Suri wiped the sweat clinging to her forehead with the back of her hand, silently cursing the heat of the day. She had been agonizing for the past hours, her skin sizzling under her Illyrian leathers.

She would never get used to this weather. Or the constant chirping of birds which seemed to be the natural muzak of the Spring Court. Suri had grown up in the forests of the north, surrounded by the lively stillness that such places always managed to accomplish. This woods were something out of a nightmare for her poor ears.

Suri finally entered the room assigned to her, escorted by a silent servant girl. She unceremoniously sprawled on the bed kicking off her boots, and savored the feeling of smooth silk under her palms.

The journey had been excruciatingly long and tedious. All those people chanting and clapping hands in an off-kilter rhythm as their wagons trudged wearily through the woods. As if the heat and the humming of birds weren't enough.

Her mother had insisted though, so Suri and her brother had offered to escort the acting company of thirty or so humans during the travel from the Summer Court to the Spring Court.

Suri and Aksel were done with their visit in Summer anyway. Not that they could simply dismiss the High Lady of the Night Court.

She needed a bath. A long one.

For once Suri was glad to be staying at the manor, though she would usually seek a more intimate accommodation.

On official visits to the Spring Court her family used to take lodgings at the manor of the High Lord. Since all of Prythian's High Lords were supposedly at peace with each other it would have been offensive to decline such hospitality. Even when relations between her parents and the High Lord Tamlin were cordial but strictly formal, and they generally avoided being too long in the same room.

As soon as the servant was out, Suri turned on her side propping her head on a fist.

There was a flower perched on the edge of the nightstand beside her bed.

A wild orchid. A sign of welcome.

He always left one for her to find at her arrival.

Maybe not so long a bath after all.

Suri hastened the proceedings to make herself look more desirable, though she knew perfectly well that he would have her even covered in filth from head to toe.

Rapidly searching her light packings, Suri fished out a dress she had stuffed in for the occasion. It was a flimsy thing dyed a deep hue of pink that left much of her torso in sight. She would not indulge him so easily with such concessions, but it had been so long since they'd last seen each other. She wanted to surprise him.

Suri also had to admit she actually enjoyed when she caught him goggling at her.

A brief look at the mirror on the vanity told her she would get just that. Her body was gloriously shrouded in a soft cloud, in perfect contrast with her firm cerulean eyes and the jet-black of her long straight hair contouring her smooth face.

Now that she had changed into lighter clothes, Suri could relish the feel of the soft breeze wheezing through the hedges of the garden; a fresh balm for her flushed skin.

Suri strolled to the fountain, content to find her favorite spot deserted. She sat on the edge and placidly stroked the glinting surface of the water. Suri had sort of lost track of time, when she heard her name spoken. She slowly turned her head, feeling suddenly a little guilty—and ashamed. As if being caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Brother," she mockingly drawled.

Being the first to attack sometimes worked with him, deflecting his attention. Rarely though. Aksel was always so alert and focused. That was why she considered a victory every time she got to unnerve the unflinching smartass.

He was her twin brother, and yet couldn't be more different from Suri.

They looked differently, thought differently, and sometimes it was like they even spoke different languages. Where Suri was fierce and reckless, Aksel showed composure and practicality. She fed on the adrenaline of a good fight, while he nursed from his books and scrolls. Suri lived to feel alive, and her brother knew only the comfort of shadows.

"I see you've discarded your gear. You look nice—though not yourself at all."

Definitely not misled.

She had to try, even if it was against the odds that he might miss her attire. And guess at the reason behind it.

"Just thought to fit in. Manners are important, as you would point out to me. I'm trying to please our host," Suri retorted with a pantomimed chirp, not taking the bait.

Aksel decided to stop the charade and went straight to the point—apparently as much proved from the journey as Suri, and not willing to play along.

"I think father wouldn't be pleased to know who your companies are these days. And—if you allow me—you are ridiculous squeezed in that dress. Is he worth your pride?"

"You dare judge me!" spat Suri, abruptly standing up. "You, who ogle that Dawn Court girl like a dement."

