Chapter Text
“That’s her.” The hushed whisper echoed toward Nesta’s ears as she sauntered past the group of gossiping dancers, her face resolute, ignoring them and taking her place at the barre.
Stretching back, her arm arched over her head, she began her routine, moving through first, second, third, and fourth position in quick succession, the whispers still traveling toward her ears as the onlooking dancers fussed with their pointe shoes on the shiny studio floor, their eyes completely glued to the lithe prima ballerina stretching at the barre.
“They say she’s the only one who can complete the entire routine from Les Miserables. Mr. Knightly had to beg for her to join the company.” The gossip cascaded over Nesta who stifled a smirk, moving now to reach her face to her shins, stretching her hamstrings.
“Well, we’ll see how good she is…”
And with those words carrying across the studio, Nesta flashed her eyes up, looking in the mirror, gazing directly at the group of young dancers, a dark smirk playing on her lips. Embarrassed shock roiled over the group of newly recruited dancers as they scrambled up from the studio floor, trying to look busy with their pointe shoes and duffle bags, dispersing in a single breath.
“Terrorizing the chorus girls dear sister?”
Nesta dragged her eyes away from the mirror and the fleeing dancers to smile at Elain, who had materialized next to her on the barre, tugging her long curly hair into a messy bun.
“They started it. Bunch of gossips.” Nesta huffed, rolling her shoulders back and glancing disapprovingly at the group.
But Elain only tutted at her sister, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Oh, you love it. They can’t stop talking about how good you are.”
Grabbing the barre and entering back into the fourth position, Nesta pointed her feet into arches, moving into a relevé, stretching her toes as she stifled another smirk.
“It doesn’t hurt to reinforce hierarchy ever so often. They’re new this season and need to be reminded how things work.” She huffed at Elain, who chuckled in response, taking up the movements herself, pointing her toes, and moving her arm in graceful circles, her fingers lithe and long.
Elain may have the beauty and build for ballet, but it was Nesta who had the passion and drive.
Ever since they were little, their mother dropping them into the harsh world of competitive ballet, it was always Elain who caught the teacher’s eye, their hopes grand, believing her to be an uncut gem, ready for the shining. But Elain was never interested in highly competitive dance, floating through the competition world behind her ambitious sister, always getting passed along due to her raw talent and beauty, never enough of a star for a lead role, but a magnificent background dancer. Although she did not have the raw talent her sister possessed, Nesta had quickly made up the difference through icy focus, her shrewd, cutting personality carving her place out in the competitive dance world until she had professional companies begging for her to join.
And now that they were here, career ballerinas in a real company, Elain still floated by, now happy to fill a permanent choral position, peacefully enjoying ballet in a way Nesta would never understand.
Because to Nesta, ballet was everything good and everything wicked. It was her cross to bear in the same way it was her trophy to hold above her head. It was always there, pushing and pulling and tugging at her psyche, her body: her world.
She smiled to herself, going through more positions, her foot arching up and down, lifting her light body upward, her arm balanced to her side as she focused on the movements, her fingers placed as they always were: perfectly.
In another world, she may have been jealous or resentful of Elain: for the talent she possessed yet refused to truly discipline. But Nesta could never resent her younger sister. Because although she would never admit it, Nesta needed Elain: she needed the peaceful energy and passive warmth of her sister in order to bring her back down to earth.
Because sometimes ballet threatened to swallow her whole.
Stretching forward, she scanned the room, happy to see that she was going to outdo the competition in yet another studio session. As it should be.
“Hey guys.” A voice came from behind Nesta, and she glanced over her shoulder, meeting the hazel gaze of Lucien Vanserra. “How’s it going?”
Even though the question was directed at both of them, Nesta knew that the poor guy was probably only interested in Elain’s answer.
“Fine.” Nesta replied, her tone curt as Elain smiled weakly at Lucien before dropping her face, her focus suddenly glued to the tip of her point shoe as she focused on stretching her calf.
Vanserra took his place next to Tarquin at the barre in the center of the room across from Elain and Nesta, working through his stretches as well. The poor guy had had a crush on Elain since he set eyes on her six months ago, but Nesta knew her sister wasn’t interested. She watched him stretch his hamstring, wondering when he would give up the chase of her younger sister. Probably not anytime soon.
And at that moment, the studio door opened, interrupting the dancers whose faces all swiveled toward the incoming group.
It was their younger sister’s new boyfriend Rhysand, or Mr. Knightly, as the company dancers would know him, striding confidently across the front of the room followed by two other men.
Rhysand was the owner of the Velaris Ballet Company, acquiring it last year from his late father. He had met their younger sister at an event for the arts in Velaris, happy to discover Feyre’s immense talent and supporting her in opening her own studio downtown this past summer. Feyre had all but begged Nesta and Elain to join Rhysand’s ballet company, and although she would never admit it to anyone, Nesta had been happy to join. As a newer principal dancer, she felt it was better to be a big fish in a little pond, rather than floating in the background of a more established company.
