A Court of Love and Healing {ACOTAR}

Masks and Assumptions

Eris keeps his jaw clenched as his father's guard unlocks the shackles around his wrist. He stifles a pained grunt as his body hits the ground, unable to keep himself upright. The flesh on his back flares with a burning pain and if he weren't in this predicament yet again, he could have laughed at the irony of it. A fae of fire, in pain from the burn of it.

Beron strides towards him, the reek of power surrounding him. The smoky remnants of flames upon Eris's own flesh seem to respond to it as his father grabs a fistful of his ruby hair and yanks his head back to look up at him in submission.

"Father", he grinds out.

"I hope you have learned your lesson. Yet again. You know, as my heir, they are getting quite tiresome. You should know better by now. I won't have half-cocked, second-rate trash taking over this Court. You harden up or you won't survive here, understood? You mustn't forget that I can easily replace you. I'm sure Tristan wouldn't be too affected by your demise, shall it come to pass."

Fire blazes within Eris's irises before flickering out, a side effect of the faebane in his blood from the whips that were soaked in it. Stunting his ability to heal quickly—the biggest part of Beron's punishment.

Beron howls out a belly laugh. "Oh, did I strike a nerve? Good. Now get the fuck up. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the day so make yourself scarce. And don't forget what horrors will come to you if you so think of enacting petty revenge or becoming a traitor. I will burn the very flesh from your bones and your heart from its cavity."

Eris swallows back a grunt as he slowly gets to his feet, doing his best not to allow his legs to tremble beneath him. Beron smirks and slaps his back, upon the burns and bloodied lashings and he can't help the shout that escapes him as he stumbles forward.

Beron snarls. "Weak", he spits at him, leaving the cells. The guard snickers and follows loyally. Eris leans his forehead against the cool concrete wall near the exit, his breaths trapped in his chest as he struggles to draw in air due to the razor-sharp pain that slices through his being and radiates inward.

Choppy intakes of breath resound through the dungeon as he struggles, beginning to cough. He knows panic is beginning to get to him, and he won't let Beron win. He never has before, and he won't now. Focusing as much as he can, he hones in on his thoughts, using them to calm his body enough to breathe easier.

He shudders and pants hard once breath comes to him. Tears sting his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. He won't ever give Beron or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing him fully broken. Never.

Making his way back to his quarters, he closes and locks the door, laying down face-first into his pillow. His body trembles in agony but his mind drifts to nothing, sleep quickly overcoming his weary form as his powers struggle to spark within his veins in a failed attempt to heal him.

He is going to have to rest if he's attending the Winter Court coronation ball tonight in lieu of his father, per usual.

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Lucien winnows to the border of the Summer Court, enjoying the warm wind on his face. Tarquin's guard meets him and brings him to the palace. Briar's time there has come to an end, and from here she will travel with him to the Dawn Court.

She smiles radiantly as she joins Lucien and Tarquin in the palace foyer, her small bag tossed over one shoulder.

"Lucien", she grins. "Good to see you again."

"You as well, Miss Laverne."

"Just Briar", she chuckles, softly reminding him that he doesn't need to be formal.