Bound By The Nyx

Seasons Change Anyway

Eyrss enjoyed her work: mending colorful quilts, preparing meals, and collecting fresh flowers for the vases every Wednesday in the meadows. She was a maid for the notorious Meadows family. Each fae family was named after their trade. The Silversmiths, skilled blacksmiths, crafted daggers and swords; the Quillshade clan wrote curses and created spells; and the Silkbane weavers spun fabrics so light and silky they could lull you to sleep instantly—or nets so sharp their threads could dice prey. These were just a few of the strongest fae clans.

Eyrss wiggled her toes in the grape juice she’d just pressed, bouncing a few more times in the wooden bucket before stepping out onto a patch of flowers.

Finnick dipped his long fingers into the crushed grapes, raising a clump of grape skins to his lips. He grinned, his toothy smile stained a deep purple.

“You’re not supposed to eat them. They’re for your father,” Eyrss chided, her tone playfully annoyed.

The sun blazed overhead, casting its heat over the vibrant yellows, blues, and reds of the meadow. Eyrss noticed the pink flush on Finnick’s freckled cheeks and how his pointed fae ears tucked tightly into his wild black curls, as if seeking shade from the sun.

She too was beginning to feel the harsh rays wearing her down.

“Let’s go inside. I need to start dinner anyway,” she announced, hefting the grape basket. She began making her way down the steep hill, careful not to lose her balance—a mistake she’d made more than once. While it was more effort to lug the basket up and down the hill, she loved the view from the top. Fields of endless flowers stretched out before her, and it was the one place where she and Finnick could simply talk. There, she didn’t have to call him young master. They could pretend to be regular friends.

Still, she wouldn’t risk jeopardizing her position with the Meadows family, who treated her spectacularly. Whenever Sir Meadow asked for fresh grape juice, she and Finnick would head to the hill where she’d crush the grapes with her feet—always after a quick scrub, of course.

“Let me carry that for you,” Finnick offered, reaching for the basket.

Eyrss hesitated but relented, fearing it might spill. Sir Meadow didn’t tolerate wasted food, especially since he cultivated every grape himself. Being fae, he had an unmatched talent for gardening.

Finnick, clearly pleased with himself, hoisted the basket with ease. His shoulders trembled as a set of clear, iridescent wings unfurled, revealing his natural form. His skin shifted to a soft green, his fingertips elongating into delicate, spindly points. The flowers around him seemed to lean away as he hovered gently above them.

Eyrss trudged behind, huffing. That must be real convenient, she thought.

The Meadow Manor loomed ahead, a masterpiece of gray cobblestone and timber beams. Vines, moss, and flowers entwined each window railing, spilling over to embrace the walls in a cascade of green and bloom.

Eyrss summoned her power, flicking the door of Meadow Manor open as Finnick stepped through. He avoided the gray stone steps, instead walking beside them and setting the bucket on the counter with a thankful roll of his shoulders.

“Not so easy now, is it?” Mrs. Meadows chimed as she entered the kitchen, her movements impossibly graceful. She wore a purple and white gown, its hues perfectly matching the dark purple bonnet tied beneath her chin. Black curls cascaded down her back, trailing to the floor, their tight spirals adorned with small flowers.

Eyrss remained silent. Maids weren’t meant to interrupt family conversations.

Finnick offered a breathy smile, clearly drained from the task. Eyrss rolled her eyes at his theatrics.

“I’m fine, Mother, I’ll have you know,” he said with mock indignation, quickly changing the subject. “What’s on the menu for dinner?”

Mrs. Meadows’ brown eyes lit with excitement, and Eyrss leaned in slightly. This was the part she couldn’t miss—every detail had to be memorized. Mrs. Meadows never repeated instructions.

“Venison stew. Your father finally caught that pesky deer munching on his cabbage patch. Snapped its skull in no time. I just love your father.” She sighed wistfully, her voice tinged with admiration. Among the fae, bringing home a hunt for one’s mate wasn’t just practical—it was romantic tradition.

