nini 💋

But also, you looked like an absolute badass in the midnight blue satin gown. 

War was coming. Another lethal end to so many innocent and not so innocent souls. 

Being part of the Night Court, being Rhysand’s right hand along with Amren, being a part of the Inner Circle was a blessing and a curse all at once.

Blessing, because knowing all these people and being able to call them family was sometimes your only anchor, whenever time was incredibly hard. You knew they’d be there for you if so much as asked with a broken voice. Every calling was heard, whether it’s shouted or whispered. 

A curse, because neither of them trusted your mate, even so, they didn’t even know he was your mate. 

A secret so delicate, so wrong, but a lie sometimes so delicious.

The heir of the Autumn Court. Eris Vanserra.

Neither Eris nor you couldn't deny the bond for so long. It has been a surprise when you learned it snapped for Eris at the same time as it did for you. The slight change in his pupils, the sudden breath intake, and the way he always managed to find you. 

Both of you agreed that keeping your mating bond as a secret was truly for both of your benefits. For him, because his betrothal ended horribly with Morrigan, and ever since the relationship between Night and Autumn was rocky. But mostly for your sake, since Eris did not want his dad, Beron, the High Lord of the corrupted Autumn Court to get a sniff of you. He would do anything in his power to eliminate anyone and anything that keeps his son distracted.

To which is why your sudden surprise when you saw them among the other courts. 

“Okay?” Rhys murmured from his seat next to you, lips barely moving, eyes assessing everyone. 

“Yeah,” you replied and rolled your shoulders to ease your nerves, spine rigid. 

Seeing all the High Lords all at once sent a shiver down your spine, but you knew you needed everyone to have a choice against the King of Hybern, and the corrupted Cauldron. 

Your High Lady’s, Feyre’s sisters have just been turned into High Fae by the Cauldron, against their will. You’ve spent numerous hours helping them from a distance, letting them adjust to this new life at their own speed, but so far, it wasn’t a success. 

Elain, the middle sister of the Archeron’s, is quite literally wasting away, meanwhile Nesta is a stubborn fire which cannot be put out. 

Beron’s grumbling voice cut through the silence like a blade finding an enemy's heart—the kind of quick, merciful death one could only hope for.

“I do not wish to form an alliance with Amarantha’s whore,” he spat, his eyes burning with a dangerous, guttering fire as his gaze landed on Rhysand. A slow, cruel smirk pulled at his lips. “I assume you’d get on your knees the moment you see the King of Hybern, just as you did for her.”

His ignorance was staggering, a physical weight in the room.

“I suggest you speak very carefully about my High Lord,” you warned, your voice dropping to a low, lethal octave.

Beron’s fiery eyes snapped to yours.

“Now, High Lord, tame your pet.”

He threw the word at you like a slur, his conviction absolute; in his eyes, Rhysand was nothing more than a broken toy, and you were a mere nuisance.

You didn't flinch. Instead, a wicked, jagged smile spread across your face.

“It’s not me with a weak pull out game and abusive nature.”

The tension in the air was so thick it felt like smoke. You knew your comment had struck a nerve—and not just with Beron. Every one of his sons looked poised to ignite, ready to incinerate you where you stood.

Everyone, that is, except Eris.

His mask of icy indifference remained perfectly intact, though you knew him well enough to read the warning beneath the surface. He wasn’t going to give anything away here, but you’d be paying for this outburst in blood and shouting once you were behind closed doors.

You didn’t care. Eris knew the rules: you wouldn’t tolerate a single foul word against Rhysand, Feyre, or the Inner Circle. And while you’d give anything to defend your mate with that same fire, the timing was as cruel as the High Lord of Autumn himself. For now, you had to swallow the truth.

But your patience was a fraying thread, and you were just about ready to let it snap.

—

Nuan, an alchemist from the Dawn Court has just shown an antidote to neutralize faebane, a poisonous substance that weakens Fae powers. It was a potential miracle, but the room remained deathly silent. No one was brave enough to be the first test subject.

No one, except you.

“I’ll take it,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension, calm and unwavering. Nuan’s eyes lit up at your declaration, a slow, relieved smile spreading across her face.

You took two steps toward her, but a sudden, blurfast movement from the High Lord of Autumn attempted to block your path.

He wasn't fast enough.

In a heartbeat, the twin daggers strapped to your thighs were out. They hissed as they crossed, forming a lethal X just beneath Beron’s chin, the cold steel biting into his skin. You didn't flinch. You didn't back down. You simply leaned in and growled, your voice a low, dangerous vibration.

“I suggest you sit back down.”

Azriel was on his feet in an instant, his scarred hand white-knuckled on the hilt of

Truth-Teller. Rhysand’s violet eyes were cutting, black smoke of his power slowly leaking from his fingertips. Feyre sucked in a harsh breath, and Eris’s eyes widened for a second. 

“You don’t scare me.”

You snorted. 

“Of course I don’t. I’m a woman and you underestimate me. You don’t acknowledge me as anything, but a pussy. But these blades,” just a fraction of your movement, and the blades touched his neck, enough to get a slight squirm out of Beron, “are sharp. One single cut, and you’ll bleed out. So again, I suggest you sit back down, because if I cut you, no one here will help you. They all would watch you bleed out with pure encouragement,” a cruel smile spread across your face. “But I don’t want your filthy blood on my hands. And you’re too much of a greedy bastard of your throne, so you will sit back down.” 

You knew you overstepped a line. 

You knew it as soon as Beron turned his back to you, but not before sending a small look, a look so full of deathly fire, your own eyes twitched a little, as well when you dared to look Eris’ way, and his own amber gaze was cold as ice. 

"You have your own fire, but sometimes you forget how much you can actually bear," Rhys had said once the meeting dissolved and the tension of the High Lords had bled out of the room.

Tucked away in Rhys’s study, the air was thick with slight tension. Cassian leaned against the bookshelf, a glimmer of rogue approval in his eyes for the way you’d held your own. But Azriel stood in the shadows, his expression mirroring Rhys’s grim sobriety.

"I don't want you anywhere near the Autumn Court," Rhys continued, his voice dropping into that High Lord-y tone of command. "You just put a target on your back."

The irony of it tasted like copper on your tongue.

Now, standing in the Autumn border, the air smelled of crisp woodsmoke and decaying leaves. You were having the exact same conversation, though the tone here was stripped of political caution and replaced with something far more volatile. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eris bellowed, his voice rough and his eyes fire. You knew, you prepared for Eris’ wrath, but still jumped when his voice rang through the up until now quiet space. “We’ve talked about this! Keeping out of Beron’s way is crucial for surviving.” 

“And I should just let him attack me?” you shot back, meeting the force of his anger with your own. But beneath his rage, you tasted the desperate notes of pain and fear. 

“No,” he growled, his jaw tight. “But you could’ve kept your mouth shut.” 

You snorted, crossing your arms. “I hold a seat in the Inner Circle. I took an oath never to let a soul disrespect my High Lord, and I’m not about to start now. You know I don't back down from brutes.” 

“It’s Beron!” he roared. “You have no idea what—”

“And I would do it again!” you barked, cutting him off.

Eris gripped his red hair with shaking hands, practically tearing at the strands. “You just put a target on your back,” he repeated, the warning sounding just as hollow as when Rhysand had said it.

“That target has been there since the second the mating bond snapped!”

Your voice echoed through the now silent room. Letting out a long, heavy breath, you lifted your gaze to Eris, your expression aching yet shimmering with a desperate kind of happiness.

“I am at my happiest with you, Eris,” you whispered, stepping closer. You reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his hand—a hand so warm it felt as though it had been dipped in liquid lava. He didn't pull away, allowing your slender fingers to curl around his. “I love you. But our time is running out. This was only the beginning. With the rising conflicts, the queens, and the war... It's only a matter of time before one of us falls into serious trouble, and the pain will eat us alive. We cannot survive without each other. I cannot survive without you.”

Tears glistened in your eyes. Eris searched your face, his gaze flitting from one eye to the other as if trying to drink in every ounce of the soft, radiant love you were offering him.

“The glamour cannot be maintained much longer,” you continued, your voice breaking. “And personally, I physically cannot spend another minute away from you. I miss you so godsdamn much, every time I want to reach out, I have to stop myself because there are eyes everywhere.”

The tears began to track down your porcelain skin. Eris moved slowly, deliberately, his thumb sweeping the salt from your cheeks while his other hand wound firmly around your waist, pulling you into his heat.

“I hate having to resist looking for you every time I know you're in the room. I fear our time is limited, and that I’ll never get to declare my love for you loudly, for everyone to hear.” You finally confessed the thought that haunted your sleepless nights—the nights spent aching for his touch, his warmth, and the taste of his lips.

Eris leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“It’s not only you who’s suffering,” he whispered, his voice so low and broken that it felt like a thousand blades piercing your heart at once. A sob fought its way up your throat, escaping as a quiet, jagged sound.

“Every time I have to serve my father, every time I lead my soldiers... I want to crawl out of my skin. I know it’s all bullshit. It’s just noise, stealing my time away from you. I want to feel you; I want our bond to pulse between us, raw and alive. But I have to shroud it in glamour. Because if one of my brothers—or worse, my father—gets a scent of it, I’m dead. And you would be too. I’m more than terrified of that.”

He tightened his grip, his breath hot against your skin. “I want to fucking scream it to the whole of Prythian—that you’re mine and I’m the happiest man alive. But I can't. Because I am Beron’s son. And I don't get to be happy.”

Sobs broke from you without restraint, erupting with such raw force that your chest constricted, aching as you struggled to draw breath. It felt as though you were drowning, as if a leaden weight were dragging you into bottomless water with no hope of escape.

Your palms slid upward, cupping Eris’s face.

“I won’t leave you. If you die, Eris, I’m coming with you.”

There was no point in living without him. Life would hold no meaning if the Mother took away your only source of light—your only sign of life.

But a flash of fierce determination ignited in Eris’s eyes. The fire that had been burning dangerously behind his irises seemed to flicker with a new, lethal purpose.

“I will make us live until eternity,” he swore, pressing his palm firmly against your heart. You mirrored the gesture, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he kissed you. He kissed you so deeply that he became the only thing you could breathe in.

Yes. Breathe.

Eris was air.

And he continued kissing you like you're the only source of his air intake, until your back hit the mattress, until your dress was bunched around your waist then disappeared with his clothes altogether. He kissed you until you felt him enter you, until his groans became your moans. He made love to you with a renewed purpose, because he refuses to let you go. Because your love for him, his love for you is stronger than any order from his father. 

He picked up his pace, dragging your thighs higher around his waist, his digits digging deeply into your soft flesh as you grabbed his hair around his nape, and brought him down once again, because his plush lips ignited your soul. 

“I love you,” he breathes into your mouth, his amber eyes full of love and ember. You squeeze around him, earning a guttural groan. 

“I love you, Eris,” you whisper, pushing your naked chest until it flattens around him. 

“Your mine,” he moans, his pace quickening, skin slapping skin vehemently. 

“I’m yours,” you whimper as you kiss him again deeply and desperately, until the both of you came apart, spent and slick with sweat and cum and saliva. 

He didn’t let you go. He hugged you from behind, his muscular arm around your waist, like a cage you’re willing to be in, as he kissed your neck, your shoulder softly. 

“You’re my salvation, my love.” 

—

“You’re secretive.”

You jumped at the unexpected voice, the sound jarring you out of your trance.

“Huh?” You spun around to face him. His violet eyes twinkled slightly, amused by your jumpiness despite the grim surroundings.

The retaliations against Hybern’s soldiers over the past few days had taken a toll on everyone. Seeing Cassian brought before Madja, hovering between life and death, had shattered you. You had retreated here, hiding behind a tree just to let the tears fall where no one could see.

You felt weak—helpless because you couldn't protect your family and everyone else from harm. You tried to reassure yourself that Cassian and Azriel were seasoned warriors, that nothing could catch them off guard and they knew their duty. But seeing Cassian’s insides on the outside, where they didn't belong... it had broken you.

Irreparably.

Adding fuel to the fire was the knowledge that Beron had refused to side with Rhysand, leaving the Autumn Court entirely out of the counter-attacks. A small, selfish part of you was relieved; you knew Eris was safe. He wouldn't end up mangled like Cassian.

But you were still here. Bloody, exhausted, and covered in grime. Your Illyrian fighting leathers chafed against your skin, the stinging sensation making you itch with every movement.

You wanted to go home. To the one place where you knew you were truly safe.

Into Eris’s arms.

“You’re like a ghost,” Rhys said, taking a step to stand beside you. His hands were clasped behind his back as he looked down the steep, winding path.

“What makes you say that?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Because you haven’t truly existed ever since the High Lords’ meeting.”

“And how does that make me secretive?” You frowned, finally looking away from the distance to meet his gaze.

“Because you’re holding something back.” He turned his head slightly, those violet eyes searching yours. “And you have been for a long time.”

You should have known that nothing escapes the High Lord of the Night Court. Only his patience had been holding him back.

He knew.

Honestly, it wasn't even worth wondering how long he’d known or the exact moment he’d figured it out. You were so drained—spiritually and physically—that when you finally looked up at him again, your eyes were swimming with fresh tears.

“I love him,” you whispered.

The confession hung in the air, raw and undeniable. Rhysand simply nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

But before he could even speak, you cut him off, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

“But what if this is the end? What if… if we’ve been too arrogant, and this is the undoing of us all? I can't leave him here. We’ve had so little time,” you confessed, your voice cracking.

This wasn't you. The woman who could threaten a High Lord with a single look, who could stand her ground without a flinch of a muscle, wasn't supposed to break like a coward. Yet here you were, crumbling.

Rhys continued to study you with that inscrutable, violet gaze.

“Then you have a reason,” he said softly, “why you cannot give up.”

And you didn’t. You fought when the next wave of the attack crashed, and you didn’t shed another tear. To cry was a waste of energy—and here, in the dirt and the blood, there was no room for emotion. What was needed now was for everyone to kill with the coldest, foulest, and most ruthless of hands.

To slaughter anyone and everyone who meant you harm.

But the moment you realized this had all been a diversion—a primary feint designed to exhaust you before the true retaliation began—a new kind of strength, a cold venom, began to surge through your veins.

I am not going to die. That became your mantra.

Even as sleep deprivation clawed at your mind, making you wonder if the blur of intense red in the distance was merely a hallucination.

“Is that…” Cassian’s voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing just as yours widened.

“Well, I guess better late than never,” Azriel murmured. But the second his eyes widened a fraction and snapped to yours, you knew. He can smell it.

You felt it, too—the bond was there, raw and alive, purring like a caged beast. 

And it was no longer hidden beneath a glamour.

A choked sound escaped your throat. As Eris drew closer, his soldiers trailing behind him close, two realizations hit you with the force of a physical blow.

One:the last night with him had changed everything. Two: his promise to forge an eternity for you was coming to life.

Eris’s smirk deepened, that familiar, arrogant glint returning to his eyes. “I thought you might need some help.”

Then, his eyes locked onto yours. In that single breath, his gaze softened, and that arrogant smirk transformed into a full-blown, predatory, yet breathtakingly genuine smile.

