ACOTAR One~shots [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

Color Coded Speak

Feyre made the mistake of thinking everything would get better after the war. And it had, in a way, of course. The High Lords had neutralized the threat of Hybern, and her family had. . . grown more accustomed to their situations.

Elain was taking an. . . entirely expected amount of ‘diplomatic’ trips to the Spring Court with a few thinly veiled excuses that everyone saw through and no one questioned. Nesta, in all her initial vitriol, had settled in the Night Court and made a place for herself here, and whether or not Cassian was a part of that was question enough for everybody.

Feyre glanced over the roof where Rhys and Cassian were training, Azriel gone for a week or so, off somewhere not even Rhys knew. While he’d been keeping tabs on damn near every player during the war, Feyre had almost been surprised to learn that the rickety times after peace needed just as much—if not more—monitoring through his networks; he was gone nearly every other week, reports flowing in from every corner of the continent when he was home.

Cassian spit out a taunt, grinning and shoving back the strands of hair that had fallen out of his bun in their vigor. To him, their fights were fun.  Keeping his skills honed and his body ever in shape was just a bonus.  The battlefield was a far different story, a battle that she knew Cassian saw no glory in. But here? On the clean, dry rooftop of their Velaris home, where they wrestled and tackled each other for the game instead of for the victory, it was a chance to test themselves, let out a little energy. Cassian barked an amused laugh when Rhys growled in frustration as they circled each other.

From next to Feyre, Nesta called to the two males, “You two are dancing around each other like weepy, lovesick suitors.”

Feyre snorted just as Cassian lunged.

Nesta glanced, thin-lipped at her sister. “Something to say, Feyre?”

Feyre’s brows rose but she just shook her head innocently, looking back to the reports between them as the sound of Rhys’s curse and Cassian’s laugh drifted over to them. As the self-appointed archivist of post-war Prythian, Nesta had been busy of late writing the organizational system they would use in the new archives, the cross referencing codes and categorizations that would finally—finally—compile both human and Fae records alike.  At first, Feyre had been skeptical of the undertaking, but Nesta was anything if efficient when she set her mind to something, and the system was falling into place and growing more tangible with each passing day.

Though they didn’t always work together or even outdoors, Nesta had showed up that morning with a stack of documents in tow and a desire for company, so they’d elected for the roof. Despite the winter chill settling into the city, the day was surprisingly warm and sunny, despite the breeze catching its fingers on the points of Feyre’s ears, her fingertips as she worked.

She’d been the one to suggest their current location, and if it had half been out of the entertainment she knew her sister and Cassian would provide, then. . .

Through the bond, even as he grappled with the commander, head entirely locked under his arm, she could hear her mate’s amused laughter. Though he rarely participated in her. . . schemes to work Cassian and Nesta into a corner until they finally snapped, her mate paid just enough attention to get a laugh out of it every once in a while.

And besides, casually directing her sister’s view towards Cassian while he was training meant that she got a better view of her own mate. Not that you need an excuse to stare, he threw through the bond just as he managed to escape Cassian’s grip, sending him into the wall with a grunt.

Back when she’d been mortal, Feyre would have barely seen anything more than tussling, winged blurs. Now, after living through battles, covered in blood and substances she didn’t want to dwell on, the pair seemed more like a pair of puppies nipping at each other’s tails.