Eyrss made mental notes as she listened. Venison stew would be the centerpiece, but she’d also prepare fresh bread and jams. Her eyes lingered briefly on Mrs. Meadows. The slight lift of her gown and fuller figure revealed a secret: she was with child.

Finnick didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with his own thoughts. He spent most of his days outdoors, chatting with the trees. He claimed they spoke back, telling jokes and stories. Once, during autumn, he’d said he hated the sound of freezing trees. “But everything has its season. One ends, and another begins.”

Unbeknownst to Eyrss, Finnick’s words carried more truth than she realized. Her endless summer was about to freeze in time forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a cold breeze whistled through the manor. Finnick’s wings curled inward, sensing the sudden chill. The temperature had dropped four degrees below normal.

He made his way to the maids’ corridor, where women scurried to pin up their hair and adjust their uniforms.

“Goodnight, young master,” they chorused as he passed. Finnick folded his wings to navigate the cramped space, his gaze scanning the room until he found her.

Eyrss sat on the edge of her bed. Her reddish-brown skin glowed in the candlelight, and her frizzy red hair was braided, though each braid jutted out in a different direction. To Finnick, she looked as radiant as ever.

“Psst, Eyrss,” he whispered. “Father summons you to his study.”

Eyrss stood immediately, no questions asked. If Sir Meadows required her, she couldn’t delay. She strode down the hall with determined steps, forcing Finnick to unfurl his wings quickly to keep up.

He reached for her hand, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver through him. “He didn’t call you, Eyrss. I made that up. Come with me—and be quiet.”

To his surprise, she didn’t resist. She didn’t even pull her hand away.

Finnick led her to the front doors. “Use a quiet spell on the hinges, or Father will hear.”

Eyrss pulled a small knife from her brown boot, slashing her palm. Red blood welled at the center, and she dipped her finger into it, tracing a circle with a line through its center. She murmured a spell, and the hinges silenced.

The door opened without a sound, and icy wind slammed into her. The chill sank into her bones, her thin blue nightshirt clinging to her body. She flushed, shivering.

Without hesitation, Finnick scooped her into his arms.

She let out a small yelp of surprise, but Finnick only fluttered his wings faster. He flew them over the endless expanse of flowers surrounding the manor. Tonight, he wanted to show her something different, something beyond the constraints of their lives.

His destination was the forest’s edge—outside fae territory.

A pang of sadness settled in Finnick’s chest. If he didn’t marry outside his family’s trade, he’d be bound to the manor forever. He’d never see the world beyond its walls. But if he could be with her…

Eyrss’ wide brown eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, alight with wonder. The forest came into view, its thick trees shrouded in silver moonlight. A still lake emerged below, reflecting the full moon like a perfect mirror.

Finnick descended, the wind rustling through the leaves as he brought them to the forest floor. Eyrss took in the scene, her gaze lingering on the tranquil lake.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

For a moment, Finnick forgot about the weight of his family’s expectations. In her presence, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, he felt free.

Finnick lowered her onto the soft grass, his movements careful as if she might break. He sat beside her, his gaze drifting to the lake where ripples shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

“Eryss,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady as he turned to her. His violet eyes darkened, the whites vanishing entirely until they looked like endless pools of amethyst.

Eryss felt her throat tighten. She wanted to speak, but seeing him in the moonlight stole her words. He looked different now—not just handsome, but otherworldly. The playful boy she had grown up serving had matured into something stronger, wilder. The sharp lines of his face, the faint outline of his spine pressing through his shirt, and the power radiating from his fae form left her breathless.

She knew she should pull back. Every instinct screamed at her to remember her place, to remember who they were. But his nearness, the warmth of his breath mingling with the faint scent of wildflowers and earth, made her dizzy.

“I love you,” Finnick said, his voice trembling. He hesitated, his hands curling into fists as though fighting to keep the words from spilling out too fast. “I’ve always loved you.