nini 💋

The radiating heat of his entire body—all corded muscle and solid weight—lays across your petite frame, molding you into the mattress beneath him. You groan, blinking back the haze of sleep as the realization hits: Azriel is well on his way to becoming one with you.

“Az,” you mumble weakly, trying to nudge him back with an elbow. “I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t care,” he replies gruffly.

“What do you mean you don’t care?” You gape at him in disbelief.

“You’re comfy. Deal with being suffocated by your lover.”

“I have to pee, tho.”

“Nooooo,” he whines now, his strong arm tightening around your waist in a desperate hug.

“Would you like me to pee in bed?”

“Hold it.”

You huff and puff, wiggling against his death grip to no avail. Apparently, Azriel is incredibly clingy on the rare mornings his profession doesn't demand his presence.

“Stay still, godsdamn it,” he groans against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You’ve got a bad breath,” you say.

“Yours is worse,” he bites back. To get you riled up, he presses a kiss to your neck with a loud, teasing breath.

“Ew, get away with your filthy mouth!”

He laughs softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You can be sorry from the other side of the bed.”

“You’re kicking me out?” he mocks, his tone dripping with feigned hurt.

“You’re choking me!”

“You never once complained about that,” he reminds you. A slow, menacing smirk spreads across his handsome face, and you blush instantly as uncalled memories of shared moans and moonlit nights flood your mind.

For a few minutes, you both lay still. The room is silent, save for the rhythmic slide of Azriel’s fingers up and down your stomach. His breathing is calm, hovering on the edge of sleep. You need to prevent that.

“I’m hungry,” you announce.

“I’m not moving,” he answers with ease, tucking his midnight wings around you like a heavy, silken cocoon.

“You want me starving?”

“Eat me. You usually provide a great feast, so I guess you can try it with me,” he shrugs casually. Your cheeks burn with fresh flames; you are genuinely speechless.

The only option left is to fight. You attempt to turn around, and in the struggle, your knee makes slow, deliberate contact with his morning wood.

Az grunts, then huffs a laugh. “Not the feast I was hoping for.”

“Prick,” you whisper against his neck, your lips brushing his Adam's apple.

In response, his large palm slides up your side until he reaches your breast, squeezing the soft flesh gently. “Oops, must’ve mistaken you with the pillow.”

“Cauldron boil me,” you laugh at his poor antics. “Actually, no. I’m boiled up already. Move, Azriel.”

“Aww, you’re calling me hot? Did I make you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I’m gonna fart under your nose,” you threaten.

“Release your demons,” he replies, eyes still closed. You’re not even sure he’s opened them once during this entire back-and-forth.

“Azrieeeeel,” you whine, your patience finally snapping. “I’m seriously going to pee myself.”

He groans loudly, finally releasing his grasp. You seize the moment, slipping away toward the bathroom. When you return, you find him sprawled on his back in the center of the bed, his wings fully spread and claiming every inch of the mattress.

With careful footsteps, you approach and climb onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his slim waist. Hazel eyes bordering on green snap open immediately, and his hands find your hips.

“Hi,” you murmur, leaning in to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He turns his head, catching your lips to deepen the kiss. Tongues graze, his hand moving to steady the nape of your neck.

“Did you brush your teeth?” he asks against your mouth.

“Don’t you dare make it a problem.”

“I’m not, just proves my point that your bed breath is worse,” he smirks arrogantly.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

Azriel kisses you harder. “I’m already ruined.”

“By what?”

“By my mate,” he says. With a sudden shift, he flips you both over, using you as his pillow once again—but not before peppering your nose, cheeks, jaw, and lips with soft, lingering kisses.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur into his hair, your hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his back.

Emerie and Nesta snorted, but raised their glass at you and drank, Emerie the wine while Nesta some tea, meanwhile Gwyn looked a little mortified, her pale skin burning in pink blush.

“What do you mean by that?” She asks, her blue eyes widening in curiosity.

“I mean that they don’t waste their breath with unnecessary words. They save that energy to devour you to your bones,” you explained, leaning closer to her a little, and she blushed even more, blinking.

“I want my man to whine, whimper, moan and grunt while he absolutely makes love to me,” you bite your lip, your head flooding with unholy things as you imagine a certain someone rearranging your guts.

“I’m not sure that’s love making anymore,” Nesta laughs.

“Yeah, that’s fucking,” Gwyn sips her wine, your eyes widening at her bluntness.

“Gods you filthy girl,” you wink at her, teasing her while she laughs at you.

“Who do you want to test that theory?” Emerie asked as she snacked on some untouched popcorn. Before you could shamelessly admit to them your obvious attraction toward a certain Illyrian warrior with blue siphons, who happens to be overly quiet and you’re hundred percent so fucking sure he’s packing, Nesta gasped.

“Mother above, you truly have to ask that? It’s Azriel, you fool,” she smacked the popcorn out of her hand, earning an annoyed grunt from Emerie.

“Oh my gods!” Gwyn exclaimed, her hand coming up to her mouth in mock disbelief.

“I won’t deny it. Well, I would if I were sober, but right now, it’s just us and the House, who’s a true girls girl, never dropping the thought over to him, am I right?” You asked playfully, looking up at the ceiling and getting your goblet full of wine, and dropping a full chocolate cake over the table. Yeah, the House was in your favour.