During their weekly Sunday dinner just yesterday, Nesta had overheard Rhys explaining to Elain that he was keen to add some more new members to the company for the upcoming season.
Her eyes scanned the men following the company owner, sizing up their talent with a flick of her iris.
“Hello everyone.” Rhysand addressed the stretching dancers, nodding toward everyone with his usual charm, his hands in his pockets as he stepped forward, his loud voice booming across the echoing studio.
“As you know, we are still rebuilding the company, always adding new talent. We’ve been fortunate enough to acquire the Archeron sisters this past Spring,” he smiled warmly toward Nesta and Elain before glancing toward the rest of the class, “and with that being said, I am happy to introduce your new choreographers for this season.”
New choreographers? What about Amren and Miss Viviane?
Nesta surveyed the brawny men, her brows furrowing involuntarily. Tall, dark-skinned… handsome, but dancers? She raised a brow, glancing back at Elain whose cheeks were flushed, her doe eyes taking in the newcomers as well.
The one with short hair and hazel eyes… he maybe looked like a dancer, but the other one? He was built all wrong for ballet: total brawn and muscle. His shoulder-length black hair was pulled halfway up in a man bun, tattoos scattered across his thick veiny arms, his dark eyes sparkling toward the room of young dancers in a cocky gaze.
She scoffed to herself.
“I actually went to the Velaris Dance Academy with these two, so I can vouch for them: you will be in good hands.” Rhysand drawled, his eyes looking over to the men. “Guys, could you introduce yourselves? Az?”
The tall slender one stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back as he gave a curt nod to the assembled group, his professional voice cascading across the room, stern, and quiet.
“My name is Mr. Rose. You may call Mr. Rose. I attended the Velaris Dance Academy and finished top of my class before spending fifteen years with the Paris Opera Ballet. I’ve choreographed for the New York City Ballet and the Berlin Contemporary Dance Association. Thank you for letting me join you all for this season, I hope to accomplish great things with you all.” He bowed his head then, his eyes flashing up briefly in Nesta’s direction, and she felt her cheeks flush involuntarily.
Wait, no.
Mr. Rose wasn’t looking at Nesta… he was gazing in Elain’s direction.
Of course, he was. New choreographers could never take their eyes off Elain.
“And I’m Cassian.” The second man stepped forward, cutting off the formal introduction of Mr. Rose, crossing his arms across his chest, his muscles rippling under his jet-black tattoos, a playful smirking smile lighting up his face as he gazed across the dancers, no doubt sizing up their talent in a single glance. .
Nesta felt herself frown just looking at his cocky smile.
“As far as credentials… I’m a good dancer, but I’m an even better teacher.” He chuckled then, winking at the group as Rhysand rolled his eyes, pushing his hands into his pockets as the dancers began to whisper amongst themselves, the girls giggling and elbowing each other as they gazed at the formidable men.
Good god. Was anyone professional anymore?
“Thank you.” Rhysand addressed the group of giggling girls, his stern tone willing them to quiet as Nesta glanced over toward the other barre at Lucien who was scowling at the new choreographers. “Now, Cassian and Azriel will be choreographing for our showcase, two separate dances that will serve as the entertainment for the city-wide Solstice celebration this year in Velaris.”
The whispers exploded again across the room as the dancers excitedly elbowed one another, exchanging glances and shrieks of happiness. But Nesta just stared forward, her brows hardening as she felt her body go through the familiar reaction she always had when anything competitive was ever offered up. Her shoulders tense, she felt her heart rate increase rapidly, sparking and firing within her chest as she clenched her jaw.
“But in order to really bring the heat this year, I’ve also acquired two more dancers, joining us from The Hewn City Ballet Company and the Bolshoi Ballet Company.” Rhysand continued his speech as Nesta’s eyes widened, her scowl melting off her face as two more people entered through the door of the studio.
A tall slender woman strode through the threshold, her shoulders rolling back as her hips swayed with every step. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing an impossibly beautiful face, nearly as gorgeous as Elain’s. Nesta could tell by her posture that this woman was a dancer–maybe even a principal ballerina.
The woman gazed at the group with a disinterested expression as Nesta’s eyes drew toward the second person now coming through the door.
It was a man, tall and red-haired, his sharp aristocratic features frozen in a haughty expression as he walked, his steps so light and graceful, it was as if he was floating across the shining floor. His features were familiar… almost as if she had met him before.
“Thank you for joining us.” Rhysand nodded toward the newcomers before turning toward the dancers. “These may be familiar faces for some of you here.” Rhysand beamed at the studio dancers before striding over and taking the blonde’s hand, presenting her to the group. “My cousin, Morrigan of the Hewn City Ballet Company, now joining our small company, adding her delightful talent to our ranks.”