A mirror of your own.

—

“Father doesn’t know.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed, his power rippling like shadows in the periphery. “You went behind his back.”

It wasn't a question.

Eris nodded, but his gaze remained locked on yours. You had stood frozen from the moment he arrived.

He came.

Without Beron’s knowledge. Without his father's permission.

He came for you.

“You’re a dead man walking,” Rhysand stated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly tone.

“I’m not dead yet,” Eris countered. He threw you a quick, wicked wink, and despite the blood and the grime, a heat flared in your cheeks. You felt your blush deepen under the weight of his stare.

“If Beron realizes what you’ve done—”

“I don’t care about him,” Eris said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His amber eyes refused to leave yours, burning with a fierce, possessive loyalty.

“I promised eternity. I'm here to deliver.” 

—

Time was running out.

As it turned out, Eris wasn’t the only surprise of the day. Feyre had managed to bring the Bone Carver into the fray, along with Bryaxis—the latter much to Cassian’s horror. For a fleeting second, you felt a surge of bone crushing relief. A spark of hope told you that maybe, just maybe, this would be alright. That you could stand your ground and defeat the undefeatable.

But when Beron materialized from the middle of nowhere, demanding of his son, all that hope evaporated like mist in a furnace.

You were bloodied and broken, your own red staining your skin alongside the blood of others. Tears of exhaustion and anguish tracked paths through the grime on your cheeks. On unsteady, shaking legs, you stumbled toward the one sight you never wished to see.

Ever.

No.

Your eyes widened with terror as you made out Eris’s form sprawled in the dirt. Beron stood over him, the tip of his sword hovering mere inches above his own son’s chest.

With what remained of your strength—every bone and muscle in your body screaming in protest—you unsheathed the daggers from your thighs. You crept toward Beron, silent and shadow thin, moving like a lion stalking its prey.

Mistake number one: Never turn your back to an enemy.

The daggers found their seats with a sickening thud, buried deep within Beron’s shoulder blades.

Beron’s eyes bulged, his breath hitching into a horrific, gurgling rattle. He let out a shredded, guttural wheeze as the steel bit into his lungs.

“I told you,” you hissed into the cold air, “my daggers are sharp.”

“You… bitch,” he wheezed, blood pooling in his mouth and spilling over his lips. He staggered backward, the movement giving Eris the opening he needed to overpower his father and wrench the sword from his hand.

“I will never be you,” Eris muttered. His voice was hoarse, raspy from the battle, yet it rang with a sudden, unshakable strength.

He swung the blade. It bit deep and true into Beron’s neck, severing the head from the shoulders in one clean, brutal arc. As the body slumped, Eris staggered too, his chest heaving as the adrenaline began to ebb.

Beron was no more.

Beron was no longer the High Lord.

—

Eris was burning.

With Beron’s death, the fire surging through Eris’s veins had intensified, transforming from mere heat into liquid lava. The change was visible in his eyes; the embers he had kept carefully banked for centuries had finally ignited into roaring pillars of flame. Eris had always been mature, carrying the weight of his court in silence, but now, as the mantle of High Lord settled upon his shoulders, he seemed to grow. A new, ancient, and terrifying power coiled around him—an authority he had waited an eternity to claim.

The air around him shimmered and warped with the sheer intensity of his magic. He had much to do—a court to purge, a war to finish, and a legacy to rebuild.

But only one thing truly mattered.

“Come home to me,” Eris rasped. The command of a High Lord was there, but it was softened by the raw vulnerability of a mate. His bloodied, shaking hands reached for yours, his touch searing even through the grime of battle.

You smiled, the weight of the world finally lifting.

“I am home,” you whispered, pressing your palm firmly against his heart. 

Eris let out a ragged, breathless laugh, his palm covering yours as if to seal the vow.

Finally. 

He promised eternity. 

The plan was simple: make him blush whenever and however you could. Because seeing that pink hue slowly creeping up his neck, ears, and handsome face?

It triggered ovulation.

The plan began one morning during training. He was already there with Cassian, their eyes still bleary at the crack of dawn, wings slightly droopy and senses a little dull. You greeted both of them, your eyes slowly but surely locking onto Azriel.

He stood tall, shadows swirling lazily around his broad shoulders, wings stretching wide. Yet, it was the dark circles under his beautiful eyes that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You knew he worked too hard and barely slept; with whatever strength he had left, he tried to put up a facade, masking the way his guard was cracking. You hated Rhysand a little for that.

Cass and Az slowly began to circle each other, swords raised high and eyes now determined. Sweat glistened on both men.

You couldn't help but shout when Azriel passed you a fleeting look.

"That shirt's doing you no favors. Take it off!"

Cassian roared with laughter, his head thrown back and shoulders shaking.

Azriel, though? He froze. His eyes widened, but there wasn't a hint of annoyance in them. And when his cheeks warmed fast, the color rising before he could stop it?

You pocketed it like a total victory.

—-

Dinner at the River House could be described in one single word: chaos.

Nyx was throwing food left and right while Feyre tried desperately to stop him. But before either parent could react or reach him, his spoon was already raised, sending food flying across the table. Cassian laughed, chewed food displayed in his open mouth as he ate like a pig, earning a sharp scolding from Nesta for his childlike manners. Meanwhile, Mor was drinking more wine than should be humanly possible, and Amren sat silently—or not so silently—judging everyone in the room.

After surviving the ordeal of dinner, wine glass in hand, you sat down next to Azriel on the couch. His wings automatically curled around you, creating a private, shadowed cocoon. You fought the blush trying to creep up your own cheeks; it wasn't your turn to blush.

"I can feel your heartbeat. Is that for me?" you asked innocently, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

Azriel looked completely dumbfounded, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "People who tend to be alive usually have heartbeats."

"Ah. Boring."

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his muscular thigh. "What's boring about being alive?"

"You, not getting flirty," you stated as a matter of fact.

His lip twitched. "Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Yes. Is it working?"

He looked entirely taken aback by your straightforwardness. He didn't say a word, entirely trapped as he held your gaze. He cleared his throat, but no sound followed.

Yet, under the warm, golden lights of the sitting room, a soft heat settled across his face, completely giving him away.

You bit your bottom lip, a huge, satisfied grin spreading across your face.

—-

Fighting consciousness after a wild night at Rita’s—when Cassian would bribe you into shot competitions you always lost—was nothing compared to this. Hangovers were a joke. Nobody ever told you how exhausting it actually was to fight for your life while actively bleeding out.

"You fucking idiot," Azriel hissed.

His voice didn't have its usual icy calm; it was raw, jagged with a panic you’d never heard from him before. He dragged you behind a shattered stone wall for safety, his large, scarred hands slamming down onto your side. The agonizing pressure made you hiss, your heels digging into the dirt.

"When have I ever told you to jump in front of a lethal blow, you nuisance?" Azriel’s shadows were frantic, whipping around him in a chaotic storm as he desperately tried to stanch the flow of blood. "Look at me! Open your godsdamned eyes, for fuck's sake!"

You forced your heavy eyelids up, your vision blurring at the edges. Even covered in grime and terror, he was beautiful.

"I like the way you say my name," you whispered, a weak smile pulling at your lips. You could taste the copper coating your teeth. "Say it again."

"Mother above, shut up," he choked out, his hands trembling against your wound.

"But you like it... when I say shit like that."

"I fucking do!" He yelled, a fierce, desperate sound. "But you have a death wish, I swear to the Cauldron. Don't you dare close your eyes."

"One kiss before I die?" you coughed.

"You are not going to die!"

"So... no kiss?" you murmured, your lips pouting.

"You can get a kiss when you stop being so godsdamn reckless," he promised fiercely, leaning down so his forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

Despite the horror of the blood on his hands, despite the battle raging around you, a stark, unmistakable heat bloomed along his cheekbones, vivid against his pale skin. He couldn't hide it, no matter how hard he tried.

You were going to be the death of him, surely—if you didn't survive this first.

—-

Azriel was hunched over a stack of reports. His eyes were intensely focused on the text, yet his shadows were deeply restless.

"You're staring," he said, stating it as a simple matter of fact without even looking up from the papers.

"I am," you replied calmly, cradling a warm cup of coffee in your hands.

He let out a quiet sigh, but the faint ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. You strolled over to where he sat, leaning over his shoulder under the pretense of being deeply curious about his work. At your proximity, his shadows darted toward his ears, then splattered down across the floorboards, a few brave tendrils winding playfully around your ankles.

His massive wings widened slightly, twitching in a sudden flash of tension.

"You're standing really close," he murmured.

"Yeah? Are you gonna move?" You raised an eyebrow, looking down at him expectantly as you took a slow, deliberate sip of your coffee.

Azriel snorted, finally looking up to meet your gaze. His expression was calm and cool, but not entirely collected—a faint, telltale color was spreading across his cheekbones, subtle but impossible to ignore.

Yet, when he spoke, his voice didn't waver a bit. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

Your heart skipped a beat.

"I could ruin you," you countered, your voice dropping, trying to hold your ground.

Azriel’s smile softened into something devastatingly handsome. "I know."

And just like that, under the weight of his unyielding gaze, he managed to make you blush at your own game.

————————————————————————

The plan was simple: make him blush whenever and however you could. Because seeing that pink hue slowly creeping up his neck, ears, and handsome face?

It triggered ovulation.

The plan began one morning during training. He was already there with Cassian, their eyes still bleary at the crack of dawn, wings slightly droopy and senses a little dull. You greeted both of them, your eyes slowly but surely locking onto Azriel.

He stood tall, shadows swirling lazily around his broad shoulders, wings stretching wide. Yet, it was the dark circles under his beautiful eyes that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You knew he worked too hard and barely slept; with whatever strength he had left, he tried to put up a facade, masking the way his guard was cracking. You hated Rhysand a little for that.

Cass and Az slowly began to circle each other, swords raised high and eyes now determined. Sweat glistened on both men.

You couldn't help but shout when Azriel passed you a fleeting look.

"That shirt's doing you no favors. Take it off!"

Cassian roared with laughter, his head thrown back and shoulders shaking.

Azriel, though? He froze. His eyes widened, but there wasn't a hint of annoyance in them. And when his cheeks warmed fast, the color rising before he could stop it?

You pocketed it like a total victory.

—-

Dinner at the River House could be described in one single word: chaos.

Nyx was throwing food left and right while Feyre tried desperately to stop him. But before either parent could react or reach him, his spoon was already raised, sending food flying across the table. Cassian laughed, chewed food displayed in his open mouth as he ate like a pig, earning a sharp scolding from Nesta for his childlike manners. Meanwhile, Mor was drinking more wine than should be humanly possible, and Amren sat silently—or not so silently—judging everyone in the room.

After surviving the ordeal of dinner, wine glass in hand, you sat down next to Azriel on the couch. His wings automatically curled around you, creating a private, shadowed cocoon. You fought the blush trying to creep up your own cheeks; it wasn't your turn to blush.

"I can feel your heartbeat. Is that for me?" you asked innocently, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

Azriel looked completely dumbfounded, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "People who tend to be alive usually have heartbeats."

"Ah. Boring."

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his muscular thigh. "What's boring about being alive?"

"You, not getting flirty," you stated as a matter of fact.

His lip twitched. "Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Yes. Is it working?"

He looked entirely taken aback by your straightforwardness. He didn't say a word, entirely trapped as he held your gaze. He cleared his throat, but no sound followed.

Yet, under the warm, golden lights of the sitting room, a soft heat settled across his face, completely giving him away.

You bit your bottom lip, a huge, satisfied grin spreading across your face.

—-

Fighting consciousness after a wild night at Rita’s—when Cassian would bribe you into shot competitions you always lost—was nothing compared to this. Hangovers were a joke. Nobody ever told you how exhausting it actually was to fight for your life while actively bleeding out.

"You fucking idiot," Azriel hissed.

His voice didn't have its usual icy calm; it was raw, jagged with a panic you’d never heard from him before. He dragged you behind a shattered stone wall for safety, his large, scarred hands slamming down onto your side. The agonizing pressure made you hiss, your heels digging into the dirt.

"When have I ever told you to jump in front of a lethal blow, you nuisance?" Azriel’s shadows were frantic, whipping around him in a chaotic storm as he desperately tried to stanch the flow of blood. "Look at me! Open your godsdamned eyes, for fuck's sake!"

You forced your heavy eyelids up, your vision blurring at the edges. Even covered in grime and terror, he was beautiful.

"I like the way you say my name," you whispered, a weak smile pulling at your lips. You could taste the copper coating your teeth. "Say it again."

"Mother above, shut up," he choked out, his hands trembling against your wound.

"But you like it... when I say shit like that."

"I fucking do!" He yelled, a fierce, desperate sound. "But you have a death wish, I swear to the Cauldron. Don't you dare close your eyes."

"One kiss before I die?" you coughed.

"You are not going to die!"

"So... no kiss?" you murmured, your lips pouting.

"You can get a kiss when you stop being so godsdamn reckless," he promised fiercely, leaning down so his forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

Despite the horror of the blood on his hands, despite the battle raging around you, a stark, unmistakable heat bloomed along his cheekbones, vivid against his pale skin. He couldn't hide it, no matter how hard he tried.

You were going to be the death of him, surely—if you didn't survive this first.

—-

Azriel was hunched over a stack of reports. His eyes were intensely focused on the text, yet his shadows were deeply restless.

"You're staring," he said, stating it as a simple matter of fact without even looking up from the papers.

"I am," you replied calmly, cradling a warm cup of coffee in your hands.

He let out a quiet sigh, but the faint ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. You strolled over to where he sat, leaning over his shoulder under the pretense of being deeply curious about his work. At your proximity, his shadows darted toward his ears, then splattered down across the floorboards, a few brave tendrils winding playfully around your ankles.

His massive wings widened slightly, twitching in a sudden flash of tension.

"You're standing really close," he murmured.

"Yeah? Are you gonna move?" You raised an eyebrow, looking down at him expectantly as you took a slow, deliberate sip of your coffee.

Azriel snorted, finally looking up to meet your gaze. His expression was calm and cool, but not entirely collected—a faint, telltale color was spreading across his cheekbones, subtle but impossible to ignore.

Yet, when he spoke, his voice didn't waver a bit. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

Your heart skipped a beat.

"I could ruin you," you countered, your voice dropping, trying to hold your ground.

Azriel’s smile softened into something devastatingly handsome. "I know."

And just like that, under the weight of his unyielding gaze, he managed to make you blush at your own game.

————————————————————————

You even saw how packed Rita’s was the moment you arrived, earning a little irritated huff from your lips. 

“Can’t believe people have this much free time,” you murmured. Mor’s hand rested on your shoulder, guiding you through the throngs of Fae. 

“People being us?” she teased, throwing smiles and winks to the crowd like confetti. 

“Yeah, what are we even doing here?” You turned, seeking out her brown eyes, but they were already busy eye-fucking someone across the room.

Don’t get me wrong—you liked a good evening. You liked to get a little wasted, a little too drunk sometimes, enjoying the weight of glances from young men who seemed to melt from the way you smirked at them from the dance floor. But today had been a particularly long, grueling day. Getting hammered wasn't on your list of priorities.

