, and Nesta was already itching to get out of her leathers, into something softer. Already, she was counting down the minutes in her head for when this session would end, and she could curl up somewhere quiet.
She didn’t want to be here, and it felt more unbearable now more than ever.
Nesta tugged at her sleeves for the fourth or fifth time when Gwyn finally leaned over to ask,
“Are you alright?”
“Fine,” Nesta replied automatically, without lifting her eyes from the place where she was rotating her sleeve, so the seams moved to the right spot. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Emerie asked, with a frown. “You haven’t been able to keep still all morning.”
“Seriously, Nesta,” Gwyn added. “You don’t have to be here.”
“I’m just tired, don’t worry—”
“Something to share, ladies?” Cassian called, with a raised brow.
Nesta’s stomach lurched at the attention, her eyes finding his.
“No, General,” she said, mimicking his tone. But it came out wrong – sharp and jagged and not at all lighthearted. “Carry on.”
Emerie said something else to wave him off, but he had straightened at her response, brows furrowing slightly, in the way they did when he wasn’t in a position to show the true depth of his concern.
Nesta was the first to avert her gaze, the weight of his own too intense for her, the pressure too heavy.
There was a tense moment, one where she couldn’t hear anything. But then, he was speaking again.
“When it’s life or death, you have to be able to make tough decisions on the spot. You may only have a split second.”
A scoff slipped past her lips unbidden, and she felt her friends’ eyes on her as she pushed off the wall to pace along the outer balcony.
In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have come today, training and listening to these lectures. In truth, all this time she had forced herself to believe she desired it, because it was expected. Today, though, she was dangerously close to losing it.
But she would remain, if only to try and get back some damn normalcy.
“It’s important that you make these decisions with confidence. Don’t doubt yourself.”
Nesta’s fists balled tightly at her sides as Cassian said the words. It was about having the confidence to react in an instant of self-defense, she knew. To not hesitate when your very life was in danger.
But she hadn’t doubted herself. She’d made her decision with confidence. Because she knew the risk was too great if the Daglan had the chance to get further into this world. Not just for her, but for everyone.
And yet…
“Your gut is usually right, and those who trust you will respect that. Ask for forgiveness later, if you must.”
Oh, no.
Throat tightening, Nesta paused to place her hands on the rail, just as a low laugh fell from her lips. A laugh that was strained, that sounded far too out of place to go unnoticed.
Forgiveness. What a concept.
Forgiveness and her name never seemed to be words that could fit in the same sentence.
At once, her Valkyries were at her side.
“What’s wrong?” Emerie asked. “What’s going on, Nesta?”
But now that she started, she couldn’t stop. Laughter spilled from her before she could help it, her entire body trembling as her fingers flexed on the railing.
How fucking absurd.
Turning around, she faced her friends, registering their concerned faces as her careful composure began to crack.
“Did you hear that?” She asked, her voice hoarse. “Did you hear what he said?”
Gwyn frowned at her, and leaned forward, as if to touch her, but Nesta jerked away with a sound of disagreement, turning back to look out over the horizon – the freefall below.
If she jumped would anyone care?
It became too tempting, too real of an option, and so she was moving again, taking jolted steps further up the way, arms wrapped around her stomach as she continued to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
There was shuffling, the sound of the females breaking for exercises, and then his voice, asking,
“What’s funny, sweetheart?”
Nesta practically cringed, shaking her head.
“Funny? Nothing. Nothing’s funny. Why would it be funny?”
“You tell me, Nes. You’re the one laughing.”
Cassian’s voice was careful. Guarded, even.
Gwyn’s, though, was softer.
“Nesta, maybe we should go inside. I think you’re overheated.”
Her friend’s hand lightly brushed her own again, a second attempt, and it was enough to send her reeling.
“No!” She hissed, yanking away from the contact and pacing several steps further up the training ring, rubbing the back of her palm as she went.
Cassian followed, reaching out to grab her arms, to still her.
“Nesta, hey, talk to me—"
“DON’T TOUCH ME!”
Cassian froze in his spot, hands raised, his eyes widened with surprise.
