The High Lord let out a chuckle, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" Although his words were polite, his tone was flat. Lifeless. And now, with Uncle Lucien's arm around her shoulders, she remembered why. Naturally, Lucien had been her first victim of interrogation. The conclusion was that Rhys and Feyre - as he'd called them - had a son. Nyx. He'd gone missing when he was only four or five. All this time later, they'd never found him. They'd even held a funeral for him. To get closure. To survive a wound that never quite would heal. But they'd never found his body. Rhysand's violet gaze was unnerving. Unrelenting. Aurora shivered at the familiarity of it. Aurora looked at them. They gazed back at her, relaxed, unknowing of the fire she was about to spew at them. Cauldron save them all. "It concerns your son." Aurora said. She did not shout, but the words echoed in the silent room. Rhysand blinked at her. Once. Twice. He moved so fast, he was suddenly in front of her. Teeth inches from her face. Rhysand growled, "How. Fucking. Dare. You." Aurora gazed back at him unflinchingly. "I would not speak it, if I did not believe it to be true." Rhysand opened his mouth but halted when a slender, female hand gripped his shoulder. The High Lady of the Night Court stepped next to her mate, essentially putting herself between them. "What exactly are you saying, girl?" Feyre whispered. Aurora blinked at the color of her eyes. The shape of her mouth. She felt her mouth drop open. "Cauldron, he's got your eyes." Aurora sensed the danger in that moment and blurted out, "Your son is alive." Feyre took her hand and guided her towards the seating area. "Tell me everything."

BOOK 2 Eliane and her friends are on a mission of uncertain fate. They enter the Kingdom of Demons in search of a great ebony sword, with which Eliane will fullfill the prophecy and die to become the hero of her world.

Cassian and Nesta's youngest daughter, Sorcha, has decided to follow in her parents' footsteps and compete in the Blood Rite. She has been training in the Illyrian Mountains with a single goal in mind. However, the mother has a twisted sense of humor. Lord Devlon is a harsh male. A practical male. An Illyrian through and through. He thinks Sorcha is a spoiled little brat at the best of times. But when he finds himself compelled to kiss her, he is convinced she has placed a witch's spell on him. The truth however is much more simple indeed. They're mates.

Nyx watched his father at the head of the table, his palm resting gently on his mother's tattooed hand. Rhysand laughed at something Mor was saying, the sound pure and happy. Nyx stared with such intensity that it was noticed by the Inner Circle. His father turned to him, a small smile on his lips. He was so elated to have his son home once more. Nyx wanted to break something. "Are you real?" He whispered out loud. His father's smile faltered. Feyre tensed at her son's hoarse voice. He hadn't spoken since that morning, but then again that was nothing new. Nyx rarely spoke these days. "Nyx, my darling?" She asked softly. Nyx had only eyes for his father. "How can you stand it?" He asked, he sounded tired even to his own ears, "How can you sit there...and act happy?" His father sucked in a breath, and leaned closer as if to offer some sort of comfort. "I am happy, Nyx. I'm not pretending." Nyx flinched. Rhysand's face shattered. He stilled. Nyx watched him swallow. "I know what she's done to you..." Nyx said, "Amarantha told me exactly how she hurt you. She hurt me in the exact same way-" "Nyx," Feyre sniffed, "Please." "You cannot let her win, Nyx." Rhysand's voice was soft. "She can't win-" "But she has already won, dad." Nyx said, and there were tears running down his face. "She broke me." Rhysand shut his eyes tightly against the confession. The image of his baby boy in such agony- "I am so tired." Nyx said, "I don't want to live like this. She took everything from me. My wings. My freedom. My dignity. I just want to die-" "Stop." Feyre cried. "Please. Nyx. Stop. You don't mean that." Nyx finally turned to look at his mother. There was such understanding in her eyes. "What else is there?" He said before leaving the room entirely. # An old villain has risen from the dead with vengence on her mind. Nyx, the heir of Night, and Danae, the heir of Spring, shall pay for the sins of their fathers.

An escaped witch and a miracle child run for their lives in the enchanted forest of Prythian. On their journey they meet up with an injured beast and remove the thorn from his paw. In exchange they may rest awhile in his ruined mansion, hidden away from the monsters chasing them. But when tragedy strikes and the girl-child is crowned the Princess of Spring, the fallen High Lord of the Spring Court and the cunning witch are forced to work together to keep the monsters at bay.

THE MIDDLE, PRYTHIAN They had agreed to meet in the Middle, not on the soil of any other court that could potentially lead their presence to unexpected surprises. Standing before each other, after discovering they were mates, and without Calamnai's magic as a distraction running through their veins was surreal. The sunlight brought out the green in her eyes; and among the blooming trees and grass Nyx could understand why they called her the princess of Spring. Layla avoided his eyes as she nodded her greeting, he'd never seen her so quiet before; not even in the Court of Nightmares, where most people valued their lives and safeguarded them by keeping their mouths shut. "Thank you for coming." Nyx said, somewhat formally. "This could never work out," Layla blurted, "how can you not see that. Nothing between us has changed, we are still enemies." Nyx felt his breath leave his chest in a gasp; a terror traveled through him. Did she mean to break the bond? Surely she would not drive both of them into such madness? "Then why would the Cauldron, or the Mother, or Fate ever bind us together in this way?" Nyx demanded. "Because they're cruel!" Layla cried. "And they are punishing us."

Random stories about Azriel that live rent free in my mind. #gwynriel

After having read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J Maas I could not get these two out of my head. So Nessian one shots it is until the next ACOTAR book comes out :) Disclaimer; the amazing characters belong to SJM

Kore had feared the Clipping since she was old enough to understand that it would one day be executed upon her person. She'd had countless nightmares about it; they were filled with blood and gore and pain. Such pain, that she woke up panting, completely convinced that she'd been about to die. Yet, at the present, she realized that she felt no pain, even if the snow was covered in the identifiable scarlet color of blood. In fact, her hands and face and spine were decorated with the heavy drops of it. As Kore twisted her head, still too shocked to cry or mourn, she spotted the familiar ebony smoothness of her right wing. The sight of her untouched wings barreled so hard into her that she vomited on the blood-soaked snow. She wiped her mouth as she twisted. Kore gasped at the pain of her left ribs. She placed a soothing hand there in confusion, and looked up to witness the carnage before her. The sound of footsteps on the wet ground stole her divided attention. Kore glanced up at the male standing over her, his ebony black hair and dark blue eyes that were almost violet. Kore sucked in a breath at the realization of who - and what - he was. Aidoneus Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court. Her mate.