Morrigan smiled warmly to her cousin before her hazel eyes flashed across the studio. Letting go of her hand, Rhysand then gestured toward the red-haired male whose sharp face was pinched in an almost displeased expression.
“And Eris Vanserra. An incredibly talented dancer and the brother of our very own Lucien!” Rhysand clapped his hands happily then as Nesta’s eyes widened.
Eris Vanserra? Here in Velaris? He was the top male dancer in the ballet world… what was he doing here? And how she had never connected Lucien Vanserra to the infamous professional dancer… it was an oversight to be sure. They looked so similar.
But relative or not, Lucien, nor anyone else in this room could hold a candle to Eris Vanserra.
“I think we’re going to have quite an interesting season this Fall,” Rhysand concluded the introduction, clasping his hands together and bowing his head slightly before he exited, Morrigan and Eris in tow, leaving the dancers alone with the new choreographers.
An interesting season indeed, Nesta mused, her eyes flashing back to the brawny tattooed Cassian, who looked up at that very moment, catching her eye with a sparkling smirk.
· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·
Elain leaned down, shoving the rest of her gear into her pastel pink tote in one swipe, her water bottle dropping into her balled-up clothes and clanging against her lip balm and pointe shoes as she lifted the bag up over her shoulder, her eyes glued to the door as she practically skipped out of the studio.
She usually preferred to be more organized with her things, placing her items in small bags within the larger tote, the whole process quite relaxing as an after-practice ritual, but today she was in a hurry.
Because as he completed the last partner's pas de deux exercise with her, Elain noticed Lucien’s hands gripping her waist a little tighter than usual. She had felt his gaze on her as she performed the pirouettes in center practice with the rest of the chorus, and his posture definitely stiffened as she scampered past him to join the chassé line in the corner of the room at the end of class.
Something within her told her that if she did not get the hell out of this studio right this second, Lucien Vanserra was probably going to try to talk to her. Alone.
She strode down the corridor, her Uggs slapping against the cold marble as she hiked up her bag on her shoulder, reaching up to release her curly hair from her light pink scrunchie.
Raking her fingers through her long curly hair, her pace quickening, Elain neared the end of the hall and allowed herself to peek behind her shoulder, her eyes scanning the chatting dancers spilling out of the studio, trying to find any sign of a tall red-haired man hot on her trail.
But there was not a strand of ginger hair to be seen.
Thank gods.
Elain felt her shoulders collapse with relief as she slowed her pace. Closing her eyes for a moment, she shook off the stress from her body, a generous sigh of relief falling from her lips as she pivoted, turning the corner to head for the exit.
“Oof!” Startled, Elain felt herself run straight into someone, her bag falling from her small shoulder and spilling out into the corridor, her chapstick and pointe shoes careening across the shiny marble.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention!” She cried out the apology as she kneeled down, frantically reaching toward her belongings, her untethered hair swinging in front of her face in a curly mask. “I was in a hurry… I think I forgot to zip up my bag after class.”
“It’s not a problem.” The stranger’s soothing voice washed over her as she reached toward her water bottle, only for her fingers to find themselves running along a dark scarred hand. The ridges of the scars traced across his dark skin like ivy vines.
Beautiful.
But as she touched his hand, Elain felt her fingers light up, as if an electrical current had been zapped through her entire palm. Wrenching her hand back, she pulled her curly hair out of her face, blinking up at the dark and brooding stranger.
Oh gods.
It was Mr. Rose.
Shooting up from the floor, she scampered to grab her pointe shoe and chapstick from across the hall as she let out a flurry of nonsensical niceties, the heat in her face rising and confusing her as she glanced back at the choreographer who was straightening up as well, brushing off his knees. He was so tall, towering above her, his short dark hair sending her pulse positively alight as she looked up at him, her heart beginning to race out of her ribcage.
What was happening to her?!
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to– I think I’ll just be going now.” Grabbing the water bottle, she ducked her head, avoiding his smoldering hazel eyes as she pivoted around him, striding for the exit again.
“Uh, miss?” Mr. Rose’s voice was velvety and low… formal and delicious, and… what in the hells was she thinking!?
Stopping her frenzied exit, Elain paused, turning back toward him, cocking her head as the velvet voice drawled toward her. “I think you’ve missed an item.”
She furrowed her brow, stepping back toward the choreographer who was now holding something shiny and lilac purple in his hand.
Holy hell.
Now would be a fabulous time to die.
Because Mr. Rose was holding her damn lilac lace bra out to her, the cups shining in the brightly lit hallway, the straps hanging from his dark scarred fingers as he arched a brow toward her, his own cheeks flushing slightly as he awkwardly cast his eyes to the marble floor beneath their feet.
Fabulous.