“To let loose,” the blonde finally answered, catching your hand to pull you toward the bar. 

“I don’t feel like drinking, Mor.” 

“But you came all the way here.” 

“Because you said it was an emergency.” 

You really needed to be more careful when it came to Mor and her "emergencies" used to lure you out of the house.

“Yeah, because your sour face was begging for a drink,” she called over her shoulder. “Here. Drink this.”

She handed you one of the cups. You sniffed it—sweet, heady, and oddly familiar. “What is this?” 

“What we used to drink all those years ago.” Mor's smirk widened as your eyes bulged. 

“No way! They have it again?” 

“Mhm,” she winked. “Now, drink up and dance.”

As it turned out, you didn't mind letting loose. 

Your feet were begging for a stop, but your heart felt so warm and light that you couldn't bring yourself to quit. You danced for hours with Mor and a blur of strangers whose names vanished the moment they were spoken. You lost count of the trips to the bar, and how many times you were the one telling Mor to stay just a little longer.

However, when a familiar, warm hand slid onto your waist—secure and grounding—you stopped mid-step. You turned to face him. 

“My Lord and Savior,” you sang, throwing your arms around Cassian’s neck.

He looked exhausted. Dark circles underscored his hazel eyes, and for a second, a flicker of guilt pierced through your drunken haze. Why was he here if he looked like he might faceplant into the floor? But he smiled, so bright and beautiful that you simply grinned back.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, a playful eyebrow arched. You nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Wanna join me?” you slurred, swaying as you shifted your weight. Cassian’s arms tightened, holding you upright. 

He shook his head. “It’s time to go, sweetheart.”

“Nooooo,” you pouted. A distant snort drew your attention to the shadows behind Cassian. You perked up. “Hi, Az!” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Azriel replied, though his eyes continued to scan the room. Right. Searching for Mor.

“C’mon, you’ve already danced a hole into the floor.” Cassian tucked you closer to his side. He sighed with relief when you didn’t resist. 

“But I love dancing!”

“I know.” 

“And I love singing.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“Do you like it when I sing?” You looked up at him through your lashes, the world spinning just a little. 

“You can’t sing, sweetheart,” he murmured, biting his lip to hide a grin. 

“But if I could? Would you like it then?” You pressed, eager to know his answer.

“I’d never get tired of listening to you.” 

“Do you get tired of me when I talk?” 

“Never.”

Azriel snorted again. Cassian shot him a warning glare. 

“Good. Because I like talking to you, you big winged man.” 

Even Azriel laughed at that.

Cassian guided you toward the exit, the crisp night air sending a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh, thank the Mother, you got her out,” Mor huffed, catching up to you. 

“It was your idea to get me drunk, you witch,” you muttered, playfully shoving her. 

“You’re the one who got excited for that specific wine,” Mor countered. “The word 'no' stopped existing for you three glasses ago.” 

“Oops.” You huddled into yourself, shaking from the cold.

Suddenly, Cassian’s cloak was wrapped around you. He was left in his leathers, but his expression softened as you nuzzled into the heavy, scent-drenched fabric. He resisted the urge to reach out—to run a rough thumb over the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Can we go now? I’m so tired,” you whispered, your voice small. 

Mor let out an amused laugh. “Now you want to go?” 

“I’m warm now,” you mumbled into the cloak. “And sleepy. And my feet ache.” 

“If I knew all you needed was a big warrior to whisk you home, I’d have called them earlier,” Mor added, casting a pointed look at Cassian.

Cassian flushed, his eyes lingering on you with a tenderness that could have melted lead. “Warriors,” you corrected, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Don’t forget Azriel dearest.” 

“You are so blind, dearest,” Azriel muttered, rolling his eyes. You were too far gone to notice the flash of disappointment on Cassian’s face as he lifted you into his arms and carried you home.

“Oh my gods, you look gorgeous!” Mor and Feyre were waiting in the kitchen when you finally emerged from your room. You were wearing a silky, dusty pink gown—the kind of fabric that felt like water against your skin. Lace traced the neckline and waist, and the back was entirely open, held together by nothing but two gossamer-thin straps.

You blushed, adjusting the silk. “Is it too much?” 

“No—” Feyre started. 

“Not at all—” Mor added. 

“Yes.”

You spun around at the deep rumble. Cassian was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest. 

“What?” you asked, your voice faltering. 

“It’s too much,” he said, his voice clipped and strict. “You’re delusional if you think he won’t get the wrong idea.” 

“Cassian!” Mor hissed.

“He’s not important enough for you to dress like that,” he continued, ignoring Mor entirely.

“Why are you being such a prick?” You squinted, crossing your arms defensively over the lace. 

Cassian let out a harsh, dry laugh. “I’m a prick? I’m sorry for reminding you that first dates aren't usually spent in your lingerie.” He pointed a finger at the dress.

“You have no right to tell me how to dress!” 

“You asked if it was too much,” he shrugged, though his wings were tucked so tight they looked painful. “I responded.” 

“Yeah, like an asshole.” 

“Change.”

You squared your shoulders and stepped into his personal space, staring directly into his blown-out pupils. His chest was heaving. 

“No,” you whispered. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m going out, I’m meeting him, and I’m going to have a wonderful time.” 

“You look like a hooker.”

The slap echoed through the kitchen. Your palm stung. The girls gasped. 

“Go to hell, Cassian.”

People call you blind. But as you walked away, you thought you finally saw his true colors. You were wrong, of course.

—

Cassian’s comments were still echoing in your head as you stepped out of the house with your chin held high—because you’re a stubborn woman, and you’ve never liked being told what to do. Still, you couldn't help but fidget with the strap of your dress, as if it would suddenly give in and let you pull it higher for a bit more coverage, which was ridiculous, considering the dress was practically a nightgown.

It didn't help that the guy you went on a date with spent the entire evening staring at your cleavage; if you had asked him what color your eyes were, he surely would have said pink—exactly the same shade as your dress.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Cassian was right. Somehow, that only made you angrier, so when your fist connected with Azriel’s jaw, you were just as surprised as he was.

“Shit!” you yelped, staring at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape as he shook his head from side to side and let out a small smile.

“Your right hook is good,” he said, a note of approval in his deep, rumbling voice.

A low whistle drifted from the entrance of the sparring ring. 

“That was satisfying to watch,” a voice called out, “Now, do tell—who did you imagine in his place?”

The air in the training ring suddenly felt ten degrees colder.

Cassian was leaning against the stone archway, his massive wings tucked tight against his back, his Siphons glowing a dull, rhythmic red. He didn't look angry anymore—he looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, like he’d spent the night running his hands through it, and his eyes were fixed on the reddening mark on Azriel’s jaw.

Azriel caught Cassian’s gaze, a silent communication passing between them, and with a subtle nod, the Shadowsinger stepped back, and like the silent creepy way he vanished, he left you alone with the one person you weren't ready to face just yet. 

You turned your back to him again, the reddening fist of yours throbbing from meeting the hard jaw of Azriel’s. 

The faint footsteps, the scrape of boots against the soft mat against the ground alarmed you should step away, but he was faster and stronger, his calloused fingers closing around your wrist. 

“Your form was off,” he said, “you could’ve taken him down if you put your shoulder into it.” 

“I didn’t want to take him down.” 

“Then why did you slip?” He asked, fingers tightening ever so slightly against your pulse point, his scent and his leathers pressing against you. 

This closeness scared you, because you contemplated leaning against him. His body was warm, seeping through his leathers, like a heavy blanket wrapped around you, preventing you from the cold. His barely gentle touch on your wrist sent an electric shock up your spine, your face grew hot and red. 

The way your body responded to him confused you even more, and before you’d cave more into him, you pulled away harshly. You had to remind yourself of Cassian's harsh words yesterday and the way he swept into your brain every time you looked up at your date and saw him eyeing your cleavage. Cassian was right, but a complete prick the way he chose his words. 

He sighed when you refused to answer him. “Spare me, then.” 

“What?” You asked, whipping around, seeing his hard facade, the way his strong jaw worked, his fists balled at his sides. 

“Use your strength on me. Fight me.” 

His words echoed away. 

You stood in the middle of the training ring, dumbfounded. 

He smirked without his eyes sparkling. 

“C’mon,” he urged. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to fight with you!” you exclaimed, your hands cutting through the air as if trying to push his temper away.

Cassian’s patience had finally snapped. He loomed over you, his wings flared wide and trembling with suppressed adrenaline. “Why not?” he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space between you.

“Because being angry with you doesn’t mean I want to hurt you!”

“You hurt Azriel just fine,” he countered, taking a heavy step forward, his chest heaving. He gestured wildly to his own jaw. “Why don’t you want to use that same right hook on me? Give me your worst!”

“Physical pain doesn't always equal mental pain, Cassian.” Your voice cracked, and you pulled your arms tight against your stomach, suddenly looking smaller.

“What does that even mean?” he demanded, though his voice dropped an octave, the first flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“It means,” you began, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves, “that you hurt me more than I could ever hurt you physically.” You looked up at him then, your eyes bright with unshed tears that you refused to let fall. “I just wanted to enjoy yesterday. It’s been a long time since anyone asked me out, and I wanted to feel pretty. Just for once.”

Cassian opened his mouth to interrupt, but you surged forward, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.

“You called me a hooker. You told me no one was important enough to dress up for—especially not a first date. And the worst part?” You let out a harsh, wet laugh, your shoulders slouching. “You were right. He didn't even look at my face until I crossed my arms over my chest to force him to look me in the eye.”

You looked down at yourself, your hands hovering over the dark Illyrian leathers. You pinched the reinforced fabric at your thigh, tugging at it as if it were suddenly suffocating you.

“Now, I’m standing here overthinking whether these leathers are too tight. If they’re too revealing. If I’m just 'asking for it' again.” You stepped back, shaking your head slowly, the fire leaving your limbs and leaving only a cold, hollow ache. “So, no. I don’t want to fight you, Cassian. It’s not worth it.”

---

“Sometimes you’re the blindest person I’ve ever met.”

You’ve got this so many times you seriously cannot count it on both your hands. Up until this day, you don’t understand why people call you so willingly blind.

However, now it’s you who contemplates calling them blind.

Sitting at the dining table, most of your friends are here. Talking, sipping wine, chewing food so loud Amren smacks their head with grace and a menacing smile on her face.

You crack a smile at that.

But none of them notices your sour mood, which hasn’t vanished since the day you fought with Cassian.

You haven’t been to training, the only sanctuary you felt like you had was the library, where the priestesses worked silently, or tucked away in your room, in the safety of your blankets and the calm fire in the hearth.

Mor asked you numerous times if you want to go to Rita's, but you haven’t felt like it.

The last thing you need is to get drunk on faerie wine and spill your guts.

She still insisted tonight, though, while you busied yourself with a bite of food.

“Please, come with me,” she pouted, big brown eyes shining like she was about to shed theatratic tears to get you moving.

“I don’t feel like it, Mor,” you said for the hundredth time, brushing off her iron grip from your forearm.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” you furrowed your brows.

“Then why would you deny a night at Rita’s?”

You huffed.

“I’m going to scream if you don’t drop it, you pointed your fork at her.”

“Holy gods, are you on your period?” She looked horrified and sad at the same time.

You rolled your eyes.

“If it makes you drop it, then yes, I’m on my period.”

Mor squints at you, not an ounce of belief in her gaze. Then, she looks over to the two Illyrians, Feyre, and Rhys, because before Mor could look to Amren, she already vanished. Good for her, you thought.

“Well? Anyone else, who's not a party pooper?” she asked, while addressing you as the true disgrace.

You just rolled your eyes at her.

“I’ll go,” Cassian’s eyes cut to you, but nothing could be read from his dark eyes. Not a twitch of his lips, brows, nose. “I could use a drink or two.”

Mor clapped her hands excitedly.

“I’ll go too. Just to make sure you both aren’t face planting onto someone’s bush and choke on your own puke,” deadpanned Azriel.

“Ew. Oddly specific, don’t you think?” grimaced Feyre.

“It happened,” Rhys sent a knowing look towards Cassian.

“I was just getting familiar with whisky,” he said, mouth full with food, clearly not interested in the conversation about him.

With a sigh, you push yourself up from your seat, and wish them a good night.

—-

It’s nearly three in the morning, when the House echoes with distant shouts and groans. Half asleep, you debated not going down, but after a rather loud shout of your name alerted you.

“What?!” You asked with a frantic voice, dreams no longer existing behind your eyes.

Cassian laid haphazardly across the couch, wings splayed behind him, his black shirt buttoned down, his tattoos across his chest making you hard to focus on the task in hand.

Which is why Cassian groans and repeats your name like it would give him some sort of relief.

“You’re hereee,” his eyes lit up, drunkenly slurring his words and a loopy smile on his handsome face.

Azriel, who just now appeared from his shadows, only shrugged, a slight smirk tugged on his lips.

“He’s been crying for you for an hour now.”

“No I’m noooot,” Cassian pouted. “I’m not cryin’, I'm manifestinnn.”

“He’s been manifesting you for an hour now,” Azriel corrected himself with an audible roll of his eyes.

The nightgown you wore felt ten times hotter, your skin pulsing underneath the fine cloth. 

“Why?” You asked, suddenly out of breath. 

“He was off the whole week,” said Azriel, his eyes never leaving Cassian’s form laying on the couch, eyes closed and humming something off tune, “and out of nowhere he let loose, drinking Rita’s dry and whining for you.” 

Then, Azriel turned to you, his eyes now assessing you. “You’ve been off the whole week.” 

Oh, someone noticed? 

You snorted, feeling exposed. “I was just…” 

You just what? Azriel was right, and you couldn’t even deny it. You've never fought with Cassian ever, and now, out of blue, he has been calling you out and you coming for his neck was something you’d never have imagined in your immortal life. 

Cassian was always your someone. The one that was fierce and utterly charismatic and brave on the outside, but loyal and gentle on the inside. The one who knew when to reach out a hand when things became tough and heavy, because Cassian knew how to handle all the discomfort you felt. 

The one, who knew how to turn your frown into a smile, whether it’s stupid or thoughtful.

The cries into laughs. 

And now you two faced something that could change things forever. 

Azriel patiently waited for what you wanted to say, but when you got lost in words, he sighed. “Look, I know things have been… interesting between you two, but I think it’s best if you two have a talk.” 

“Now?” You pointed at Cass, who was half unconscious, half muffled words. 

“Not now, you idiot. Help him get to bed, and when he’s not making a bigger fool out of himself than he usually does, then you talk,” instructed Az, like it was some big task needed to supervise. 

“My beautiful, beautiful giiiirl,” sang Cassian with a high sighed following his off-tune voice, his large palm sliding down to his chest, over his heart, squeezing it. “My sweet girl is angry with me and my heart can’t handle it.” 

“And that’s my cue,” announced Azriel, and before you could mutter a single word of pleading, he was already whipped in his shadows, disappeared. 

Cassian, bless his drunken soul, didn't even acknowledge anything, only hummed under his nose, while still holding his hand over his heart. 

“Mother help me,” you whispered a prayer, and walked closer to his limp body. “Cass?” 

