The Shadows In The Sunlight- A Helion Series

The Shadows in the Sunlight- A Helion series

Summary: Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court, is known for his charm, power, and control over light. However, when a mysterious female from a forgotten, shadowy court—a court thought to be destroyed long ago—emerges, everything he thought he knew is challenged.

A/n: Well my cookies, we meet again! This time, I am here with a Helion series that I have been thinking of for a while. I think that he is such an interesting character of whom I would love to see more of and since there are barely any posts about him, I asked myself “why not?” And just went ahead with the idea. Anyways I won’t annoy you for any longer, I hope you enjoy the story and please do leave comments if you wish to let me know of your thoughts✨

Helion loved parties, gatherings, balls and whatever else that required him to dress up, dance, drink, flirt and make stupid jokes. Attending them as a guest or the host didn't matter as long as they were fun. But most of all, he loved them because they allowed him to be free of any burdens, worries or ugly thoughts just for a day. For a couple of hours.

"High Lord, which sash would you like? The golden one or the white one with gold details?"

Helion turned his head towards his servant and looked down to the two different colored sashes.

"Gold"

Today was The Unity Ball. It was actually Kallias' idea to create this tradition after the war against Hybern. Every year, one of the courts would host The Unity Ball, bringing together all the other courts and their people in hopes of strengthening ties and improving alliances. It has been three years since the end of the war and so far, three courts have hosted this ball. Winter was first, since it was Kallias' idea after all. Then it was Dawn and just last year, it was Autumn, which honestly was more like a celebration of Beron's death and Eris' ascent to High Lordship.

Now this year, is the Day Court's turn and Helion could only hope that nothing mad ends up happening tonight as it usually does with his parties. With a final few touches to his appearance, Helion took the golden crown and put it on his head, heading out the door with his second-in-command, Maximus, right behind him.

"Who is here so far?"

"All except Spring but that isn't anything new."

Helion chuckled as they went down the grand stairs, "It surely isn't. Tamlin hasn't attended any of our gatherings. Why did we even send an invitation to him?"

Maximus sighed. "Good appearance on our side?"

Helion put his arm on his friends shoulder and laughed as they finally entered the large room filled with all kinds of guests. The moment he entered the room, all eyes turned to Helion as he smiled and headed straight for his throne. Once he got on the dais, he smiled brightly at his guests, and the other high lords with their families, and said,

"This year, I have the honor of hosting The Unity Ball which is why I welcome you all to the Day Court! Where as our saying goes, "Light Everlasting, Truth Unyielding" I hope that tonight, our everlasting light brings you joy as we join one another in friendship and company. To my dear friends, the High Lords, I am very grateful for your attendance in my ball and thank you all for taking the time off your duties to come here. I wish you well and hope you all enjoy the rest of this evening!"

Everyone clapped as Helion gestured for the musicians to begin playing and the servants to begin serving. He sat down on his throne knowing full well that he would get up in two minutes because his patience with just sitting and watching wasn't the best. He needed to interact, dance, drink, and laugh.

See, this was the difference between such formal events and his own unusual parties. There he could go absolutely wild but here, he had to stay formal because...well because he is the high lord of course. And it's not like Helion hates all of these High Lord duties and is some kind of an incompetent ruler. Definitely not. In fact, that is far from the truths. He clearly knows how to rule better than his father ever did because his people are very happy and satisfied. He knows when to be serious and when to let go.

But for some reason, these past few weeks, his past has been getting to him more and more. The monsters that he buried deep somehow managed to slip away and come haunt him. He hasn't been slacking in his job at all, in fact, Helion had buried himself in his duties to distract himself while still keeping the image of a jokester, flirty, and overall a happy male. And at night when he would hold his parties, it was this mask that led to him waking up in a bed with another female or male....or both.

He needed to distract himself more and more. The need to run away from his monsters was getting to him. He had to constantly work, lead a whole nation, party, fuck and stay far away from being alone. If he wasn't alone and instead doing something, keeping his hands and mind at work, his brain would be too busy to overthink anything.

"Uh, Helion? You feeling well?"

Helion was dragged out of his trance by Maximus' voice as he turned his head sideways and looked at his friend, giving him a smile. "Of course I am, Max. Why wouldn't I be?"

His friend just shrugged while looking at him suspiciously. "You have been silently staring at the ground for the past....five minutes. Usually you'd be up and talking with guests in two."

Helion realized his mistake and quickly got up, rolling his shoulders before going down the steps of the dais, saying over his shoulder, "Stop saying nonsense, horseface and go socialize."

His silly words clearly had an affect on Max because he just rolled his eyes with a small smile before heading in the direction of a group of officials.