At once, silence fell over the entire rooftop and dozens of eyes landed on her.
With a trembling hand, Nesta reached up to pinch her brow, her breath shuddering.
Cracks upon cracks upon cracks – fissures spreading like tiny streams and rivers over her facade.
One touch, and it would all shatter.
“It’s just,” she started, another laugh slipping from her lips. “It’s just, how could you say something like that? Or is it only true for everyone else?”
Her mate’s brows furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“Trust your gut? Ask for forgiveness later if you have to?” Nesta parroted back. “I did all those things, just like you said!”
There were too many witnesses, she knew. All frozen to watch her have this meltdown. Her mother must be rolling in her grave.
“I don’t understand—”
“Yes, you do,” she snarled. “Just like you know that you have never forgiven me. Not really. Not for anything.”
And suddenly, it was all of it. It was not being listened to when she said she didn’t want to be a warrior. It was the judgement, for her choices before she was taken to the House of Wind. It was her choices after – assured death or glorified imprisonment. It was not knowing whether her mate – the person meant to protect her – actually cared about her beyond an obligation. Whether he would lift a finger if she angered his High Lord again, other than to execute his own form of punishment.
It was his lack of will to even listen when she tried to explain why she’d given the Mask away. It was the fact that he held it over her head until the last possible moment. It was the fact that he seemed surprised she didn’t know for certain whether or not she’d live through this.
It was the fact that now she didn’t know how she was supposed to behave, for fear of the response.
She said all this, in increasingly loud and incoherent ramblings – arms flying as she walked around and around – a circle of increasingly frenzied pacing.
“I don’t even care that you didn’t agree,” she said, coming to a stop as she turned to face her mate. “It’s that you didn’t trust me. That I still haven’t done enough to earn a modicum of trust!”
The understanding dawned on Cassian’s face.
Still, he didn’t offer her a reply. Instead, he dared a small step forward, to speak softly.
“Okay…Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”
Nesta took a step back as he moved, hitting her back on the railing.
It was the push that sent thousands of tiny shards off her face – revealing the open wound beneath.
“No, you AREN’T LISTENING!” She shrieked, and suddenly the metal beneath her hands melted, heat exploding from her fingertips.
There was a collective gasp – sound of fear – for her, or of her, or both – and it was perhaps only luck that had prevented her from falling backwards and down to her death.
Unless, of course, her mate risked his wings to save her.
Would he?
“If Feyre had done it, would you have all acted the same, I wonder? Would Rhysand have stood by if she was to be killed for her choice?”
Cassian shook his head. “That’s neither here nor there right now, Nesta. Come on, we can talk about this elsewhere. You’re scaring –”
Nesta’s entire body trembled – a ringing in her ears letting her know that everything was too loud, too much, too harsh.
“No! I’m done talking! I have tried and tried to be what you want – what you all want. I don’t know what else to do anymore to be worthy of this family! Maybe I made a mistake, but I’d been so good until then. I thought I... I thought I’d earned my place. I just don’t know what else you want from me!”
Tears pricked at her eyes, but her rage burned hotter, leaving her stranded in a strange limbo that had her cries tumbling out as absurd giggles.
“And for you to stand there and throw it in my face…” Tilting her head back, she laughed again. “Now that’s fucking hilarious, Cassian.”
Cassian’s face fractured.
“Nesta, I know the last few weeks have been hard. But you’re just as much a member of this family as everyone else.”
Nesta leveled her head to meet his eyes, shaking her head.
“I don’t think the other members of this family fear for their life, do they?”
And with a gasp, the laughs that had been tumbling from Nesta’s chest turned into harsh, vicious sobs.
Sobs, that shook every mask she owned free from her face, until everyone saw her for what she was.
She walked away from him, her vision blurring, ignoring the way he called after her – the way all three of them followed – desperate to coax her somewhere that made less of a scene.
At some point, the world began to spin – alerting her to the fact that her breaths came in rapid succession. Abruptly, the floor came to meet her, and her legs were spread out in front of her, her head tilting back until she stared up at the blue sky – cloudless, and pure.