“Mhm?” 

“I need you to come to bed.” 

His nose scrunched. “I’on’t wanna go to bed, I wanna see my sweetheart.” 

Your heart did a funny thing. “Who’s your sweetheart?” 

“Mine,” that’s all he said. Mine. 

“Cassian,” you brushed his hair from his forehead, and tapped his head twice. “Open your eyes, you can’t sleep out here.” 

He will have a massive cramp in his neck, and he’d bitch about it. You knew, because it happened before. 

Then, so slowly, like he had all the time in the world, opened those hazel eyes, and upon seeing you for the first time in focus, his gaze turned excited. 

“My sweet giiiirl,” he sighed with a hint of relief in his voice. “What are you doing ‘ere?” 

“Azriel brought you home. You were shouting,” you explained, and tried not to squirm under his unbreakable stare. 

He pouted. Actually pouted. “You’re angry with me. And my heart is giving out.” 

“Don’t joke about that,” you hissed slightly. Afterwards, begging for Cassian to sit up and eventually get up the stairs to his bed took you nearly two hours. Now, standing at the edge of his large bed, you watched as he somehow got his huge body under the sheets, wings spreading wide around him, like his unbound hair. 

He looked like a painting Feyre could paint. 

“There’s a glass of water and some medicine for your headache tomorrow,” you pointed at his bedside table, and made your way out. 

“My sweetheart. I miss you. You’re mine, and I'm going to win your heart. I'm going to win,” he kept muttering even after you closed his door behind you. 

—-

The next morning, you are frantically searching for Azriel. Running out of your room the minute you changed out of your nightgown into a plain shirt and pants, barefoot you ran through the halls, until you reached the kitchen, and when you didn’t find him there, with a curse under your breath, you raced up the stairs until the training ring on the rooftop. 

Last night, with barely any sleep, you kept replaying the way Cassian slurred his words. The way he lit up upon seeing you, and the way he screamed for you, and the way he kept repeating that he’s going to win your heart made you overthink every single interaction with him, from start until the middle of the night. And the way you remembered him somehow changed, freaking you out. 

“You okay?” Azriel panted, chest glistening with sweat, but wariness took hold of his eyes at the frantic way you burst through the door. 

“N-no,” you could barely speak as you gulped air after air to fill your lungs. “I need to speak with you.” 

“I’m listening,” he walked closer after putting away the sword he trained with. 

“What…,” you paused, “Does Cassian like me?” 

Azriel stared at you for a good minute, before bursting out in a loud laugh, head thrown back, the rare sight surprised you to stumble a step back. 

“Are you seriously just catching up on that?” He asked between laughs. Then, he corrected himself, “Well, actually, he is way past like.” 

You gaped. “What?” 

“Do you understand now why we call you blind?” 

When you didn’t answer, he huffed. “Cassian’s been head over heels in love with you. Has been since that night during Solstice, when you gave him that lotion for his dry skin and that enchanted necklace with the amulet that helps his allergies whenever he’s in the Spring Court. He’s been subtly trying to get your attention, and while for us it’s ridiculously obvious he loves you, you’ve been painfully oblivious. You see now whenever you were training with me, he would take over, because he knows how to do the eight point star better?” he mocked him with a roll of his eyes. 

“But… but why be so rude to me about my…” 

Azriel slowly smiled, just as your face paled in realisation. 

Jealous. Cassian has been jealous, because you went on a date, and he was harsh, because he didn’t want you going out with someone else who’s not him. 

“Oh gods,” you breathed. 

“Good thing you caught up,” Azriel patted your shoulder, but you bolted again for the exit to run back inside the House, right through Cassian’s bedroom door. 

He was still sleeping on his back, his shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor, his hair a mess of locks. 

The water on his bedside table remained full, so you took a full swing, sending water all over his face.

“Holy fuck!” He gasped in shock, wiping the water from his face with his palm. “Mother's tits, what was that for?” 

“You love me?” 

Cassian barely opened his bloodshot eyes, his fingers wiping away the remains of the water from his naked chest and face. However, as soon as he recognised your voice, his blurry vision seemed to clear once and for all.

Cassian opened his mouth and closed, then again, but not an echo of voice left his mouth. He remained on his back, slightly raised on one elbow and looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“Say something!” You exclaimed, feeling embarrassed by the seconds he remained silent.

Cassian stared at you, the remaining droplets of water on his lashes catching the morning light. For a warrior who had faced down armies on battlefields for over five centuries, he had never felt his heart beat quite this frantically against his ribs. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his massive wings flaring slightly behind him before settling into a tense, rigid line. He didn't look away from you. He couldn't.

"Azriel has a big mouth," Cassian muttered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a nervous, uncharacteristic gesture that made him look completely stripped of his usual bravado.

"Don't blame Azriel," you said, your own voice trembling as you stood at the foot of his bed, your fingers knotting into the hem of your shirt. "Do you really love me, Cassian? Were you... were you actually jealous?"

Cassian let out a long, heavy breath, the sound whistling through his teeth. The defensive, arrogant mask he had worn in the kitchen two days ago was entirely gone. In its place was a vulnerability that made him look completely undone.

"Jealous?" He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh, finally looking up to meet your eyes dead-on.

"Sweetheart, I was losing my mind."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge, just a few feet away from where you stood. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at his hands before looking back up at you, his hazel eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I handled it like an asshole, and I am so, so sorry for what I said to you," he said, his voice dropping to a rough, earnest whisper. "I hated myself the second the words left my mouth, and I hated myself even more when you walked into the training ring looking so small, thinking that you weren't allowed to feel pretty. You are beautiful. You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

He paused, his jaw working as he swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had kept locked away for so long.

"But seeing you in that dress... knowing you were wearing it for him? For some guy who didn't know how you like your coffee, or how you bite your lip when you're concentrating, or the way you laugh so freely whenever Mor says something stupid? It ripped me apart."

You stood frozen, the words washing over you, melting the last remnants of the cold ache that had settled in your chest all week.

Cassian stood up, stepping into your space. He didn't reach out to touch you—not yet—respecting the distance you had kept between them. But he loomed over you, his warmth radiating off his bare skin, enveloping you in that familiar scent of wind, cedar, and entirely him.

"They call you blind, but it's my fault," Cassian whispered, his chest heaving. "I was too much of a coward to just tell you. I thought if I played it safe, if I just stayed your friend, your protector, the guy who guides you home when you're drunk, then I’d at least get to keep you in my life. But watching you walk out that door to meet another man made me realize that playing it safe is going to cost me the only thing I actually care about."

He reached out then, his large, calloused hand hovering for a fraction of a second before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, so soft, so incredibly careful for a man who knew only war.

"I don't just like you, Y/N. I am completely, utterly, and desperately in love with you. I have been for longer than I can remember. And if you give me the chance... I will spend the rest of my immortal life making sure you never doubt how important you are. To me. Only to me."

He looked down at you, his breath fanning across your face, waiting for your verdict with the posture of a man ready to accept whatever blow you chose to deal next.

A small smile spread across your face as you let yourself lean into his grounding touch.

“Take me out to dinner,” you whispered against his palm, planting a soft kiss on it, “Buy me flowers,” you kissed his thumb, “And don’t let the others blame me for being blind because of you.”

Cassian laughed, the sound sending goosebumps over your body.

“I’ll make sure to take every blame on me,” he grins, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

————————————————————————

You even saw how packed Rita’s was the moment you arrived, earning a little irritated huff from your lips. 

“Can’t believe people have this much free time,” you murmured. Mor’s hand rested on your shoulder, guiding you through the throngs of Fae. 

“People being us?” she teased, throwing smiles and winks to the crowd like confetti. 

“Yeah, what are we even doing here?” You turned, seeking out her brown eyes, but they were already busy eye-fucking someone across the room.

Don’t get me wrong—you liked a good evening. You liked to get a little wasted, a little too drunk sometimes, enjoying the weight of glances from young men who seemed to melt from the way you smirked at them from the dance floor. But today had been a particularly long, grueling day. Getting hammered wasn't on your list of priorities.

“To let loose,” the blonde finally answered, catching your hand to pull you toward the bar. 

“I don’t feel like drinking, Mor.” 

“But you came all the way here.” 

“Because you said it was an emergency.” 

You really needed to be more careful when it came to Mor and her "emergencies" used to lure you out of the house.

“Yeah, because your sour face was begging for a drink,” she called over her shoulder. “Here. Drink this.”

She handed you one of the cups. You sniffed it—sweet, heady, and oddly familiar. “What is this?” 

“What we used to drink all those years ago.” Mor's smirk widened as your eyes bulged. 

“No way! They have it again?” 

“Mhm,” she winked. “Now, drink up and dance.”

As it turned out, you didn't mind letting loose. 

Your feet were begging for a stop, but your heart felt so warm and light that you couldn't bring yourself to quit. You danced for hours with Mor and a blur of strangers whose names vanished the moment they were spoken. You lost count of the trips to the bar, and how many times you were the one telling Mor to stay just a little longer.

However, when a familiar, warm hand slid onto your waist—secure and grounding—you stopped mid-step. You turned to face him. 

“My Lord and Savior,” you sang, throwing your arms around Cassian’s neck.

He looked exhausted. Dark circles underscored his hazel eyes, and for a second, a flicker of guilt pierced through your drunken haze. Why was he here if he looked like he might faceplant into the floor? But he smiled, so bright and beautiful that you simply grinned back.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, a playful eyebrow arched. You nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Wanna join me?” you slurred, swaying as you shifted your weight. Cassian’s arms tightened, holding you upright. 

He shook his head. “It’s time to go, sweetheart.”

“Nooooo,” you pouted. A distant snort drew your attention to the shadows behind Cassian. You perked up. “Hi, Az!” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Azriel replied, though his eyes continued to scan the room. Right. Searching for Mor.

“C’mon, you’ve already danced a hole into the floor.” Cassian tucked you closer to his side. He sighed with relief when you didn’t resist. 

“But I love dancing!”

“I know.” 

“And I love singing.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“Do you like it when I sing?” You looked up at him through your lashes, the world spinning just a little. 

“You can’t sing, sweetheart,” he murmured, biting his lip to hide a grin. 

“But if I could? Would you like it then?” You pressed, eager to know his answer.

“I’d never get tired of listening to you.” 

“Do you get tired of me when I talk?” 

“Never.”

Azriel snorted again. Cassian shot him a warning glare. 

“Good. Because I like talking to you, you big winged man.” 

Even Azriel laughed at that.

Cassian guided you toward the exit, the crisp night air sending a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh, thank the Mother, you got her out,” Mor huffed, catching up to you. 

“It was your idea to get me drunk, you witch,” you muttered, playfully shoving her. 

“You’re the one who got excited for that specific wine,” Mor countered. “The word 'no' stopped existing for you three glasses ago.” 

“Oops.” You huddled into yourself, shaking from the cold.

Suddenly, Cassian’s cloak was wrapped around you. He was left in his leathers, but his expression softened as you nuzzled into the heavy, scent-drenched fabric. He resisted the urge to reach out—to run a rough thumb over the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Can we go now? I’m so tired,” you whispered, your voice small. 

Mor let out an amused laugh. “Now you want to go?” 

“I’m warm now,” you mumbled into the cloak. “And sleepy. And my feet ache.” 

“If I knew all you needed was a big warrior to whisk you home, I’d have called them earlier,” Mor added, casting a pointed look at Cassian.

Cassian flushed, his eyes lingering on you with a tenderness that could have melted lead. “Warriors,” you corrected, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Don’t forget Azriel dearest.” 

“You are so blind, dearest,” Azriel muttered, rolling his eyes. You were too far gone to notice the flash of disappointment on Cassian’s face as he lifted you into his arms and carried you home.

“Oh my gods, you look gorgeous!” Mor and Feyre were waiting in the kitchen when you finally emerged from your room. You were wearing a silky, dusty pink gown—the kind of fabric that felt like water against your skin. Lace traced the neckline and waist, and the back was entirely open, held together by nothing but two gossamer-thin straps.

You blushed, adjusting the silk. “Is it too much?” 

“No—” Feyre started. 

“Not at all—” Mor added. 

“Yes.”

You spun around at the deep rumble. Cassian was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest. 

“What?” you asked, your voice faltering. 

“It’s too much,” he said, his voice clipped and strict. “You’re delusional if you think he won’t get the wrong idea.” 

“Cassian!” Mor hissed.

“He’s not important enough for you to dress like that,” he continued, ignoring Mor entirely.

“Why are you being such a prick?” You squinted, crossing your arms defensively over the lace. 

Cassian let out a harsh, dry laugh. “I’m a prick? I’m sorry for reminding you that first dates aren't usually spent in your lingerie.” He pointed a finger at the dress.

“You have no right to tell me how to dress!” 

“You asked if it was too much,” he shrugged, though his wings were tucked so tight they looked painful. “I responded.” 

“Yeah, like an asshole.” 

“Change.”

You squared your shoulders and stepped into his personal space, staring directly into his blown-out pupils. His chest was heaving. 

“No,” you whispered. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m going out, I’m meeting him, and I’m going to have a wonderful time.” 

“You look like a hooker.”

The slap echoed through the kitchen. Your palm stung. The girls gasped. 

“Go to hell, Cassian.”

People call you blind. But as you walked away, you thought you finally saw his true colors. You were wrong, of course.

—

Cassian’s comments were still echoing in your head as you stepped out of the house with your chin held high—because you’re a stubborn woman, and you’ve never liked being told what to do. Still, you couldn't help but fidget with the strap of your dress, as if it would suddenly give in and let you pull it higher for a bit more coverage, which was ridiculous, considering the dress was practically a nightgown.

It didn't help that the guy you went on a date with spent the entire evening staring at your cleavage; if you had asked him what color your eyes were, he surely would have said pink—exactly the same shade as your dress.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Cassian was right. Somehow, that only made you angrier, so when your fist connected with Azriel’s jaw, you were just as surprised as he was.

“Shit!” you yelped, staring at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape as he shook his head from side to side and let out a small smile.

“Your right hook is good,” he said, a note of approval in his deep, rumbling voice.

A low whistle drifted from the entrance of the sparring ring. 

“That was satisfying to watch,” a voice called out, “Now, do tell—who did you imagine in his place?”

The air in the training ring suddenly felt ten degrees colder.

Cassian was leaning against the stone archway, his massive wings tucked tight against his back, his Siphons glowing a dull, rhythmic red. He didn't look angry anymore—he looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, like he’d spent the night running his hands through it, and his eyes were fixed on the reddening mark on Azriel’s jaw.

Azriel caught Cassian’s gaze, a silent communication passing between them, and with a subtle nod, the Shadowsinger stepped back, and like the silent creepy way he vanished, he left you alone with the one person you weren't ready to face just yet. 

You turned your back to him again, the reddening fist of yours throbbing from meeting the hard jaw of Azriel’s. 

The faint footsteps, the scrape of boots against the soft mat against the ground alarmed you should step away, but he was faster and stronger, his calloused fingers closing around your wrist. 

“Your form was off,” he said, “you could’ve taken him down if you put your shoulder into it.” 

“I didn’t want to take him down.” 