Helion began chatting, first with Kallias and Thesan, then with Tarquin and Eris, and finally, his favorite, Rhysand. When he approached the high lord, his mate and their court, Helion smiled warmly as he greeted them.

"Ah, my best friend and his beautiful wife."

Rhysand smiled slightly as Feyre giggled while Helion kissed her hand before lightly patting Rhys on the shoulder. "I don't remember us ever being that close, Helion."

Helion just shrugged him off as he greeted Cassian and Nesta, "Oh, we will one day, Rhysie."

Everyone laughed at that, causing Rhysand to shake his head with a sigh. Once he greeted Azriel too, Helion looked at the one guest he had hoped to see the most tonight.....Mor.

She seems to get more and more beautiful and attractive with each time he sees her and the red revealing dress she was wearing tonight clearly wasn't helping. He must have gone silent because Mor chuckled and told him, "Close your mouth or a fly might get in, Heli."

"I am just admiring my beloved."

Azriel scoffed at that as Nesta said, "You two never fail to disgust me when you get together."

Mor just rolled her eyes at the female before smirking. "Well, Helion the idiot is always the one to start so..."

Rhys intercepted before any of them could talk more. "As fun as it is to watch you two strip each other naked with your eyes, I think we should talk of other things, no?"

Helion turned to him, smirked and sling his arm over Rhysand's shoulder before leading him outside, followed by his family. "Of course we can, Rhysie. Didn't know you missed me that much."

Feyre laughed as she said. "You have no idea."

They sat down on one of the large, white seating areas with just as white, sheer curtains hanging above. Helion ordered his servants to bring appetizers and drinks before turning to look at the Inner Circle.

"Well, friends, anything new?"

Cassian laid back on the couch, causing Nesta also to lay back due to his hold on her waist. "If you call me and Nesta creating our own training academy something new then yes."

Nesta playfully hit him on the chest. "We were supposed to tell that together, you idiot."

Everyone chuckled as Helion smiled and clapped his hands. "Well that is some news! Very well done."

But then a thought reached his mind, Helion furrowed his brows and turned to Rhys. "Where is Amren? My tiny little firecraker?"

"You know, if she heard you say that, she would probably slit your throat right on the spot, Helion." Azriel muttered as he took his drink from the table.

Helion smirked. "I would love to see her try, I love feisty ones."

Feyre chuckled "Varian wouldn't be too happy about that either."

Helion's eyes widened in realization. "Is that why he isn't here either? I did think how strange it was that he wasn't stuck to Tarquin's side like he usually was. Wait- are they together? Is that why they both aren't here?"

"Someone had to stay back and guard Velaris. Since for the past three years Mor didn't have time to attend the balls but Amren did, this year she decided to stand back because Mor said she could make it to the ball. As for Varian...well he turned out to be more obsessed with her than he lets us in on. Wherever Amren is, Varian is there too. Right beside her." Feyre said as she leaned into her mates side, putting her head on his shoulder.

Helion nodded his head before looking at Mor beside him, "I see my charm is so irresistible that you just couldn't skip my ball huh?"

Mor rolled her eyes but her lips did twitch upwards as she teased. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Heli. I came here because I had nothing else to do."

Helion smirked. "Sure you didn't, sweetheart." Then he raised his hand with his drink and said, "Now let's drink for...well for me hosting this absolutely fantastic ball!"

He heard Rhys chuckle as they drank a few more times. "Can't believe I will have to see your face and stand your antics next year in my ball."

Helion smiled brightly as he looked at everyone. "Oh yes! Next year is your turn! Oh, high lord, you best believe I will be creating chaos!"

As the night progressed, Helion spent some more time with the Night Court before moving on to socialize with others, trying his best to give everyone attention. After a couple of hours, when the ball was still very much going on, he felt Mor come up beside him near one of the large and tall columns.

"How's it going, high lord?"

He sighed. "Why did no one tell me how hard it would be to have the entire faerie realms in your court? Minus Spring of course because Tamlin is acting like an insolent child."

Mor chuckled and took a sip of her drink as they both eyed the room. "Actually, last I heard, Tamlin was slowly regaining his court back. Apparently he is building better homes for his people and doing something else to bring his own court back. Whatever it is, it seems to be working."

Helion nodded. "Good. He is finally waking up. I should pay him a small visit at some point."

Mor put her hand on his arm, causing him to turn his head sideways to look at her. She smirked back at him saying, "Well, I don't know about the spring court but...we could pay a small visit to a bedroom."

Helion's smirk widened as his eyes hungrily took her in. "You know, I had been waiting to hear that from you all night."