Her cheeks now positively on fire, Elain smiled weakly at the floor as she outstretched her arm, taking the bra from him and burying it deep in her tote bag in a single motion. Nodding to him again, her voice now completely stolen from the embarrassment, she turned back toward the exit, but not before she caught sight of a head full of long flaming red hair.
“Elain!” Lucien’s voice called out to her over Mr. Rose’s shoulder, the dancer bounding up to her with a beaming smile. “You left so quickly! I’m glad I caught you.”
Elain watched as Mr. Rose nodded at her, his dark hazel eyes flashing something she couldn’t read as he disappeared around the corner, dissolving into the throng of dancers that had now caught up to them.
“Yeah…” she smiled at Lucien, her face in a frozen mask as she attempted her quest to leave the company building for the third time. “I have some errands to run.”
The excuse was lame, and honestly a bit of a lie, but Lucien didn’t seem to pick up on it.
“Oh cool, no problem. I can walk with you to the train. I’m going that way anyways.” He smiled down at her, adjusting his duffle bag strap so that it was across his chest.
“Fabulous.” she grinned at him through gritted teeth as he held the door open, the blinding Velaris sun hitting her skin as she glided down the marble steps, the buzz of traffic swallowing them both.
“So how have you been liking the Velaris Ballet Company?” Lucien’s low voice carried down to her as she stepped across the crosswalk, passing by a dog walker with a particularly loud set of corgis.
“It’s nice.” She replied sweetly glancing up at him. “It’s nice to be here with my sisters.”
“Right, right.” Lucien nodded, the conversation flaming out before it even had a chance to grow.
The awkward silence bloomed between them for a moment before Lucien spoke again. “Your other sister, she’s Mr. Knightly’s girlfriend right?”
Elain nodded, her eyes on the toes of her beige ugg boots as she walked over the grey sidewalk, Lucien’s long strides dwarfing hers in comparison.
“But she’s not a dancer too?”
“Uh no,” Elain glanced up at him as they came to another crosswalk, the seconds on the waiting signal seeming like an eternity as she stood next to the ginger. “Our mom really only pushed me and Nesta into Dance. Feyre’s an artist–a painter.”
Elain could ramble about her family forever.
She adored her sisters, really only tagging along in ballet because she loved being near Nesta. Now that they were here permanently in Velaris, the three sisters sharing an apartment downtown near the Sidra River, Elain felt as though she couldn’t be happier. Feyre had come to the city for an art fellowship last year and had fallen in love with the culture and people.
Elain and Nesta had been dancing for the London Ballet Company, both in the chorus when Rhysand Knightly had poached them, offering Nesta a position as a principal dancer with the burgeoning ballet company. Elain hadn’t even needed the offer of a starring role to come too: she was just happy to have both her elder and younger sisters nearby.
So Velaris had become their home.
Nesta was thriving as a principal dancer, a real prima ballerina, and this Fall and Solstice season would be their first showcase in Velaris. Nesta practically worshipped ballet. Her precision, focus, and unwavering determination had carried her into amazing success, but Elain often worried about the pressure Nesta was under. In contrast, Elain was happy to be a background dancer, always in the chorus. She preferred a relaxed approach to ballet, floating in and out of the studio, enjoying the exercise, the camaraderie, and the art, but always leaving ballet where it belonged: on the stage and in the studio.
Breaking from her reverie, she watched the green signal come up on the crosswalk and strode forward, glancing up at Lucien who seemed to be considering his next line of questioning.
Good god.
If she was so hard to talk to, why was he interested in her anyways?
Annoyed, she glanced up at him and decided to take charge of the pitiful conversation instead.
“So Eris Vanserra… he’s your brother?” Her mind flashed back to the aristocratic man all but preening and posing in front of the dancers, his haughty attitude a stark difference from the jovial guy walking beside Elain.
Lucien’s face darkened slightly as he answered. “Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s actually my oldest brother.”
Elain nodded, smiling as she turned the corner around a busy Starbucks, finally reaching the subway entrance. “How fun. I love having my sisters nearby. It’s a treat to be part of the same company as your family.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” he replied, his voice taking on a chill.
Furrowing her brows, Elain scanned his face. Perhaps the Vanserra brothers were not close. Now feeling even more awkward, as if that was even possible, she rested her hand on the railing leading down to the subway entrance, mustering up a fake smile.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking me to the train!” She smiled at the words and pivoted, hiking her pink bag up on her shoulder as she scurried down the stairs, escaping before Lucien had a moment to even respond.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs she let out a sigh.
She didn’t even need to go to the train. Stopping, she drew her hand to her forehead, brushing back her curls as her tote bag swung forward, bouncing off her hip, the zipper still open, her lilac bra peeking out from the depths.
Biting her lip, she wrenched the zipper closed, her heart now racing again as she closed her eyes, forcing the image of those hazel eyes out of her skull.