“Then why did you slip?” He asked, fingers tightening ever so slightly against your pulse point, his scent and his leathers pressing against you. 

This closeness scared you, because you contemplated leaning against him. His body was warm, seeping through his leathers, like a heavy blanket wrapped around you, preventing you from the cold. His barely gentle touch on your wrist sent an electric shock up your spine, your face grew hot and red. 

The way your body responded to him confused you even more, and before you’d cave more into him, you pulled away harshly. You had to remind yourself of Cassian's harsh words yesterday and the way he swept into your brain every time you looked up at your date and saw him eyeing your cleavage. Cassian was right, but a complete prick the way he chose his words. 

He sighed when you refused to answer him. “Spare me, then.” 

“What?” You asked, whipping around, seeing his hard facade, the way his strong jaw worked, his fists balled at his sides. 

“Use your strength on me. Fight me.” 

His words echoed away. 

You stood in the middle of the training ring, dumbfounded. 

He smirked without his eyes sparkling. 

“C’mon,” he urged. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to fight with you!” you exclaimed, your hands cutting through the air as if trying to push his temper away.

Cassian’s patience had finally snapped. He loomed over you, his wings flared wide and trembling with suppressed adrenaline. “Why not?” he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space between you.

“Because being angry with you doesn’t mean I want to hurt you!”

“You hurt Azriel just fine,” he countered, taking a heavy step forward, his chest heaving. He gestured wildly to his own jaw. “Why don’t you want to use that same right hook on me? Give me your worst!”

“Physical pain doesn't always equal mental pain, Cassian.” Your voice cracked, and you pulled your arms tight against your stomach, suddenly looking smaller.

“What does that even mean?” he demanded, though his voice dropped an octave, the first flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“It means,” you began, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves, “that you hurt me more than I could ever hurt you physically.” You looked up at him then, your eyes bright with unshed tears that you refused to let fall. “I just wanted to enjoy yesterday. It’s been a long time since anyone asked me out, and I wanted to feel pretty. Just for once.”

Cassian opened his mouth to interrupt, but you surged forward, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.

“You called me a hooker. You told me no one was important enough to dress up for—especially not a first date. And the worst part?” You let out a harsh, wet laugh, your shoulders slouching. “You were right. He didn't even look at my face until I crossed my arms over my chest to force him to look me in the eye.”

You looked down at yourself, your hands hovering over the dark Illyrian leathers. You pinched the reinforced fabric at your thigh, tugging at it as if it were suddenly suffocating you.

“Now, I’m standing here overthinking whether these leathers are too tight. If they’re too revealing. If I’m just 'asking for it' again.” You stepped back, shaking your head slowly, the fire leaving your limbs and leaving only a cold, hollow ache. “So, no. I don’t want to fight you, Cassian. It’s not worth it.”

---

“Sometimes you’re the blindest person I’ve ever met.”

You’ve got this so many times you seriously cannot count it on both your hands. Up until this day, you don’t understand why people call you so willingly blind.

However, now it’s you who contemplates calling them blind.

Sitting at the dining table, most of your friends are here. Talking, sipping wine, chewing food so loud Amren smacks their head with grace and a menacing smile on her face.

You crack a smile at that.

But none of them notices your sour mood, which hasn’t vanished since the day you fought with Cassian.

You haven’t been to training, the only sanctuary you felt like you had was the library, where the priestesses worked silently, or tucked away in your room, in the safety of your blankets and the calm fire in the hearth.

Mor asked you numerous times if you want to go to Rita's, but you haven’t felt like it.

The last thing you need is to get drunk on faerie wine and spill your guts.

She still insisted tonight, though, while you busied yourself with a bite of food.

“Please, come with me,” she pouted, big brown eyes shining like she was about to shed theatratic tears to get you moving.

“I don’t feel like it, Mor,” you said for the hundredth time, brushing off her iron grip from your forearm.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” you furrowed your brows.

“Then why would you deny a night at Rita’s?”

You huffed.

“I’m going to scream if you don’t drop it, you pointed your fork at her.”

“Holy gods, are you on your period?” She looked horrified and sad at the same time.

You rolled your eyes.

“If it makes you drop it, then yes, I’m on my period.”

Mor squints at you, not an ounce of belief in her gaze. Then, she looks over to the two Illyrians, Feyre, and Rhys, because before Mor could look to Amren, she already vanished. Good for her, you thought.

“Well? Anyone else, who's not a party pooper?” she asked, while addressing you as the true disgrace.

You just rolled your eyes at her.

“I’ll go,” Cassian’s eyes cut to you, but nothing could be read from his dark eyes. Not a twitch of his lips, brows, nose. “I could use a drink or two.”

Mor clapped her hands excitedly.

“I’ll go too. Just to make sure you both aren’t face planting onto someone’s bush and choke on your own puke,” deadpanned Azriel.

“Ew. Oddly specific, don’t you think?” grimaced Feyre.

“It happened,” Rhys sent a knowing look towards Cassian.

“I was just getting familiar with whisky,” he said, mouth full with food, clearly not interested in the conversation about him.

With a sigh, you push yourself up from your seat, and wish them a good night.

—-

It’s nearly three in the morning, when the House echoes with distant shouts and groans. Half asleep, you debated not going down, but after a rather loud shout of your name alerted you.

“What?!” You asked with a frantic voice, dreams no longer existing behind your eyes.

Cassian laid haphazardly across the couch, wings splayed behind him, his black shirt buttoned down, his tattoos across his chest making you hard to focus on the task in hand.

Which is why Cassian groans and repeats your name like it would give him some sort of relief.

“You’re hereee,” his eyes lit up, drunkenly slurring his words and a loopy smile on his handsome face.

Azriel, who just now appeared from his shadows, only shrugged, a slight smirk tugged on his lips.

“He’s been crying for you for an hour now.”

“No I’m noooot,” Cassian pouted. “I’m not cryin’, I'm manifestinnn.”

“He’s been manifesting you for an hour now,” Azriel corrected himself with an audible roll of his eyes.

The nightgown you wore felt ten times hotter, your skin pulsing underneath the fine cloth. 

“Why?” You asked, suddenly out of breath. 

“He was off the whole week,” said Azriel, his eyes never leaving Cassian’s form laying on the couch, eyes closed and humming something off tune, “and out of nowhere he let loose, drinking Rita’s dry and whining for you.” 

Then, Azriel turned to you, his eyes now assessing you. “You’ve been off the whole week.” 

Oh, someone noticed? 

You snorted, feeling exposed. “I was just…” 

You just what? Azriel was right, and you couldn’t even deny it. You've never fought with Cassian ever, and now, out of blue, he has been calling you out and you coming for his neck was something you’d never have imagined in your immortal life. 

Cassian was always your someone. The one that was fierce and utterly charismatic and brave on the outside, but loyal and gentle on the inside. The one who knew when to reach out a hand when things became tough and heavy, because Cassian knew how to handle all the discomfort you felt. 

The one, who knew how to turn your frown into a smile, whether it’s stupid or thoughtful.

The cries into laughs. 

And now you two faced something that could change things forever. 

Azriel patiently waited for what you wanted to say, but when you got lost in words, he sighed. “Look, I know things have been… interesting between you two, but I think it’s best if you two have a talk.” 

“Now?” You pointed at Cass, who was half unconscious, half muffled words. 

“Not now, you idiot. Help him get to bed, and when he’s not making a bigger fool out of himself than he usually does, then you talk,” instructed Az, like it was some big task needed to supervise. 

“My beautiful, beautiful giiiirl,” sang Cassian with a high sighed following his off-tune voice, his large palm sliding down to his chest, over his heart, squeezing it. “My sweet girl is angry with me and my heart can’t handle it.” 

“And that’s my cue,” announced Azriel, and before you could mutter a single word of pleading, he was already whipped in his shadows, disappeared. 

Cassian, bless his drunken soul, didn't even acknowledge anything, only hummed under his nose, while still holding his hand over his heart. 

“Mother help me,” you whispered a prayer, and walked closer to his limp body. “Cass?” 

“Mhm?” 

“I need you to come to bed.” 

His nose scrunched. “I’on’t wanna go to bed, I wanna see my sweetheart.” 

Your heart did a funny thing. “Who’s your sweetheart?” 

“Mine,” that’s all he said. Mine. 

“Cassian,” you brushed his hair from his forehead, and tapped his head twice. “Open your eyes, you can’t sleep out here.” 

He will have a massive cramp in his neck, and he’d bitch about it. You knew, because it happened before. 

Then, so slowly, like he had all the time in the world, opened those hazel eyes, and upon seeing you for the first time in focus, his gaze turned excited. 

“My sweet giiiirl,” he sighed with a hint of relief in his voice. “What are you doing ‘ere?” 

“Azriel brought you home. You were shouting,” you explained, and tried not to squirm under his unbreakable stare. 

He pouted. Actually pouted. “You’re angry with me. And my heart is giving out.” 

“Don’t joke about that,” you hissed slightly. Afterwards, begging for Cassian to sit up and eventually get up the stairs to his bed took you nearly two hours. Now, standing at the edge of his large bed, you watched as he somehow got his huge body under the sheets, wings spreading wide around him, like his unbound hair. 

He looked like a painting Feyre could paint. 

“There’s a glass of water and some medicine for your headache tomorrow,” you pointed at his bedside table, and made your way out. 

“My sweetheart. I miss you. You’re mine, and I'm going to win your heart. I'm going to win,” he kept muttering even after you closed his door behind you. 

—-

The next morning, you are frantically searching for Azriel. Running out of your room the minute you changed out of your nightgown into a plain shirt and pants, barefoot you ran through the halls, until you reached the kitchen, and when you didn’t find him there, with a curse under your breath, you raced up the stairs until the training ring on the rooftop. 

Last night, with barely any sleep, you kept replaying the way Cassian slurred his words. The way he lit up upon seeing you, and the way he screamed for you, and the way he kept repeating that he’s going to win your heart made you overthink every single interaction with him, from start until the middle of the night. And the way you remembered him somehow changed, freaking you out. 

“You okay?” Azriel panted, chest glistening with sweat, but wariness took hold of his eyes at the frantic way you burst through the door. 

“N-no,” you could barely speak as you gulped air after air to fill your lungs. “I need to speak with you.” 

“I’m listening,” he walked closer after putting away the sword he trained with. 

“What…,” you paused, “Does Cassian like me?” 

Azriel stared at you for a good minute, before bursting out in a loud laugh, head thrown back, the rare sight surprised you to stumble a step back. 

“Are you seriously just catching up on that?” He asked between laughs. Then, he corrected himself, “Well, actually, he is way past like.” 

You gaped. “What?” 

“Do you understand now why we call you blind?” 

When you didn’t answer, he huffed. “Cassian’s been head over heels in love with you. Has been since that night during Solstice, when you gave him that lotion for his dry skin and that enchanted necklace with the amulet that helps his allergies whenever he’s in the Spring Court. He’s been subtly trying to get your attention, and while for us it’s ridiculously obvious he loves you, you’ve been painfully oblivious. You see now whenever you were training with me, he would take over, because he knows how to do the eight point star better?” he mocked him with a roll of his eyes. 

“But… but why be so rude to me about my…” 

Azriel slowly smiled, just as your face paled in realisation. 

Jealous. Cassian has been jealous, because you went on a date, and he was harsh, because he didn’t want you going out with someone else who’s not him. 

“Oh gods,” you breathed. 

“Good thing you caught up,” Azriel patted your shoulder, but you bolted again for the exit to run back inside the House, right through Cassian’s bedroom door. 

He was still sleeping on his back, his shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor, his hair a mess of locks. 

The water on his bedside table remained full, so you took a full swing, sending water all over his face.

“Holy fuck!” He gasped in shock, wiping the water from his face with his palm. “Mother's tits, what was that for?” 

“You love me?” 

Cassian barely opened his bloodshot eyes, his fingers wiping away the remains of the water from his naked chest and face. However, as soon as he recognised your voice, his blurry vision seemed to clear once and for all.

Cassian opened his mouth and closed, then again, but not an echo of voice left his mouth. He remained on his back, slightly raised on one elbow and looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“Say something!” You exclaimed, feeling embarrassed by the seconds he remained silent.

Cassian stared at you, the remaining droplets of water on his lashes catching the morning light. For a warrior who had faced down armies on battlefields for over five centuries, he had never felt his heart beat quite this frantically against his ribs. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his massive wings flaring slightly behind him before settling into a tense, rigid line. He didn't look away from you. He couldn't.

"Azriel has a big mouth," Cassian muttered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a nervous, uncharacteristic gesture that made him look completely stripped of his usual bravado.

"Don't blame Azriel," you said, your own voice trembling as you stood at the foot of his bed, your fingers knotting into the hem of your shirt. "Do you really love me, Cassian? Were you... were you actually jealous?"

Cassian let out a long, heavy breath, the sound whistling through his teeth. The defensive, arrogant mask he had worn in the kitchen two days ago was entirely gone. In its place was a vulnerability that made him look completely undone.

"Jealous?" He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh, finally looking up to meet your eyes dead-on.

"Sweetheart, I was losing my mind."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge, just a few feet away from where you stood. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at his hands before looking back up at you, his hazel eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I handled it like an asshole, and I am so, so sorry for what I said to you," he said, his voice dropping to a rough, earnest whisper. "I hated myself the second the words left my mouth, and I hated myself even more when you walked into the training ring looking so small, thinking that you weren't allowed to feel pretty. You are beautiful. You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

He paused, his jaw working as he swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had kept locked away for so long.

"But seeing you in that dress... knowing you were wearing it for him? For some guy who didn't know how you like your coffee, or how you bite your lip when you're concentrating, or the way you laugh so freely whenever Mor says something stupid? It ripped me apart."

You stood frozen, the words washing over you, melting the last remnants of the cold ache that had settled in your chest all week.

Cassian stood up, stepping into your space. He didn't reach out to touch you—not yet—respecting the distance you had kept between them. But he loomed over you, his warmth radiating off his bare skin, enveloping you in that familiar scent of wind, cedar, and entirely him.

"They call you blind, but it's my fault," Cassian whispered, his chest heaving. "I was too much of a coward to just tell you. I thought if I played it safe, if I just stayed your friend, your protector, the guy who guides you home when you're drunk, then I’d at least get to keep you in my life. But watching you walk out that door to meet another man made me realize that playing it safe is going to cost me the only thing I actually care about."

He reached out then, his large, calloused hand hovering for a fraction of a second before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, so soft, so incredibly careful for a man who knew only war.

"I don't just like you, Y/N. I am completely, utterly, and desperately in love with you. I have been for longer than I can remember. And if you give me the chance... I will spend the rest of my immortal life making sure you never doubt how important you are. To me. Only to me."

He looked down at you, his breath fanning across your face, waiting for your verdict with the posture of a man ready to accept whatever blow you chose to deal next.

A small smile spread across your face as you let yourself lean into his grounding touch.

“Take me out to dinner,” you whispered against his palm, planting a soft kiss on it, “Buy me flowers,” you kissed his thumb, “And don’t let the others blame me for being blind because of you.”

Cassian laughed, the sound sending goosebumps over your body.