Mor put her drink on a nearby table and grabbed his arm. "Lead the way, high lord."

As they both began weaving their way through the crowds, something caught Helion's eyes from the corner. A small, dark shadow.

It's probably Azriel's. His mind kept telling this to him but something wasn't right. Azriels' shadows were more of a dark black in color but this little thing....it was more of a purple-like. Atleast that's what he saw before it disappeared just as quickly.

As they began climbing up the stairs, Helion suddenly paused. No, his mind was too busy with overthinking that shadow to focus on Mor right now.

"What happened?" Her question made him turn back at her to see a confused face looking back at him.

Helion looked back down the stairs towards where the shadow was and then looked back at Mor. No, he had to know. What is going on? He was too intrigued now.

"I will be back." was all he said before he quickly went down the stairs without waiting for a reply, his mind too busy with finding that little shadow.

Ignoring the guests who tried coming towards him, Helion made his way through the crowds as he followed his inner voice and headed straight towards the garden at the other side of the palace.

The Day court's gardens were far more different than any other gardens. They are suspended on multiple levels, with each terrace floating gracefully in the clouds, connected by shimmering bridges made of sunlight and gold-veined crystal. The terraces themselves are made of pale, luminous stone that seems to glow softly in the daylight, reflecting the sun's rays.

The entire garden is bathed in a warm, golden light that filters through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, almost otherwordly glow. The flora are like any other. They are larger and more vibrant, with petals that shimmer like gold foil. The trees are tall and slender, their leaves a mixture of deep green and gold, sparkling as if dusted with stardust. There are waters within fountains that glow softly with their sheen light and statues made of crystal that captures the light and refracts it in dazzling patterns.

Overall, this place is Helion's pride and joy as he was the one who designed it and brought in all the flora. This is the calmest location in the entire palace and possibly Helion's most favorite for that very reason.

But this time, he was not alone. A mysterious cloaked figure was standing near a fountain, their back turned to him. Helion didn't want to call the guards because he knew that whoever this was, he could deal with them himself. Even a tiny part of him was telling him that he shouldn't attack whoever this is.

As if sensing his presence, the cloaked figure shifted slightly but didn't turn around. Helion took slow steps towards them, keeping his eyes focused on the figure, making sure he or she doesn't pull any tricks on him.

Once he reached them, he tried looking into their face but the hood made it impossible for him to even see their side profile."Do I know you?"

No answer.

Helion warily looked between them and the water before asking, "Uhh, you do not seem like someone I have met-"

"Tell Azriel that they are all dead."

So this mysterious impostor was a she. Her cool, icy and yet smooth tone made Helion feel both drawn and slightly unnerved by her. But it was that sentence that made him pause.

"What? I don't understand. Who is dead? Who are you?"

That is when he saw that small shadow from earlier reappear once again as the female said while suddenly turning and walking away, "I have to find who was behind it. I have to stop it. I will kill them all."

Helion was completely dumbfounded now which is something that he never was. He was always a step ahead of everyone, always aware of everything, always having answers to anything and everything. But this...this was new.

He quickly followed after her as she went deeper into the gardens saying, "What are you talking about? What is happening? Do you need help? Who are you trying to stop?!"

"I don't need any help. I simply came here to lure you in so that you could deliver my message to Azriel."

"Why can't you tell him yourself? Why aren't you in the ball? Where are you even from-"

"You talk too much, high lord. I must go, just let Azriel know of the news."

"Go where?!" and then, as if his mouth moved of its own accord, Helion said the words he wasn't even planning on offering aloud, "I can help you! Whatever it is, do you need help?"

She stopped, her back still turned to him and Helion wanted nothing more than to just rip that dark cloak away so that he could see her face. He could only imagine what she looks like if her voice was this beautiful.

"I don't need any help."

Helion scoffed before taking her shoulder, intending to turn her around but once he did that, the cloak fell down, and there was no one but dark purple shadows under it. The shadows too, soon disappeared, leaving Helion in shock as to what just happened.

************

"Helion! Where were you? It's not really a good look when you leave your own ball for a prolonged time. Couldn't you wait some more before fucking someone in some corner of the palace?!" Maximus hissed at him the second helion entered the large ballroom.

Helion ignored his friend, heading straight for the inner circle. "Not now, Max. We will talk later."

"What-" but Helion just passed by Max, not giving him the time to answer. The moment he saw Rhysand, he quickened his steps as he reached the sitting area where Rhys and his court were. Mor was there, and got up immediately when she saw him.

"Where were you? What happened? Did something go wrong?"