The tears kept coming – gross wailings that sounded practically inhuman.
She supposed it was apt, for whatever it was she’d become.
There were voices – both speaking to her and around her – but Nesta didn’t care anymore.
Keeping her eyes upwards, she tuned it all out, ignored it, until she could breathe once more.
---
The first thing she became aware of, when she opened her eyes, was the sound of voices. Still there, but this time muffled, as if behind a door.
“Where is she?”
“Still sleeping. She hasn’t been, I don’t think.”
True, was the first thought to form in her mind. She hadn’t been sleeping. It had been days.
“What happened, Cassian? I’ve never seen her like that.”
That was Gwyn’s voice, she knew.
“What happened is she fucking cracked. I don’t know what all happened these last few weeks, but clearly, she’s unwell. She cried for over an hour.”
And that was Emerie.
Nesta barely remembered what had happened, her mind foggy as it was, but she knew that, at some point, after being escorted inside, her friend had held her forehead against her own, a hand firm on the back of her neck.
‘You’re okay,’ Emerie had said, her eyes knowing in a way the others weren’t. ‘I know it hurts. You’re okay. Hold on to me.’
She also remembered that she vehemently hadn’t wanted Cassian to touch her. Not until she was so tired she’d all but slumped against Emerie, and he’d quietly asked if he could carry her to bed when her eyes drooped under the brush of the Illyrian female’s fingers along the back of her head.
She’d been asleep before they got there.
“I… I made some errors in judgement,” Cassian said quietly. “I didn’t agree with her decision, and I left her out to dry because of it. She faced the consequences alone and I think that was… too much.”
Too much. It was all too much.
“I think it has been too much for a while, if we’re being honest.” Gwyn said. “I see the way she tries to change herself when others are around. She pretends. It’s not truly her. Not comfortable.”
“What kind of mate are you that you didn’t notice?”
“You think I’m not asking myself the same fucking question, Emerie?!”
Nesta grimaced as he raised his voice, burying further into the pillows, and tugging the blankets up over her head. The blankets, she noticed, were now the same soft fabrics she preferred best, though she recognized the hues of the bedroom she shared with Cassian.
Apparently, it was enough of a noise to alert the trio outside her door that she was awake, for their conversation abruptly cut off into what she assumed was an uncomfortable silence as they decided what to do. Nesta decided she didn’t want to lift her head to evaluate the situation, instead contenting herself with stroking the plush material of the comforter, keeping her eyes closed.
The door creaked open softly a moment later, and the heavy footfalls that followed informed her who was selected to be the one to check on her and her likely pitiful state. Cassian shut the door behind him with what was very apparent deliberate gentleness, and she heard him let out a breath that shuddered, just a little.
Nesta kept herself perfectly still, even her breath, as he moved towards the bed and, eventually, sat down on the edge of it.
She felt the weight of his wings on the mattress as he shifted them to stretch out behind him, below her feet.
For a long stretch of time, he simply sat, and she simply waited.
As expected, he broke first.
“I don’t know if you’re going for some kind of record, sweetheart, but you’ll need to breathe at some point.”
Nesta’s eyes opened under the blankets, realizing, abruptly, that she was still holding her breath. Slowly, her chest rose and fell once more.
Cassian huffed, quietly, almost a laugh. Then, he continued,
“I took your leathers off. But you didn’t want much of anything to touch your skin, so I didn’t put you in something else. Then the House put this big blanket on the bed, and that seemed to satisfy you. I hope that’s alright.”
It was only then that she realized she was, in fact, bare, save for her underwear. She’d been too wrapped up in the blankets to properly notice. It was just as well, though. She thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of the fabric on her skin, and she hoped he could feel that contentment through the bond.
Even if she wasn’t ready to come out from underneath her hiding place.
The mattress creaked as Cassian shifted, and she imagined him leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees, as he often did when stressed about something. Lately, that something had been her actions, her behaviors, her words.
“I’m sorry, Nesta.”
Nesta listened to the heaviness in his voice, the guilt, and frowned.