“I’ll make sure to take every blame on me,” he grins, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

————————————————————————

Being Rhysand’s sister meant you grew up hands first with Cassian and Azriel. All of your childhood memories consisted of being with them, following them around and Cassian luring you into his stupid ideas which later got you both into trouble.

Rhysand often felt troubled when you were around, because you were a girl, and girls should play with girls.

But you didn't budge, because silently, Azriel was your favourite.

Older than any of you, he should’ve intimidated you, but you adored him.

When he was silent - which was always - ,you could’ve just talked his ears off without a doubt, and he would listen with every living fiber. He never uttered a single response, but his eyes held so much attention you felt as if only his gaze was an answer.

Growing up, this dynamic continued. He remained his stoic self, shadows curling around him like a second skin, his scarred fingers no longer digging in dirt, but covered in blood, and his eyes held that silent menacing expression that you almost felt for his brothers.

You didn’t.

Because nobody can hurt your Azriel.

Rhysand turning from prince to High Lord, you turning into a teenager without your mother, you lost that spark Azriel was so fond of.

So, he did what you always did for him; he began to talk about everything and nothing at once.

He held your hands in his.

He let you hold his scarred hands, which he was still so insecure about, but you kissed away every single doubt and pain etched onto his hands.

“Thank you,” you sniffled, tear soaked face burying into his chest, while holding onto his fingers.

Azriel was stiff beside you, not used to comforting anyone, when all he knew is torture. But seeing you like this, he brushed your hair away from your face, warm palm soothing circles on your back.

When you developed your power, you were so happy you could’ve jumped out of your skin. As a responsible High Lord of a brother, he began to teach you, but Azriel kept his distance, and smiled at your excited face.

Nothing could ever break you, he was sure of that.

But Amarantha happened.

Fifty years of silence from your brother happened.

And you were broken, because you were all alone.

You didn’t have a father, or a mother.

Now, you weren’t sure if you had Rhys anymore.

And when your countless prayers got answered, you cried tears of joy hugging him when he returned to Velaris like never before.

Smiling up at Azriel with delight when he too hugged Rhysand back.

You could’ve burst with joy.

Cassian noticed your fondness of the Shadowsinger. He was like your second brother, and where Rhysand closed an eye, Cassian opened one.

Cassian knew Azriel was someone you would die for, go to war for.

However, your shyness was something neither you, nor him could coax you out of.

So, your feelings remained unchanged, but buried deep within your soul.

And still not voiced, when you started to pick up on Azriel’s quiet affection for her.

When Azriel started to pull away from you, and gravitate towards Elain.

You turned your back to him completely, when he handed over Truth Teller to her at the Hybern war.

You turned your back to Cassian, who looked so sad, your heart sank even more, but broken heart this or that, this was not the time to sulk.

War was never about being easy.

Hell, how could it be, when all you see is blood, beheaded man and cut off body parts laying all over your feet?

But you knew how to survive and to successfully disarm your enemy to call it a day.

The satisfaction of hearing the Hybern soldier’s wet gasps between your fingers as they struggle to breathe almost made you forget about why you’re being cruel.

What you didn’t know was how to survive the fact that your brother just died.

And came back to life.

You couldn’t erase the memory of him lying on his back, chest unmoving and Feyre roaring his name.

The way you stood rooted a couple of feet away, fingers scratching at the leather vest on your chest to ease the pain which never dulled even after Rhys took his first breath and sat up, hugging Feyre like his life depended on her.

And definitely could not forget the way you grabbed his jaw, fingernails biting into his skin as you looked deep in his living eyes.

The way you just stared at him, horrified, vision turning glossy from unshed tears.

“Sister…,” he tried to sooth you, he tried to hold you, to just reassure you that he was okay, but you couldn’t bear it.

You stood, and walked away.

Never stopping for Azriel’s extended hand, his hazel eyes roaming over you.

You already lost your father and mother.

You already lost your brother once for fifty years.

And seeing him drop dead in front of you, literally watching as his heart gives out, you felt sick.

You felt as if your heart just stopped beating.

Like you stopped existing all together, meanwhile everyone else moved on. All the High Lords, all your friends and family.

Azriel.

Except you.

You isolated yourself. Not curious about anything happening up at the House of Wind, or the Townhouse. You dodged Cassian’s attempt to lure you into something stupid, didn’t open the door for Mor, or even Azriel.

Azriel was the second person you lost at the war.

A piece of your heart crumbled in front of his dirty boots in the mud.

Jealousy was never a pretty thing.

You saw green whenever you laid eyes on him and Elain together.

Two conflicts and one bleeding heart later, you drank wine at Rita’s to dull the pain.

All the time to draw Rhys’s attention.

He tried to get you talking.

When that didn’t work, he tried to look into your head. Your memories.

Your shields didn’t budge. Even piss drunk and mumbling nonsense about breaking away from the dance floor when your favourite song played, your shields stayed intact.

He ordered house arrest for you, not trusting you anymore to leave you alone, and cut you off of every single bottle of wine he kept at the Townhouse.

You still didn’t figure out the magic he used on the pantry.

“Why don’t you join us by the fire?” Came the voice from behind you, your brother’s frame illuminating in the window reflection where you’re currently standing, back to everyone else.

It was the Winter Solstice.

“I’m okay,” you said without looking at his direction.

He sighed deeply, irritated.

“You’ve been distant.”

“I said I was fine,” you repeated, voice laced with slight annoyance.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted after a minute of silence, just when you started to think maybe he left.

“You don’t have to do anything, Rhysand, I’m not your baby sister anymore,” you said in a tone so distant, Rhysand blinked a couple of times to register. He couldn’t recognise you.

“Sister -“

“Don’t bother.”

“Y/n -“

“YOU DIED!” you shouted at him, eyes bulging violently at him.

The living room area, where the remaining of your found family sat, froze in silence at your outburst.

If they weren’t eavesdropping already, they were now.

“You died right in front of me, Rhysand,” you said, voice cracking as your eyes began to fill with tears. “Magic gone. Life leaving your eyes. Chest going still. Do you even understand how fucking scary was that shit?” you asked as if you expected any answer from him. “I felt like dying with you, and I’m pretty sure a piece of me stayed there. I’m having nightmares of you,” you confessed, causing him to suck in a harsh breath, “seeing you dropping lifeless all over again, without a fucking break. I cannot sleep. I turned to alcohol, because that helps me forget that maybe this will happen again, but then you won’t come back. To me,” you croaked out weakly. “I am so fucking scared of being alone, without you. You’re my only family, Rhysand. We’ve already lost so much, and I’m not ready to lose you. Not again. Not ever.”

—-

Elain was sunshine in every aspect of life.

Even when she wasted away from grief after her being Made alongside with Nesta, and losing her love and fiancé, Elain was deeply loved.

Cared for.

You haven’t felt cared for for a long time now.

Mainly because you pushed away everyone who tried to comfort you.

You were convinced they didn’t care anymore.

What you failed to notice was the fact that Cassian’s smile wasn't reaching his eyes anymore. Feyre began to paint more black and white, dullness and confusion littered every canvas. Mor was away more, Amren’s side eyes were more violent, and your brother.

Rhysand was still at Winter Solstice.

The way your eyes filled with tears, the way you brushed them away with such force, like you were angry for feeling.

They way you just left, opened the door to exit into the quiet night of Velaris, when he used such an ancient magic to keep you inside. He still couldn’t figure out how you cracked the magic. If you even noticed there was one.

And Azriel.

You haven’t noticed him, just like he failed to pay attention to you ever since Elain happened.

Ever since his lust overshadowed everything.

That night on Solstice, after you left abruptly, he followed you.

You haven’t noticed or heard him coming after you, but he noticed then everything. The way your shoulders slumped, like they were carrying such a heavy weight, he was eager to beg you to let him carry it for you. The way you haven’t stopped crying, your sobs reaching his sensitive ears, and his heart just broke into a million pieces. They way he was holding back, because he knew he was the last person you wanted to deal with.

He understood there that he was being cruel to you. The way you slowly shrank into your own shell, finding comfort in the corner, in the dark.

You were never dark.

You were the first sunlight peaking through the darkness. The one Azriel always gravitated towards, and the one he was always looking forward to.

A month has passed since Solstice, and you never uttered a single word to them. You cut off your brother, magic shields your scent, whenever you were out in the city, and your mental shields were unbreakable than ever.

You spent your days slowly, isolated and alone.

You never thought you’d ever feel alone.

But since the Hybern war, since seeing Rhysand dropped dead, Azriel handing over Truth Teller to Elain, you came to the conclusion that you’ll end up alone. If not right away, someday.

—-

The market was always busy at the crack of dawn. Many of the best deals were made in the early hours, your basket already full by the fourth seller.

“You dropped this,” a deep voice called out, and you turned to see, peaking out of your cloak.

You failed to notice the red siphons on his hands. The wings.

It was too late.

“Wait,” he called after you turned on your heels sharply and headed towards the busiest corner of the market, where you hoped Cassian would lost you.

He didn’t. He grasped your arm to stop you, his deep furrowed eyebrows a straight line over his hazel eyes.

“Let me go,” you gritted, trying to get yourself out of his hold.

“No,” he said with such intensity you never imagined you'd be on the receiving end.

“Cassian, please.”

“I had enough of your bullshit,” he grumbled and with a sudden move, he hugged your frame to his and flew away. You shrieked and pushed against his chest, but he just held you tighter.

No escape.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You can’t just kidnap me from the middle of the market, in front of everyone!” You shouted at him once he dropped you off at the River House.

“Like I care,” he shouted back over his shoulder, his sarcasm dripping like venom.

“The fuck am I supposed to do here?” You asked, throwing your hands out.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe you could come in, have a tea? Would you like that, with a little biscuit? I don’t know, should I bake a cake or bread?” He asked with such a bite you automatically stepped backwards.

He sighed deeply, running a hand over his disheveled hair. “Rhysand needs you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you shake your head.

“You cut him off.”

“I shouldn’t depend on him too much.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Cassian asked, truly confused, his eyes burning.

“Nothing!” You shouted, patience wearing off.

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” He fought back.

“Why do you care? You shouldn’t!”

“Why?” What the fuck do you mean you shouldn’t depend on him too much?”

The door clicked, and you met with a familiar set of violet eyes.

You stepped back.

“Y/n?” Rhysand’s eyes widened, and you never saw the High Lord of the Night Court more disheveled than now.

In case, never, not even when your parents died.

“Let me go, Cassian,” you muttered as soon as you felt his fingers close around your wrist, tugging you closer to your brother. “Cass, please,” you begged, tears rolling down your cheeks now.

He didn’t respond, didn't stop, didn't look back at you.

“Please, I can’t,” your shoulders shook, violently jerking away from your brother, whose hands closed around your shoulders and hugged you to his chest tightly.

“No, please! I can’t, you can’t…,” you hicupped, pushing away Rhysand, but he didn’t let you go.

“Shh…,” he brushed your hair away, his own tears soaking your head as yours his clothes.

Everyone watched with blurry vision as you touched the ground with Rhysand, curling into a ball in his chest.

—-

Inside the house, Feyre came down the stairs, skipping two at the time in her rush, and clasped her fingers over her mouth as her eyes began to fill with tears. She noticed Cassian hovering behind them, his own face tear soaked, and inside the house, over the window, stood Azriel, still as a rock, his chest rising and falling with trembling breaths.

Azriel wasn’t the same since Solstice. He was more distant, away more than he was at home.

“I am so sorry,” your voice came in gasps, repeating it over and over and over again against Rhysand’s chest, while he continued to soothe you, brushing your hair like he always did when growing up.

“Please, talk to me,” he begged against your forehead.

That’s how you found yourself in his study, your tears seeming to never fade. You sat next to each other on his couch, your legs tucked against your chest and he spread wide, just like you always sat when growing up, and complained when he took up all the space. To which he always replied with;

“I can’t take up too much when you’re basically offering.”

“I don’t want you to ever lock me out, do you understand?” He asked in his High Lordy tone, to which you automatically nodded. “Don’t ever assume you can’t depend on me.”

You told him everything. Every worry and thought you had about his death, about the way you lived and how much you actually depended on him, and maybe that dependence would be a burden. The way of locking yourself away from them seemed more accurate than voicing your fears.

“I never once imagined how would that feel like if I ever lost you,” he said, his violet eyes now a tad deeper, “but I guess I lost you more when you lost me.”

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” You asked, voice small.

“I never was angry with you.”

Silence.

“But how did you crack that magic which prevented you from leaving the house?”

You just winked.

—-

Days at the River House were spent with your brother and Feyre, who hugged you tight and cursed you half for disappearing on them.

Cassian was a different level of rage, since he enjoyed being sarcastic over you, and you bit back every single time, until you had enough of his pettiness.

You asked him to spar you, hand to hand, just like the old times. You fought for hours, before he even broke a sweat, and you broke a nail, your hair came out of your coronet braid, but once he swept right and you left, both of you expecting the other to move the opposite direction, you laughed in disbelief.

“Guess you’re getting old, grandpa,” you teased while pushing yourself up from the ground.

“And you're predictable,” he grunted.

“I’m sorry for everything,” you whispered once the laughter and teasing died down.

“I’m not sorry for kidnapping you from the market,” he said.

“Yeah, figured that was the highlight of your day.”

“No, the highlight of my day was you letting Rhys in,” he said, hazel eyes turning soft. You hugged him close then, face burying in his chest, as Cassian laughed softly, and hugged you back. “Never pull that shit again. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you murmured, fighting your tears back.

However, you played a dangerous game with Azriel.

Whenever he entered the room, you exited. When he talked, you held your breath. When he turned his back to you, you breathed. When he looked your way, you found the kitchen table more interesting.

But when he wasn’t looking, you were.

You looked at everything you could in those spare seconds. His nose. His rounded ears. His left wing, noticing new - now healed - injuries. His dark hair, which curled at the base of his neck, since he hadn’t cut it recently. His lips, slightly parted or pressed into a thin line.

His scarred hands, which you kissed multiple times, and wished you could still do it.

You came back to his life, but you still felt as if he left yours.

What was worse, that your feelings towards him never dulled, even after he pulled away. You were convinced you could never not love him.

“I think what you’re doing is straight up stupid,” Cassian sat down next to you at the dining table at the House of Wind, him already scooping huge bites of oatmeal into his mouth.

“What is stupid?”

“Brooding in distance.”

You gasped.

“I’m not brooding!”

“He laughed, his chewing disgusting. “Yeah, sure.”

He finished his oatmeal.

“Just a heads up, he does his brooding as badly as you do.”

“Why are you telling me that?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Because he sent spies after you,” he said nonchalantly, his mouth full with scrambled eggs now.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“He… he did what?”

“I found you, because of him,” Cassian confessed, now looking up at you from his plate.

“Why didn't he come?” You asked, pulse spiking.

“I think you should ask him that.”

“No, Cassian!” You stood up after him, because he was considered done with the conversation as he placed his dishes in the sink. “Why would Azriel spend his time looking after me, searching for me, when it was so easy for him to turn his back at me?”

Cassian sighed and turned back to face you. “Because he finally realised his mistake. And you should, too.”