But Helion ignored her words and just glared at Azriel, his clearly serious expression evident on his face because Rhysand immediately got up, asking, "What is it?"

"I saw a shadow earlier."

Helion saw the clear confusion written over everyone's faces, causing him to sigh and cross his arms. "At first, I thought it was one of Azriel's but then something in me told me to follow that shadow. So I found it, in the gardens...and I also found who it belonged to. Shocking information but....it wasn't Azriel."

That caused the shadowsinger to furrow his brows as Feyre quickly asked, "What? Then who was it?"

Helion tore his gaze apart from the winged male and looked at everyone. "Well, I couldn't tell, really. The figure was completely clothed in a black cloak and it's hood was covering her face but she was a female. Could tell by the voice. Anyways, I asked her who is she, what is she doing here and all those things but she didn't answer them. Instead, guess what she said,"

Helion didn't give anyone the time to respond as his eyes collided with Azriel's while saying the words, "Tell Azriel that they are all dead."

For the first time in his life, Helion saw the shadow singers stony expression change as his eyes widened, shock overtaking his features.

"Wait, wait- what?!" Cassian's voice too, was full of disbelief as he got up from the couch, staring at Helion.

Mor quickly looked back at Azriel. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Azriel also got up as his expression turned calculating. "I have no idea. Who- what- I don't understand. Who is dead?!"

They all turned to look back at Helion but he just shrugged, saying, "Well, I don't know either. She said that and then began walking away, saying over and over again that she would find who did this, stop them or kill them. I tried asking more, even offered help but the second I even touched her, the cloak fell down and there was nothing but air under it. How does one even disappear like that?"

Cassian whistled, chuckling. "Now that, is impressive."

"So a shadowy, cloaked, female appears in your garden, tells you to tell Azriel that everyone is dead, then proceeds to mutter to herself about murder and whatever else and then disappears just as mysteriously? I would love to meet her for sure." Nesta said with a small smirk overtaking her face.

Rhysand looked back at Helion, "Do we know how to find her? Where she may be? Whoever she is, whatever she is doing, it seems quite...important. Is she connected to Azriel in some way?"

Azriel shook his head. "We need to go, now. We need to get to work and whoever this is, I need to know what she means."

Feyre voiced her agreement as Rhys nodded and then looked back at Helion. "Let's inform one another if there are any leads on the matter. Get your best researchers on the job."

Helion nodded as he watched them winnow away, wondering all about the mysterious figure.

Who was she? Where was she coming from? What did she even mean?

And most importantly, why did Helion feel so intrigued by her?

Well, it's not often (actually, never) that he gets this interested and intrigued by someone but now, he was definitely curious.

And Helion was for sure not about to let go of whoever she is anytime soon.

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Omg I just got an amazing idea for a Helion x a fem lead woman (who’s name I still haven’t thought of yet) series and I really wanna write it like right NEOWWW because I can’t stop thinking about it.

Should I or should I not create this series?? Guys help bc I have so many things in mind and I wanna know if you want it too😭😭😭😭

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series masterlist

Warnings: angst, abuse, violence, eventual smut (that is all for now)

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

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More of the helion series please 🥺🥺

Dying to read that :(

It’s coming! It’s just currently on hold because there are many things happening rn and I kinda need to organize the way I want the plot for that one to go so it will take a little more time but it’s definitely coming!

Hi! I really enjoy reading your work so I really wanted to make this request for you if that’s okay:)) I was wondering if you could write headcanons for what it would be like to be in a relationship with Dorian? He is just my number 1 favorite character in the series and there aren’t that many posts about him:(((

No for real though, Dorian is literally one of the best parts of TOG and I love him so much☹️ Anyways, this is for you, anon <3

Warnings: NSFW themes, there is another warning before hand✌️and just our perfect amazing king Dorian in all his glory🤭

SFW

To start off, I am a firm believer that because Dorian is a book lover, he has this habit of leaving small notes for his darling in unexpected places--inside their favorite book, under the pillow, or tucked inside their clothing. The notes are always sweet, sometimes romantic, and often playful, like a small riddle for them to solve.

In my world, it is CANON that he loooooves gossiping. Like this man will sit with his lover and talk shit about EVERYONE. The second he learns some news, he is immediately whispering it into his beloved's ear, and vise versa.

The funny stuff aside, this man is a lover in the true sense of the word. He is such a romantic:(( Dorian definitely enjoys planning surprise dates for his lover. Whether it’s a picnic under the stars or a quiet evening at a quaint, hidden restaurant, he always finds creative ways to show how much he cares.