A dry laugh came out of her mouth.

"Ah! Looks like your awkward little ears are getting pinker, brother. Stroke a cord?"

Aksel kept his mouth shut, reining back himself. Only the dangerous spark in his hazel eyes betrayed his annoyance.

"You're my sister—that it pleases me, or not—and I won't stand back much longer as you play this insidious game. I thought you'd know better than to get infatuated with–"

Suri lost every last remnant of her already scarce forbearance, and hissed,

"It's none of your business whom I let into my bed. Never was—never mattered! You just fear father's scolding if you don't tell him, don't you?"

Something passed in Aksel's eyes, though Suri doubted it was hurt. He never bothered with her feelings and her wellbeing; he just wanted to be fine with his conscience. And please their father.

"Well," Aksel said, his voice as unaccented as usual. "You are the deadliest warrior of the Illyrian army. You certainly should be able to fend for yourself. My brotherly concern is not necessary—nor wanted."

Then he just walked away.

Suri let her fuming temper cool down with the soothing spring breeze.

She would not let him ruin her day. Why did Aksel always had to criticize her? As a girl Suri would have let him plant the seed of doubt as he was so thoughtful and diligent, and mother always smiled at him in a way that made her heart clench. Only father would come to her secret nest—somehow knowing something was wrong—and gently stroke away her tears, cocooning her small body in his enormous black wings, telling her not to let anyone make her feel unworthy. She was heir to the High Lord of the Night Court—the most powerful High Lord in history indeed. She would make mistakes of course—and had to listen to her mother's words.

"But sometimes it is right to follow the heart, even if it gets you in trouble," had once said her father winking.

She was well beyond questioning herself now. Right hand of Commander Cassian. Most skilled soldier of the Illyrian army—both on the ground and in the skies. Suri knew the difference between discipline and blind obedience. Her assessments needed no further inspection.

Suri and Aksel would soon depart to go back to their respective duties, and she would be rid of him and his stern demeanor.

Suri sensed a shift in the air, something alike the smell of sweet pollen, or the aftertaste of dew. It wasn't specific. Not exactly something her senses could catch—more a perception.

"You can come out now. He's gone," said Suri toward the presence lingering at her back.

The man closed the distance between their bodies in a few easy steps. Suri felt his arms wrapping around her waist as his breath caressed her neck. They were almost the same height, and she became vividly aware of the hard parts of him perfectly aligned with the soft parts of herself.

"You sure he would not winnow back here?"

Suri let out a sigh.

"He won't."

Then she turned to face him, placing her hands on his broad chest. His heart beat at a maddening rhythm. She liked having that effect on him.

Suri tried for the hundredth time to memorize the peculiar color of his hair, though she knew it'd be as useless as ever. Every time the light struck his head, a subtly chatoyant effect would apply to the reddish strands—glinting as fiercely as fire now, and flickering as golden distant stars then; they were pale and translucent in the morning, but turned a lovely deep burgundy in the evening.

Suri could have been staring at the myriad shifts in his locks for hours and never catch their workings.

"And if he does, you can kick him out. This is your home Keran, after all."

Keran breathed a laugh on her lips. They were closer now. Too close to miss the harbinger of hungry instincts in his jade eyes.

His hands drifted down her sides, greedily grasping the folds of gossamer around her hips, and then palming the firm curve of her butt. The deep growl in Keran's throat reverberated through Suri as her heavy breasts pressed into his chest, her arms already closing around his shoulders. She couldn't wait anymore, and kissed him roughly. Suri was vaguely aware of his hands roaming every part of her body as their mouths, their tongues, their teeth, collided in a blind, urgent rush.

Keran had to put a valiant effort to forcibly detach himself from her hold, gasping for breath. She tried to lure him back then, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

"Cauldron, can't you keep your hands to yourself, woman?"

Suri laughed at the strain in his voice, but didn't probe further.

Keran grabbed her shoulders keeping her at a safe distance—as if that had ever stopped her. He studied the front of her dress, the vertiginous plunge of her neckline. His nostrils flared. Suri knew he was staring at her exposed navel—for some reason it aroused him.