“My mistake?” You gaped at him, when he simply nodded. “Which is?”

“Being jealous.”

You barked a laugh so loud it echoed.

“I’m not jealous.”

“You reek of jealousy.”

“Maybe it’s just a new perfume.”

“Then it’s a shitty one.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Look,” he sighed, stepping forward, “we grew up together. I saw the way you looked at him for eternity. I think it’s perfectly normal to feel jealous, but you shouldn’t.”

“You’re not helping,” you muttered, glaring at him.

“Then do as you please, I don’t fucking care, but the way you both brood over each other is sickening,” he threw his hands up, clearly done being a big brother, since he walked away with a “never could’ve imagined having a sister would be like this”. You stared after him for a long time.

—-

“What are you thinking about?” Rhys asked one evening out in the open, the winter breeze turning your cheeks red.

“Cassian said something interesting.”

“Cassian says a lot of interesting things,” Rhys chuckled.

You shook your head.

“It wasn't like that.”

“Oh?” Rhys was truly curious now, because if it wasn’t something unhinged as per usual, then it was just truly fascinating if Cass could be serious.

“He said that it was because of Azriel that he found me,” you said slowly. “That he sent spies after me.”

“I see,” Rhys murmured.

“What I don't understand is why he sent Cassian?”

“Perhaps Azriel likes to brood from a distance.”

“Oh gods, not you too!” You replied painfully, massaging your nose between your fingers as Rhys laughed. “You’re not helping my case.”

“I honestly don’t know what you want me to say, sister.”

“Look into his head,” you suggested.

Rhys glared at you.

“As if I would want to invade his privacy.”

“You had no second thoughts about invading mine.”

“I was desperate to grasp some understanding about your behaviour.”

“Well, I’m desperate for some answers,” you said while rolling your eyes.

“Then why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Because I…,” you stopped.

“Because you what?” Rhys asked softly, looking down at you through his lashes.

“Because it would be foolish of me expecting something more from him than there actually is,” you confessed, probably for the first time out loud.

“Why are you so sure there is nothing?”

“Probably because of Elain?”

Rhys furrowed his eyebrows.

“Elain?”

You nodded, defeated. When you looked up, Rhys was still staring at you confused.

“I saw the way he looked at her.”

“How?”

“Like she hung the stars herself,” you answered, looking straight at the frozen surface of the Sidra.

“He looked that way at you.”

You smiled bitterly.

“At one point. Not anymore.”

“No,” Rhys shook his head.

You looked at him confused.

“He was looking at you,” he said, and there was a soft knock on your mental shields. You lowered them, and you immediately saw yourself through Rhysand’s eyes.

It was way before the Hybern attack. You were seated between Azriel and Cass, Mor right in front of you, next to Rhysand. You were talking with the blonde, something about Rita’s and a shitfaced male who threw up right in front of her, muttering something about cute sparkles - definitely about Mor’s shoes - and you laughed with your head thrown back. Meanwhile beside you, Azriel looked down at you, a soft glint in his eyes, his wings carefully hovering around your chair, right behind your shoulders. His lips slightly turned upwards, a soft pink colour on his cheeks.

Then, it was on the mortal lands, with Nesta and Elain, when you first met them. Rhys was standing besides Feyre, but before him, there was you, sandwiched between the two Illyrians, but Azriel’s scarred fingers carefully hovered around your small back. Like a muscle memory, he didn’t notice he was doing that, and neither did you. When you were seated at the dinner table, you sat in front of him, while he was seated besides Elain, and that’s when you felt the first sting of jealousy, when you saw the way Elain’s brown eyes widened at him, and Azriel just looked at her.

Like there was something unspoken laying behind those eyes.

What you failed to notice, how his eyes tore from her, and never left your frame through the whole dinner. The way he was silently begging you to meet him halfway.

A bunch of variables of memories played in front of you.

Where in most of them you seemed to notice Azriel looking at Elain’s direction, you failed to see how you were always there.

Right in front of him, avoiding his burning gazes, because you convinced yourself it wasn’t for you.

Azriel was looking at you like you hung the stars yourself. The way he was holding so much adoration is his fixed glances, the way his shoulders relaxed whenever you entered the room, or when his shadows seemed to gravitate towards you, claiming you, dancing with you.

He may have felt lust for the ease of Elain, but true love was the quiet, agonizing loyalty of a shadow that had spent a lifetime learning the map of his soul.

You.

It was you.

—-

You found Azriel in his shadows, on the balcony at the House of Wind. He felt you the minute you stepped over the stairs, his shadows curling around his ears, whispering, his posture going rigid.

“Cassian is a fucking big mouth,” you said as a way of greeting.

Slow steps towards him.

“But he’s right about one thing,” you continue, “that you and I are both stupid.”

Azriel’s head hung low, his wings hanging lazily.

“Why him?” You asked, burning holes into his back. “Why send him to find me?” Azriel flinched slightly. He took a single, slow turn towards you, his darkened hazel eyes finally meeting yours.

"I didn't send him because I didn't care," he whispered, the words sounding like they were being torn from his throat. "I sent him because I was ashamed. I let myself be blinded by a light that wasn't meant for me, and in that vanity, I let the only person who ever truly saw through my darkness slip through my fingers. I thought I’d lost the right to be the one to bring you home."

He took a hesitant step forward and reached out, his hand hovering inches from your cheek, shaking.

"I looked at her because she was easy to look at, but I look at you because I cannot breathe without knowing where you are."

The air thrummed with the weight of unspoken words and the memory of the agonising distance.

No more.

No more running and denying.

You reached out and caught his wrist, pulling his palm flat against your cheek. Azriel let out a ragged, broken sound—half-sob, half-relief—as he stepped into your space, his forehead dropping against yours.

"I thought I’d broken it," he breathed, his shadows swirling frantically around your ankles, lashing out like dark ribbons finally set free. "The friendship... hope. I didn't know how to ask you to forgive me for being so blind."

"You’re an idiot, Azriel," you whispered, your tears finally spilling onto his calloused skin. You moved your hands down, interlacing your fingers with his, forcing him to feel the solid reality of your touch. "You didn't lose the right to bring me home. You are my home."

At those words, the tension that had held his shoulders rigid for months simply vanished. He pulled you into him, his wings unfurling to wrap around you both, creating a private sanctuary of silk and shadow in the cold night. For the first time since the war ended, the hollow ache in your chest began to fill.

His scarred fingers, so often hidden or clenched in pain, came up to cup your jaw with a tenderness that made you melt.

"Can I?" he asked, the question barely a breath.

You didn't answer with words. You stood on your tiptoes, your hands sliding up his chest to grip his shirt, pulling him down to meet you.

When his lips finally touched yours, it wasn't frantic, it was a slow motion collision of history and hope. It tasted like the winter air and the faint scent of cedar and night chilled mist that always followed him.

Azriel groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss. His wings flared wide, shielding you from the world.

He kissed you until your knees went weak, his strong arms catching you, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his body until you couldn't tell where your heartbeat ended and his began.

"Always you," he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting back against yours as you both gasped for air. "It was always going to be you. I just had to be brave enough to admit I was worthy of it."

You even saw how packed Rita’s was the moment you arrived, earning a little irritated huff from your lips. 

“Can’t believe people have this much free time,” you murmured. Mor’s hand rested on your shoulder, guiding you through the throngs of Fae. 

“People being us?” she teased, throwing smiles and winks to the crowd like confetti. 

“Yeah, what are we even doing here?” You turned, seeking out her brown eyes, but they were already busy eye-fucking someone across the room.

Don’t get me wrong—you liked a good evening. You liked to get a little wasted, a little too drunk sometimes, enjoying the weight of glances from young men who seemed to melt from the way you smirked at them from the dance floor. But today had been a particularly long, grueling day. Getting hammered wasn't on your list of priorities.

“To let loose,” the blonde finally answered, catching your hand to pull you toward the bar. 

“I don’t feel like drinking, Mor.” 

“But you came all the way here.” 

“Because you said it was an emergency.” 

You really needed to be more careful when it came to Mor and her "emergencies" used to lure you out of the house.

“Yeah, because your sour face was begging for a drink,” she called over her shoulder. “Here. Drink this.”

She handed you one of the cups. You sniffed it—sweet, heady, and oddly familiar. “What is this?” 

“What we used to drink all those years ago.” Mor's smirk widened as your eyes bulged. 

“No way! They have it again?” 

“Mhm,” she winked. “Now, drink up and dance.”

As it turned out, you didn't mind letting loose. 

Your feet were begging for a stop, but your heart felt so warm and light that you couldn't bring yourself to quit. You danced for hours with Mor and a blur of strangers whose names vanished the moment they were spoken. You lost count of the trips to the bar, and how many times you were the one telling Mor to stay just a little longer.

However, when a familiar, warm hand slid onto your waist—secure and grounding—you stopped mid-step. You turned to face him. 

“My Lord and Savior,” you sang, throwing your arms around Cassian’s neck.

He looked exhausted. Dark circles underscored his hazel eyes, and for a second, a flicker of guilt pierced through your drunken haze. Why was he here if he looked like he might faceplant into the floor? But he smiled, so bright and beautiful that you simply grinned back.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, a playful eyebrow arched. You nodded enthusiastically. He laughed, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Wanna join me?” you slurred, swaying as you shifted your weight. Cassian’s arms tightened, holding you upright. 

He shook his head. “It’s time to go, sweetheart.”

“Nooooo,” you pouted. A distant snort drew your attention to the shadows behind Cassian. You perked up. “Hi, Az!” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Azriel replied, though his eyes continued to scan the room. Right. Searching for Mor.

“C’mon, you’ve already danced a hole into the floor.” Cassian tucked you closer to his side. He sighed with relief when you didn’t resist. 

“But I love dancing!”

“I know.” 

“And I love singing.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“Do you like it when I sing?” You looked up at him through your lashes, the world spinning just a little. 

“You can’t sing, sweetheart,” he murmured, biting his lip to hide a grin. 

“But if I could? Would you like it then?” You pressed, eager to know his answer.

“I’d never get tired of listening to you.” 

“Do you get tired of me when I talk?” 

“Never.”

Azriel snorted again. Cassian shot him a warning glare. 

“Good. Because I like talking to you, you big winged man.” 

Even Azriel laughed at that.

Cassian guided you toward the exit, the crisp night air sending a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh, thank the Mother, you got her out,” Mor huffed, catching up to you. 

“It was your idea to get me drunk, you witch,” you muttered, playfully shoving her. 

“You’re the one who got excited for that specific wine,” Mor countered. “The word 'no' stopped existing for you three glasses ago.” 

“Oops.” You huddled into yourself, shaking from the cold.

Suddenly, Cassian’s cloak was wrapped around you. He was left in his leathers, but his expression softened as you nuzzled into the heavy, scent-drenched fabric. He resisted the urge to reach out—to run a rough thumb over the smooth skin of your cheek.

“Can we go now? I’m so tired,” you whispered, your voice small. 

Mor let out an amused laugh. “Now you want to go?” 

“I’m warm now,” you mumbled into the cloak. “And sleepy. And my feet ache.” 

“If I knew all you needed was a big warrior to whisk you home, I’d have called them earlier,” Mor added, casting a pointed look at Cassian.

Cassian flushed, his eyes lingering on you with a tenderness that could have melted lead. “Warriors,” you corrected, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Don’t forget Azriel dearest.” 

“You are so blind, dearest,” Azriel muttered, rolling his eyes. You were too far gone to notice the flash of disappointment on Cassian’s face as he lifted you into his arms and carried you home.

“Oh my gods, you look gorgeous!” Mor and Feyre were waiting in the kitchen when you finally emerged from your room. You were wearing a silky, dusty pink gown—the kind of fabric that felt like water against your skin. Lace traced the neckline and waist, and the back was entirely open, held together by nothing but two gossamer-thin straps.

You blushed, adjusting the silk. “Is it too much?” 

“No—” Feyre started. 

“Not at all—” Mor added. 

“Yes.”

You spun around at the deep rumble. Cassian was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest. 

“What?” you asked, your voice faltering. 

“It’s too much,” he said, his voice clipped and strict. “You’re delusional if you think he won’t get the wrong idea.” 

“Cassian!” Mor hissed.

“He’s not important enough for you to dress like that,” he continued, ignoring Mor entirely.

“Why are you being such a prick?” You squinted, crossing your arms defensively over the lace. 

Cassian let out a harsh, dry laugh. “I’m a prick? I’m sorry for reminding you that first dates aren't usually spent in your lingerie.” He pointed a finger at the dress.

“You have no right to tell me how to dress!” 

“You asked if it was too much,” he shrugged, though his wings were tucked so tight they looked painful. “I responded.” 

“Yeah, like an asshole.” 

“Change.”

You squared your shoulders and stepped into his personal space, staring directly into his blown-out pupils. His chest was heaving. 

“No,” you whispered. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m going out, I’m meeting him, and I’m going to have a wonderful time.” 

“You look like a hooker.”

The slap echoed through the kitchen. Your palm stung. The girls gasped. 

“Go to hell, Cassian.”

People call you blind. But as you walked away, you thought you finally saw his true colors. You were wrong, of course.

—

Cassian’s comments were still echoing in your head as you stepped out of the house with your chin held high—because you’re a stubborn woman, and you’ve never liked being told what to do. Still, you couldn't help but fidget with the strap of your dress, as if it would suddenly give in and let you pull it higher for a bit more coverage, which was ridiculous, considering the dress was practically a nightgown.

It didn't help that the guy you went on a date with spent the entire evening staring at your cleavage; if you had asked him what color your eyes were, he surely would have said pink—exactly the same shade as your dress.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Cassian was right. Somehow, that only made you angrier, so when your fist connected with Azriel’s jaw, you were just as surprised as he was.

“Shit!” you yelped, staring at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape as he shook his head from side to side and let out a small smile.

“Your right hook is good,” he said, a note of approval in his deep, rumbling voice.

A low whistle drifted from the entrance of the sparring ring. 

“That was satisfying to watch,” a voice called out, “Now, do tell—who did you imagine in his place?”

The air in the training ring suddenly felt ten degrees colder.

Cassian was leaning against the stone archway, his massive wings tucked tight against his back, his Siphons glowing a dull, rhythmic red. He didn't look angry anymore—he looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, like he’d spent the night running his hands through it, and his eyes were fixed on the reddening mark on Azriel’s jaw.

Azriel caught Cassian’s gaze, a silent communication passing between them, and with a subtle nod, the Shadowsinger stepped back, and like the silent creepy way he vanished, he left you alone with the one person you weren't ready to face just yet. 

You turned your back to him again, the reddening fist of yours throbbing from meeting the hard jaw of Azriel’s. 

The faint footsteps, the scrape of boots against the soft mat against the ground alarmed you should step away, but he was faster and stronger, his calloused fingers closing around your wrist. 

“Your form was off,” he said, “you could’ve taken him down if you put your shoulder into it.” 

“I didn’t want to take him down.” 

“Then why did you slip?” He asked, fingers tightening ever so slightly against your pulse point, his scent and his leathers pressing against you. 