Dorians love language isn't just acts of service though, because it is mainly physical touch! Like if he could, he would always stay by your side so that he could be touching you in some way. So, Dorian has a habit of reaching out to gently touch his lover’s hand or shoulder whenever he feels a surge of affection. It’s a small but meaningful gesture that reassures his lover of his constant support and love.

Whenever he isn't busy ruling a whole kingdom, Dorian is with his darling. That means that there are a lot of moments where they engage in playful rivalries and challenges, from who can make the best dessert to who can tell the funniest story. It’s all in good fun and adds a playful dynamic to their relationship.

They 10000% share countless inside jokes that no one else understands. Like sometimes, in the middle of a serious council meeting, Dorian will catch his lover's eye and they will both struggle to stiffle a laugh, sharing a private moment even in the midst of royal duties.

Whenever he is in deep thought, his darling will often climb on to the throne with him, sitting on his lap or leaning against his side. It's an intimate gesture that reminds Dorian he doesn't have to bear the weight of the crown alone. He definitely plans on marrying his beloved after this.

Speaking of marriage, Dorian definitely has a habit of whispering sweet promises to his lovers ear when they are lying in bed together. He'll speak of their future, the life they'll build, and how he will always be by their side.

I also think that sometimes, in the middle of the night, Dorian will wake his lover up for a spontaneous adventure. They'll sneak out of the palace and explore the city, walking through quiet streets in disguise, talking about anything and everything.

This man loves their small, daily rituals that keep them connected. Like, he would neverrrr attend to his duties if he didn't receive his morning cuddles and kisses. Always holding hands under the table during meetings, or sharing a quiet drink or meal together.

This man is LOYAL. Like if he has known you long enough already and has fallen in love, he would go to war for you. No one can even dare to say something negative about you because Dorian will make them regret ever saying that. He will always protect his sweethearts honor and dignity.

I don't think that Dorian is someone who gets jealous easily because I believe he has confidence in himself and his beloved to trust them enough not to betray him like that. So, if a fool tries to make a move on his lover, he will allow them to deal with it but if he sees that the idiot isn't getting the hint, he won't mind stepping in and getting the message across. A death stare, a hand on their waist, a claiming kiss to his lovers lips.

And if the bastard still didn't get the clue, well.....Dorian isn't necessarily a killer or an assasin like his dear friend Aelin, but he wouldn't mind killing or beating someone up for his darling.

All in all, despite the pressures of court life and Dorian's responsibilities as king, he and his lover have an unspoken understanding that they are each other's safe haven. No matter what happens, they always make time for each other<33

NSFW

Dorian is a switch.

Like there are days when he is beyond exhausted after doing all this "kingly" stuff which is why he just needs his lover to take care of him in both sexual and non-sexual ways.

But in general, he just loves giving the reigns to his beloved, immediately becoming putty in their hands.

"Whatever you say, my love." "Can I please touch you? I am begging you, sweetheart, please" "Don't stop, don't stop, pleasepleaseplease"

After all, he just has this fucked out, satisfied smile on his face that only his beloved can give him

Let's also talk about the fact that Dorian has a good amount of trauma from everything that happened with his father, the war, the valgs, and Sorscha. Therefore, he gets nightmares often and when he is awoken from them by his darling, he clings to them. But beyond that, he needs to make sure that they are real and won't leave him.

Those are the nights where its more than just 'sex'. Its so much more intimate because its the souls that are binding. His lover would keep on whispering praises into his ear as he buries his head in the crook of their neck, slowly thrusting and refusing to let go.

But, there are also many moments where its Dorian who takes control.

He does both, sweet and loving, rough and hard. Why should he always do one when they could always mix it up? Of course he would take his beloved's preference's into consideration as well

This man looooves sex. He doesn't really like quickies because he enjoys taking his time but of course sometimes he just can't wait anymore.

What? It's not his fault that he is so attracted and addicted to his lover! Everything they do or wear turns him on.

Don't even think of walking out on him after an argument because he will lift you up, sling you over his shoulder, spank your ass, send the shocked guards standing outside their shared bedroom away, kick the door closed, and teach you a lesson. Angry makeup sex? Check.

He is a sucker for marks. Any type, really. Scratches, bites, hickeys, kisses, etc. He loves when you wear a slightly revealing attire that allows others to see your marks and know immediately who you belong to. He also loves receieving those marks so that others would know that he belongs to you as well.

He is definitely into BDSM. I mean, those phantom hands of his? You wouldn't even need ropes while those exist. Yeah....I'll leave you to imagine the rest.

His other kinks would be impact play, orgasm control and sex in public places where there is a high risk of getting caught.

In conclusion, Dorian loves nothing more than connecting with his lover in both body and soul.

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