"Turn," Keran said.

"Why?" teased Suri.

"Let me have a look at you."

Suri totally failed to fake an innocent smile as she deliberately started to spin, revealing the nakedness of her entire back. Keran stopped dead, a strangled sound halfway to awe pushing past his parted lips.

"You look like a goddess."

"Then you should be begging at my feet," Suri said with languid but steely voice. "Get on your knees—now."

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped his lips.

"Believe me, I would. But my father's coming this way."

Suri turned just in time to see Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court, rounding the corner and heading straight for them.

He looked just the same as the last time she'd seen him months ago: tall, bulky, and glowering. The High Lord, dressed in his fine practical clothes, halted but kept some distance. His long golden hair was bound in a tight tale at the back of his nape which brought out the stark lines of his face. He didn't so much as acknowledge Suri before he addressed her with a mild salute.

"I see Keran is already doing the honors. I hope you'll join us at dinner tonight—and your brother of course."

Suri would have liked otherwise, but she said, "Surely, we'll both be there."

"Well, we got matters to discuss."

Suri didn't know Tamlin very well, though she heard the veiled urgent note in his voice. Now that she saw him up close she noticed that the gold in his hair had gone dull and hollow, his unyielding green eyes circled with shadows. He looked tired.

"I have things to deal with, now. I'll leave my son in charge of your every need."

Tamlin's strong jaw flexed as he said, "If you'll excuse me." Then he stalked away toward the stables.

Suri let out a heavy sigh and muttered, "He knows, doesn't he?"

Keran lifted a shoulder.

"You really thought he wouldn't notice his son seeking excuses to be in the Night Court, or the prized second of the Illyrian Commander showing up at his door for mundane errands?"

No, she hadn't really thought their affair to pass as inconspicuous. Suri was actually surprised her own father hadn't taken notice of it. Her mother surely had detected the longing glances Suri and Keran exchanged from their opposite seats at official dinners. Sometimes the High Lady would even go so far as to dispatch her somewhere near the Spring Court. Suri didn't know why her mother accepted what was between her and the son of her former lover, but now she had seen the High Lord Suri started to think there was more behind her mother's efforts to send her here this time.

"Dinner," she stated.

"We still have a few hours before then—how shall we spend them is up to you."

A wild grin split Keran's beautiful face. He drew near, offering one arm.

"This way my lady," he said gesturing toward the manor.

"I assure you won't regret a minute." 

  ۞۞۞  

 Keran kissed the spot at the base of her spine. A soft moan escaped Suri's lips as she stretched, arching her back. He took that hint of encouragement, and traced with his mouth his way up till her nape. Suri felt the hair on her body straighten up, the endless caress of his warm fingers rendering her addicted to his touch—insatiable.

The need was like a phoenix. It could burn through her again and again, and still, it would return.

Suri kept her eyes shut, face buried into the pillow, savoring the shivers that went through her skin, to her very core.

She could conjure up the look of him right now: his short auburn hair slightly curled with sweat flaming with the late afternoon light streaming in from the window; the hard planes of his muscles shifting with his lazy movements; the reddish fuzz that covered his legs and backside.

Keran ran his fingers through the raven strands of her damp hair and gripped hard as he brushed her exposed neck with his tongue, flattening her body under himself.

Suri reached between their bodies for the hardness pressed against her lower back. He foresaw that move though, and snatched her hand before she could get a hold. Keran clutched both of her wrists and pinned her arms higher, then rested his forehead on the spot between her shoulder blades, inhaling deeply before releasing a shuddering groan. Suri took advantage of his momentary weakness to flip their bodies and get a dominant position.

Now she had him scissored between her thighs, crushing his calloused palms against her breasts.

Suri was tall and lean, with strong, long limbs but not much curves, and she loved the way Keran's cupped hands fully enveloped her round parts.

