A Court Of Fire And Darkness

3. ~ Embers in the Dark ~

Eris Vanserra

The path to the Autumn Court stretched long and winding before me, the cool night air biting at my skin as my horse's hooves struck the earth in a steady rhythm. The darkness of the forest enveloped me, but my mind was elsewhere, far from the towering trees and the biting chill. My thoughts were consumed by her-Nesta Archeron.

She had been like a force of nature on that balcony, her eyes sharp and fierce, cutting through the shadows that clung to her like a second skin. There was a beauty in her that was as cold as it was breathtaking, like a winter storm over a frozen lake. Her silver-blue eyes held the weight of an ocean's depths, a reflection of all the pain she carried, and yet, there was something more-something untamed, something that called to the flame inside me.

I had seen many beautiful women in my time, but none like her. None who wore their scars so openly, who let their rage simmer so close to the surface. Her beauty was a weapon, honed and lethal, and it was as captivating as it was dangerous. It was impossible not to be drawn to her, to the fire that she kept buried beneath all that ice.

But even as the memory of her lingered, so did the encounter that followed. As soon as I had left her on the balcony, I had barely turned the corner before Cassian appeared, a storm in his own right. His face had been twisted with fury, his wings flaring out in a silent threat.

"Stay away from Nesta," he had growled, his voice low and menacing.

I had merely raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a smirk. "And why should I, General?"

Cassian's eyes had darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "She's been through enough. She doesn't need the likes of you messing with her head."

I had laughed then, a soft, mocking sound. "Messing with her head? I think you're overestimating your claim on her. Nesta Archeron is not yours to control, Cassian. She's not yours to own."

His nostrils had flared, and for a moment, I thought he might strike me. But Cassian, for all his brute strength, was not stupid. He knew better than to start a fight in the middle of a ball, under Rhysand's watchful eye. So he had settled for glaring at me, his eyes full of warning, before turning and stalking away.

I had watched him go, my smirk never fading. Cassian's protectiveness was as misplaced as it was amusing. Nesta was no damsel in need of saving-if anything, she was the one who would burn anyone who tried to cage her. And perhaps that was what intrigued me most about her.

The forest began to thin, giving way to the open expanse of the Autumn Court's lands. The castle loomed ahead, its spires piercing the night sky like jagged teeth. The sight of it always brought a bitter taste to my mouth, but tonight it was worse. The warmth I had felt at the thought of Nesta was replaced by the cold reality of what awaited me inside those walls.

I dismounted as I approached the courtyard, handing my horse off to one of the stable hands. The castle's interior was as imposing as its exterior, all dark stone and twisted metal, with torches casting long shadows that danced along the walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and pine, a constant reminder of the forest that surrounded us.

As I made my way through the halls, the silence was almost oppressive. The servants had long since retired, and my brothers-those who had returned from their nightly revelries-were likely passed out in their chambers. But as I neared the throne room, the silence was broken by the sound of glass clinking against stone.

I stepped inside to find my father slumped on the throne, a half-empty bottle of wine dangling from his hand. The once-mighty High Lord of the Autumn Court looked pitiful, his auburn hair disheveled, his eyes glazed over with drink. He was barely awake, swaying slightly as he clung to consciousness. Around him, the floor was littered with empty bottles, their contents long since drained.

Disgust curled in my stomach as I surveyed the scene. This was the man who had raised me-who had beaten and belittled me, who had instilled in me the hunger for power and the need for control. To see him like this, weak and pitiful, only deepened the loathing I felt for him.

But I didn't let that disgust show. Instead, I moved silently through the room, gathering the bottles and placing them aside, out of sight. My mother would be up with the dawn, and the last thing I wanted was for her to see this-another reminder of the man who had caused her so much pain.

Once I had cleared the floor, I approached my father, who had finally succumbed to sleep. His snores echoed through the chamber, a harsh, grating sound that made me want to turn and leave him there. But I couldn't. For all his faults, he was still the High Lord, and leaving him like this would only make things worse.

I leaned down, prying the bottle from his hand and setting it aside. As I did, I caught a whiff of his breath-stale wine and something else, something sour. It took all my control not to recoil.

"Pathetic," I muttered under my breath, straightening up and stepping back. I wanted nothing more than to walk away, to leave him there in his drunken stupor. But instead, I turned and made my way to the nearest torch, extinguishing the flame before I left the room in darkness.

As I walked down the corridors toward my chambers, the bitter taste of the night lingered on my tongue. The castle was suffocating, the weight of my father's legacy pressing down on me with every step I took. It was a legacy I despised, and one I would have to claim for myself if I wanted to change anything.

My room was at the far end of the west wing, far from the rest of my family. It was a place of solitude, a sanctuary from the chaos that ruled the rest of the castle. The door creaked softly as I pushed it open, and I stepped inside, letting the familiar warmth of the firelight wash over me.

The room was large, the walls lined with dark wood and heavy tapestries that depicted the history of our court. The bed was draped in rich, crimson velvet, with golden thread woven through the fabric to catch the light. A large, ornate mirror hung on one wall, reflecting the flickering flames from the hearth, and a low table sat in the center of the room, its surface cluttered with books and scrolls.

I stripped off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. I moved to the bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh. But sleep didn't come easily.

My mind drifted back to the balcony, to the sharpness of Nesta's gaze, the fierceness of her spirit. I couldn't shake the thought of her, of what it would be like if things were different-if the woman who had suffered so much could find even a sliver of peace.

I imagined her here, in this room. I imagined her laughter, soft and rare as it might be, echoing off these walls. I imagined her and my mother together, two women who had been through hell but who still had the strength to keep going. They would understand each other in ways I never could. They would find solace in each other's company, perhaps even a measure of happiness.

But that was a dream, one that I couldn't afford to entertain for long. There was too much at stake, too much that needed to be done. And yet, as I closed my eyes and finally drifted off to sleep, the image of Nesta and my mother lingered, a flicker of warmth in the cold darkness of the Autumn Court.

Song ~
• daylight - David Kushner