“I know you made your choices for a reason, and that you felt strongly about them. And I know it must have been frightening to be threatened with punishment. Again. I hadn’t realized, before, how often you’ve been threatened. Either by an enemy, or... or by us. When Ember Quinlan brought up what you said, I was so angry because I couldn’t believe you’d actually think I’d let someone kill you. I didn’t think it needed saying that I could never. But I can see now why it did, and I’m sorry for not noticing it sooner. I should have.”
If she were in a speaking mood, Nesta would have told him that it was precisely her intention, most days, to appear content with her situation. To make sure he didn’t doubt it, that he thought she felt safe.
“I think part of the reason I was so angry with you when you gave that mask away was because I knew you could face punishment. Or even... even execution. I wanted you to value yourself and life enough not to put it on the line for another. But I know you, and that you probably didn’t even consider it that way. Or if you did, it was inconsequential to the greater picture you saw. I should have explained that to you sooner, and I should have listened to your explanation before I dragged you in front of Rhys and the rest of the family. You were absolutely right to call me on my bullshit, earlier. You did exactly as I would have, standing by your choices with confidence, and I am proud of you for that. But you would have done that anyway. You always have. I didn’t have to teach it.”
Trailing a finger over the sheets beneath her, she digested his words. His apology. It was rare for someone to offer her such a thing at length.
“Gwyn said she thinks you’ve been pretending, all this time. Molding yourself into what is expected of you. I think you’ve probably done that all your life. And... as much as I wish it weren’t true, I know you’ve been pretending with me, too. Trying to keep me happy, especially after all was said and done with the Trove and Nyx and we accepted the bond. I noticed all the things you do that you probably thought were slips but yet seemed to bring you the most comfort. I want you to know that you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to hide the parts of you that you feel don’t fit or play certain parts within this family. I will love you just the same. I do, you know. Love you. I love you so much.”
Nesta’s throat tightened, and she felt the tell-tale sign of tears begin to prick behind her eyes. It was a wonder she had any left, after earlier.
“And... And I want you to know that I’ll keep you safe. When you feel comfortable letting yourself just be, I'll protect you. I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to hide again. I promise you that, sweetheart.”
Cassian shifted again, likely anxious that he couldn't see or touch her, tactile male that he was. But his voice kept steady – a low, quiet tone that carried the weight of the vow he was making.
“I want to know you. Actually know you. I want to know what things you secretly hate but haven’t ever said out loud, and I want to know what you think are guilty pleasures or excessive. Like this blanket, I’d wager. I don’t care how unworthy or unattractive you think parts of you are, I want to know them all. I want to learn. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
The words sounded true. Genuine. Though, she knew her mate well enough to know that lying had never been, and never would be, his strong suit. He saw no point in it. Beyond that, she felt his sincerity through the bond they shared – earnest, and hopeful. She felt his anxiety too, the knowledge that he had missed something she’d spent her entire life perfecting ways to hide.
And while her own fears didn’t just disappear, she realized that what he was proposing sounded good.
She realized she wanted him to learn, too.
Taking in a deep breath, Nesta let her hands slide up to the end of the blanket, where they flexed over the fabric. It was a heavy moment of deliberation – a precipice, even, for what would happen between them going forward. But, in slow increments, she supposed she could try.
Tentatively, she pulled it back, to reveal her face, allowing her to see the way he was, indeed, bent forward, his elbows balancing on his knees, his hands resting clasped. His head had been bowed, as if in thought, but at the sound of her movement, it lifted and slowly turned to assess her.
His eyes roved over her face like he was seeing it for the first time. Like he couldn’t drink it all in fast enough. His cheeks were wet, and his eyes shimmered, regret churning within them.
Under his inspection, Nesta had never felt so exposed.
Unmasked.
“Hi,” he said quietly, that regret morphing into relief. As he said the words, his lips pulled into a tiny, friendly smile.
The way one may greet a stranger for the first time.
Nesta took a breath, bunched up the blankets in her hands, and replied with a shy, but steady voice.
“Hi.”