Famished growls and a cold prickling announced to her the appearance of Keran's elongated claws. He trailed them on her peaked breasts, coaxing. Her nipples stood out even more with intense ache, ripping a rich sound off Suri's throat as she threw her head back, arching against the gentle caress of those deadly instruments.

Keran didn't give her pause and grabbed the swell of her hips pushing Suri on her back again. Then he stooped, sucking away the pain from her full breasts—and went for her throat with his bared teeth.

Suri seized his matted hair in her hands to detain him, and breathed,

"Not in plain sight—lower."

She could have healed the bruises of course, but wanted to keep them. It gave her a secret thrill—knowing she was marked, his.

Keran gurgled his approval and started skimming her abdomen with his pointed canines. Finally, he sank his teeth in the soft skin between thigh and pubis.

Suri gasped frantically, reaching for the last shred of control in those blind moments of euphoria. But he entered her then—a fluid, powerful thrust and she got rapt in the spiral of her senses.

It was a savage coupling.

Suri could hardly think when he took her like that. She lost track of her own limbs, only conscious of where their bodies joined—the swing of their embedded hips molding her will like a hammer on pliable metal. And just like that she was slave to the rhythm.

After a while, both of them were left spent and thoroughly filled with bliss.

The flesh between Suri's legs felt satisfyingly sore and swollen. Nothing a hot bath couldn't fix.

Keran's mouth found her skin again, nipping her jaw—tenderly this time.

Suri twisted to face him, and kissed his high cheekbone. Then the spot near his slightly upturned nose where tiny freckles had been drawn out by days spent in the open.

"How long will you stay?" Keran asked in her ear.

Suri kept nuzzling the shaved skin of his cheek and neck while she played with the cherry tufts of his hair. She heard the hope in his low voice.

"I don't know yet. Depends on your father, I guess."

He exhaled and just murmured, "Mmm."

Suri hadn't anything urgent to attend to in the Night Court, so she could spare a little time for a well-earned rest—if this could be called rest. At least till uncle Cassian called her back to join him in the north. But voicing the possibility felt like jinxing.

Keran clasped her chin in his fingers fixing his stare on her face, and smiling mischievously said, "Then we'll have to optimize what time we're given."

Suri intercepted a spark of amusement in those green eyes. The eyes of his father.

When she looked at Keran, though, she didn't see any trace of the austere demeanor and restrained violence of the High Lord of the Spring Court. The man in front of her now was the bravest and kindest person Suri had ever met. Sometimes he could be a cocky bastard, yes—but gentle and caring in a way that never diminished her as a warrior, augmenting her somehow as a woman.

Mother, how she loved him.

Suri would not admit it to him though, or she would never hear the end of it.

The sun had almost set already, leaving them shrouded in the penumbra, the whiteness of the linens their limbs were entangled with stark against the advancing shadows. It was time to get ready for supper.

Suri pressed her lips on Keran's briefly, and groaned with little will to move. She squinted in the gloom, deciding where to start.

Her dress laid on the floor—shredded into bits and pieces.

She would have to find something different to wear at dinner.

Good. 

________________________________

Notes

When I had to choose a name for Feyre's daughter I thought it would be cute to pay tribute to the Suriel, but then it also turned out the name I was considering was the Hebrew variation of Sarah, and it became also an homage to the writer who inspired my story.

Suri, a once obscure exotic name, hit the headlines when chosen by Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise for their daughter in 2007. It means "princess". Multi-cultural, it also means "the sun" in Sanskrit, "rose" in Persian, and is the name of the Andean Alpaca's wool, as well as a Yiddish form of Sarah, a title used for Jain monks, and a Japanese word for pickpocket.

https://nameberry.com/babyname/Suri

About hair and beards... High Fae, and usually faeries in other stories too, are often described as perfect, not even the hint of unaesthetic hair on their bodies. I thought that since they're human-like under many aspects it wouldn't be odd if they had hair. Of course powerful Fae would use their abilities to stop the growth, but some could choose not to.

Since Keran, as Tamlin, has an animal form and he's a fierce warrior disregarding aesthetic trivialities, I wanted his beast side to show in physical features of his Fae form too.