This closeness scared you, because you contemplated leaning against him. His body was warm, seeping through his leathers, like a heavy blanket wrapped around you, preventing you from the cold. His barely gentle touch on your wrist sent an electric shock up your spine, your face grew hot and red. 

The way your body responded to him confused you even more, and before you’d cave more into him, you pulled away harshly. You had to remind yourself of Cassian's harsh words yesterday and the way he swept into your brain every time you looked up at your date and saw him eyeing your cleavage. Cassian was right, but a complete prick the way he chose his words. 

He sighed when you refused to answer him. “Spare me, then.” 

“What?” You asked, whipping around, seeing his hard facade, the way his strong jaw worked, his fists balled at his sides. 

“Use your strength on me. Fight me.” 

His words echoed away. 

You stood in the middle of the training ring, dumbfounded. 

He smirked without his eyes sparkling. 

“C’mon,” he urged. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to fight with you!” you exclaimed, your hands cutting through the air as if trying to push his temper away.

Cassian’s patience had finally snapped. He loomed over you, his wings flared wide and trembling with suppressed adrenaline. “Why not?” he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space between you.

“Because being angry with you doesn’t mean I want to hurt you!”

“You hurt Azriel just fine,” he countered, taking a heavy step forward, his chest heaving. He gestured wildly to his own jaw. “Why don’t you want to use that same right hook on me? Give me your worst!”

“Physical pain doesn't always equal mental pain, Cassian.” Your voice cracked, and you pulled your arms tight against your stomach, suddenly looking smaller.

“What does that even mean?” he demanded, though his voice dropped an octave, the first flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“It means,” you began, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves, “that you hurt me more than I could ever hurt you physically.” You looked up at him then, your eyes bright with unshed tears that you refused to let fall. “I just wanted to enjoy yesterday. It’s been a long time since anyone asked me out, and I wanted to feel pretty. Just for once.”

Cassian opened his mouth to interrupt, but you surged forward, the words spilling out in a desperate rush.

“You called me a hooker. You told me no one was important enough to dress up for—especially not a first date. And the worst part?” You let out a harsh, wet laugh, your shoulders slouching. “You were right. He didn't even look at my face until I crossed my arms over my chest to force him to look me in the eye.”

You looked down at yourself, your hands hovering over the dark Illyrian leathers. You pinched the reinforced fabric at your thigh, tugging at it as if it were suddenly suffocating you.

“Now, I’m standing here overthinking whether these leathers are too tight. If they’re too revealing. If I’m just 'asking for it' again.” You stepped back, shaking your head slowly, the fire leaving your limbs and leaving only a cold, hollow ache. “So, no. I don’t want to fight you, Cassian. It’s not worth it.”

---

“Sometimes you’re the blindest person I’ve ever met.”

You’ve got this so many times you seriously cannot count it on both your hands. Up until this day, you don’t understand why people call you so willingly blind.

However, now it’s you who contemplates calling them blind.

Sitting at the dining table, most of your friends are here. Talking, sipping wine, chewing food so loud Amren smacks their head with grace and a menacing smile on her face.

You crack a smile at that.

But none of them notices your sour mood, which hasn’t vanished since the day you fought with Cassian.

You haven’t been to training, the only sanctuary you felt like you had was the library, where the priestesses worked silently, or tucked away in your room, in the safety of your blankets and the calm fire in the hearth.

Mor asked you numerous times if you want to go to Rita's, but you haven’t felt like it.

The last thing you need is to get drunk on faerie wine and spill your guts.

She still insisted tonight, though, while you busied yourself with a bite of food.

“Please, come with me,” she pouted, big brown eyes shining like she was about to shed theatratic tears to get you moving.

“I don’t feel like it, Mor,” you said for the hundredth time, brushing off her iron grip from your forearm.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” you furrowed your brows.

“Then why would you deny a night at Rita’s?”

You huffed.

“I’m going to scream if you don’t drop it, you pointed your fork at her.”

“Holy gods, are you on your period?” She looked horrified and sad at the same time.

You rolled your eyes.

“If it makes you drop it, then yes, I’m on my period.”

Mor squints at you, not an ounce of belief in her gaze. Then, she looks over to the two Illyrians, Feyre, and Rhys, because before Mor could look to Amren, she already vanished. Good for her, you thought.

“Well? Anyone else, who's not a party pooper?” she asked, while addressing you as the true disgrace.

You just rolled your eyes at her.

“I’ll go,” Cassian’s eyes cut to you, but nothing could be read from his dark eyes. Not a twitch of his lips, brows, nose. “I could use a drink or two.”

Mor clapped her hands excitedly.

“I’ll go too. Just to make sure you both aren’t face planting onto someone’s bush and choke on your own puke,” deadpanned Azriel.

“Ew. Oddly specific, don’t you think?” grimaced Feyre.

“It happened,” Rhys sent a knowing look towards Cassian.

“I was just getting familiar with whisky,” he said, mouth full with food, clearly not interested in the conversation about him.

With a sigh, you push yourself up from your seat, and wish them a good night.

—-

It’s nearly three in the morning, when the House echoes with distant shouts and groans. Half asleep, you debated not going down, but after a rather loud shout of your name alerted you.

“What?!” You asked with a frantic voice, dreams no longer existing behind your eyes.

Cassian laid haphazardly across the couch, wings splayed behind him, his black shirt buttoned down, his tattoos across his chest making you hard to focus on the task in hand.

Which is why Cassian groans and repeats your name like it would give him some sort of relief.

“You’re hereee,” his eyes lit up, drunkenly slurring his words and a loopy smile on his handsome face.

Azriel, who just now appeared from his shadows, only shrugged, a slight smirk tugged on his lips.

“He’s been crying for you for an hour now.”

“No I’m noooot,” Cassian pouted. “I’m not cryin’, I'm manifestinnn.”

“He’s been manifesting you for an hour now,” Azriel corrected himself with an audible roll of his eyes.

The nightgown you wore felt ten times hotter, your skin pulsing underneath the fine cloth. 

“Why?” You asked, suddenly out of breath. 

“He was off the whole week,” said Azriel, his eyes never leaving Cassian’s form laying on the couch, eyes closed and humming something off tune, “and out of nowhere he let loose, drinking Rita’s dry and whining for you.” 

Then, Azriel turned to you, his eyes now assessing you. “You’ve been off the whole week.” 

Oh, someone noticed? 

You snorted, feeling exposed. “I was just…” 

You just what? Azriel was right, and you couldn’t even deny it. You've never fought with Cassian ever, and now, out of blue, he has been calling you out and you coming for his neck was something you’d never have imagined in your immortal life. 

Cassian was always your someone. The one that was fierce and utterly charismatic and brave on the outside, but loyal and gentle on the inside. The one who knew when to reach out a hand when things became tough and heavy, because Cassian knew how to handle all the discomfort you felt. 

The one, who knew how to turn your frown into a smile, whether it’s stupid or thoughtful.

The cries into laughs. 

And now you two faced something that could change things forever. 

Azriel patiently waited for what you wanted to say, but when you got lost in words, he sighed. “Look, I know things have been… interesting between you two, but I think it’s best if you two have a talk.” 

“Now?” You pointed at Cass, who was half unconscious, half muffled words. 

“Not now, you idiot. Help him get to bed, and when he’s not making a bigger fool out of himself than he usually does, then you talk,” instructed Az, like it was some big task needed to supervise. 

“My beautiful, beautiful giiiirl,” sang Cassian with a high sighed following his off-tune voice, his large palm sliding down to his chest, over his heart, squeezing it. “My sweet girl is angry with me and my heart can’t handle it.” 

“And that’s my cue,” announced Azriel, and before you could mutter a single word of pleading, he was already whipped in his shadows, disappeared. 

Cassian, bless his drunken soul, didn't even acknowledge anything, only hummed under his nose, while still holding his hand over his heart. 

“Mother help me,” you whispered a prayer, and walked closer to his limp body. “Cass?” 

“Mhm?” 

“I need you to come to bed.” 

His nose scrunched. “I’on’t wanna go to bed, I wanna see my sweetheart.” 

Your heart did a funny thing. “Who’s your sweetheart?” 

“Mine,” that’s all he said. Mine. 

“Cassian,” you brushed his hair from his forehead, and tapped his head twice. “Open your eyes, you can’t sleep out here.” 

He will have a massive cramp in his neck, and he’d bitch about it. You knew, because it happened before. 

Then, so slowly, like he had all the time in the world, opened those hazel eyes, and upon seeing you for the first time in focus, his gaze turned excited. 

“My sweet giiiirl,” he sighed with a hint of relief in his voice. “What are you doing ‘ere?” 

“Azriel brought you home. You were shouting,” you explained, and tried not to squirm under his unbreakable stare. 

He pouted. Actually pouted. “You’re angry with me. And my heart is giving out.” 

“Don’t joke about that,” you hissed slightly. Afterwards, begging for Cassian to sit up and eventually get up the stairs to his bed took you nearly two hours. Now, standing at the edge of his large bed, you watched as he somehow got his huge body under the sheets, wings spreading wide around him, like his unbound hair. 

He looked like a painting Feyre could paint. 

“There’s a glass of water and some medicine for your headache tomorrow,” you pointed at his bedside table, and made your way out. 

“My sweetheart. I miss you. You’re mine, and I'm going to win your heart. I'm going to win,” he kept muttering even after you closed his door behind you. 

—-

The next morning, you are frantically searching for Azriel. Running out of your room the minute you changed out of your nightgown into a plain shirt and pants, barefoot you ran through the halls, until you reached the kitchen, and when you didn’t find him there, with a curse under your breath, you raced up the stairs until the training ring on the rooftop. 

Last night, with barely any sleep, you kept replaying the way Cassian slurred his words. The way he lit up upon seeing you, and the way he screamed for you, and the way he kept repeating that he’s going to win your heart made you overthink every single interaction with him, from start until the middle of the night. And the way you remembered him somehow changed, freaking you out. 

“You okay?” Azriel panted, chest glistening with sweat, but wariness took hold of his eyes at the frantic way you burst through the door. 

“N-no,” you could barely speak as you gulped air after air to fill your lungs. “I need to speak with you.” 

“I’m listening,” he walked closer after putting away the sword he trained with. 

“What…,” you paused, “Does Cassian like me?” 

Azriel stared at you for a good minute, before bursting out in a loud laugh, head thrown back, the rare sight surprised you to stumble a step back. 

“Are you seriously just catching up on that?” He asked between laughs. Then, he corrected himself, “Well, actually, he is way past like.” 

You gaped. “What?” 

“Do you understand now why we call you blind?” 

When you didn’t answer, he huffed. “Cassian’s been head over heels in love with you. Has been since that night during Solstice, when you gave him that lotion for his dry skin and that enchanted necklace with the amulet that helps his allergies whenever he’s in the Spring Court. He’s been subtly trying to get your attention, and while for us it’s ridiculously obvious he loves you, you’ve been painfully oblivious. You see now whenever you were training with me, he would take over, because he knows how to do the eight point star better?” he mocked him with a roll of his eyes. 

“But… but why be so rude to me about my…” 

Azriel slowly smiled, just as your face paled in realisation. 

Jealous. Cassian has been jealous, because you went on a date, and he was harsh, because he didn’t want you going out with someone else who’s not him. 

“Oh gods,” you breathed. 

“Good thing you caught up,” Azriel patted your shoulder, but you bolted again for the exit to run back inside the House, right through Cassian’s bedroom door. 

He was still sleeping on his back, his shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor, his hair a mess of locks. 

The water on his bedside table remained full, so you took a full swing, sending water all over his face.

“Holy fuck!” He gasped in shock, wiping the water from his face with his palm. “Mother's tits, what was that for?” 

“You love me?” 

Cassian barely opened his bloodshot eyes, his fingers wiping away the remains of the water from his naked chest and face. However, as soon as he recognised your voice, his blurry vision seemed to clear once and for all.

Cassian opened his mouth and closed, then again, but not an echo of voice left his mouth. He remained on his back, slightly raised on one elbow and looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“Say something!” You exclaimed, feeling embarrassed by the seconds he remained silent.

Cassian stared at you, the remaining droplets of water on his lashes catching the morning light. For a warrior who had faced down armies on battlefields for over five centuries, he had never felt his heart beat quite this frantically against his ribs. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his massive wings flaring slightly behind him before settling into a tense, rigid line. He didn't look away from you. He couldn't.

"Azriel has a big mouth," Cassian muttered, his voice gravelly from sleep. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a nervous, uncharacteristic gesture that made him look completely stripped of his usual bravado.

"Don't blame Azriel," you said, your own voice trembling as you stood at the foot of his bed, your fingers knotting into the hem of your shirt. "Do you really love me, Cassian? Were you... were you actually jealous?"

Cassian let out a long, heavy breath, the sound whistling through his teeth. The defensive, arrogant mask he had worn in the kitchen two days ago was entirely gone. In its place was a vulnerability that made him look completely undone.

"Jealous?" He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh, finally looking up to meet your eyes dead-on.

"Sweetheart, I was losing my mind."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge, just a few feet away from where you stood. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking down at his hands before looking back up at you, his hazel eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I handled it like an asshole, and I am so, so sorry for what I said to you," he said, his voice dropping to a rough, earnest whisper. "I hated myself the second the words left my mouth, and I hated myself even more when you walked into the training ring looking so small, thinking that you weren't allowed to feel pretty. You are beautiful. You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

He paused, his jaw working as he swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had kept locked away for so long.

"But seeing you in that dress... knowing you were wearing it for him? For some guy who didn't know how you like your coffee, or how you bite your lip when you're concentrating, or the way you laugh so freely whenever Mor says something stupid? It ripped me apart."

You stood frozen, the words washing over you, melting the last remnants of the cold ache that had settled in your chest all week.

Cassian stood up, stepping into your space. He didn't reach out to touch you—not yet—respecting the distance you had kept between them. But he loomed over you, his warmth radiating off his bare skin, enveloping you in that familiar scent of wind, cedar, and entirely him.

"They call you blind, but it's my fault," Cassian whispered, his chest heaving. "I was too much of a coward to just tell you. I thought if I played it safe, if I just stayed your friend, your protector, the guy who guides you home when you're drunk, then I’d at least get to keep you in my life. But watching you walk out that door to meet another man made me realize that playing it safe is going to cost me the only thing I actually care about."

He reached out then, his large, calloused hand hovering for a fraction of a second before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, so soft, so incredibly careful for a man who knew only war.

"I don't just like you, Y/N. I am completely, utterly, and desperately in love with you. I have been for longer than I can remember. And if you give me the chance... I will spend the rest of my immortal life making sure you never doubt how important you are. To me. Only to me."

He looked down at you, his breath fanning across your face, waiting for your verdict with the posture of a man ready to accept whatever blow you chose to deal next.

A small smile spread across your face as you let yourself lean into his grounding touch.

“Take me out to dinner,” you whispered against his palm, planting a soft kiss on it, “Buy me flowers,” you kissed his thumb, “And don’t let the others blame me for being blind because of you.”

Cassian laughed, the sound sending goosebumps over your body.

“I’ll make sure to take every blame on me,” he grins, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

————————————————————————