“Now that I’m thinking, he’s really that quiet, mysterious, observant guy,” Emerie says, eyeing the cake before you push it closer to her, earning a grateful wink.

“Y/n spends three training sessions with him and comes up with her theory,” Gwyn shook her head, but the playful glint in her eyes said she finds this amusing.

“The first occasion was more than enough to come to the conclusion that he’s packing,” you said without a heartbeat.

“I knew you were dirty minded but damn, you’re worse than Cassian,” Nesta sipped her tea, but a little teasing smirk stretched across her face.

“Well, it was obvious you were eyeing him -“

“- More like shamelessly eye fucking him,” Emerie muttered, cutting in Gwyn’s words. You snorted, changing your position on the floor, because you no longer felt your ass and back.

“I’m not sorry for finding him drop dead gorgeous,” you whined as you stretched out your body, the girls giggling above you.

While the three of them were training for a long amount of time now, they successfully lured you into the training ring two weeks ago. You owned one of the cafés in Velaris, where the three of them quickly became your regulars, knowing their orders by heart, already waiting for them usually around Fridays, when they seemed to have a couple of hours free time to spend besides seeing each other once a week for training and work. They were yappers, you quickly realised, and when once you snorted by accident while Nesta told the girls about her mate, Cassian’s fuck ups, she looked up and asked your opinion about the situation, and you stuck with them ever since.

Now, you were nowhere near on the same level as them. While they trained as Valkyries, you found that throwing daggers was more for your fun. And knife work, and swords. You learned all the footwork, just because Cassian begged you, and some arm and core strength, because as much as you didn’t want to admit, the swords were heavy. And the daggers were aimless, your wrists and biceps quickly giving up.

But once you got stronger, practicing at home your curls and aims with harmless darts you purchased at the market, he let you throw daggers into the wooden target at the ring.

And when the dagger you sent flying darted into the wooden targets head on your first try, the smug smirk on your face was inevitable, as you faced a stunned Cassian and saw Azriel for the first time, leaning his shoulder on the entrance with crossed arms over his chest, his eyes boring into yours.

You never saw a man that beautiful before. His tall frame held a pair of strong wings, one of the widest you’ve ever seen, his biceps bulging from his leather vest, tattoos curling around them, up against his neck. His hazel eyes glinted in the sun, his almost black like hair fell onto his forehead lazily, a single blue siphon glistening in the center of his broad chest, his jaw so powerful, it could cut your finger and you’d bleed out happily.

And when he talked, Mother above, you clenched your thighs together so hard, you gave yourself a sore muscle. That deep, delicious baritone of his voice was like thick honey on your sore throat. Fucking soothing.

But he didn’t talk much. However, his stance held so much power, without words and fight, he got your unresolved attention. Coming up with your theory was easy work.

What you didn’t notice, though, as you continued to eat and drink and laugh with the girls, was the shadow tendrils lurking from behind the living room's entrance. How the soft tendrils drifted back into the dark hallway, and rushed all the way back to Azriel’s room, singing their spying back to their owner.

And Azriel only just smirked.

—-

“I’m having trouble breathing, wait,” you huffed, bracing yourself on your knees as you tried to catch your breath after Cassian ordered you and the girls to sprinting sets. While they didn’t have as much trouble with the speed and breathing, you hated every single second of it.

“Pathetic,” Cassian replied, scoffing.

“I’m going to use you as my target if you don’t shut your mouth,” you threatened, glaring up at him.

“How unfortunate for you today we’re doing hand-on-hand combat,” he announced, earning a heavy grunt.

“Again?”

“You’re shit with your jabs.”

“No more raspberry cheesecake for you,” It was his favourite from your café, so you had every intention in you to deny it from him. Slowly emerging to your full length, you slowed down the erratic heartbeat against your chest, and looked around the ring, already seeing the girls pared up. You turned, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Who am I-“ you started, but another deep voice cut you in.

“- Me,” Azriel walked toward you, his leather vest showing off naked tattooed biceps, your mouth already watering at the sight, but as soon as you registered what he just said, you gaped at him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sparring with him? Over your dead body. Which could be soon.

But the Illyrian just smirked.

“I spy with my little eye someone with an unresolved theory,” he circled you, voice so low, so taunting.

“What?” Your heartbeat picked up again.

“Would you like to see if it’s true?” He leaned closer, whispering in your ear, sending goosebumps along your body.

“What is true?” You asked, turning to face him, seeing his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m quiet. I’m observant. I’m mysterious,” each sentence sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening against your training vest, the material brushing against the sensitive skin, making you hiss at the sensation.

Oh, fucking holy shit.

Your eyes widened in utter shock and mortification, your cheeks burning in complete embarrassment. He fucking heard every single word from the sleepover.

And he fucking giggled at your reaction. He leaned in again, his lips touching your earlobe, his warm breath licking the side of your neck.

“Now, you better start sending jabs or else Cassian’s going to come over and take you away, and I’m not yet ready to give you up.”

You sent a clumsy punch toward his face, to just get rid of his smugness, which he caught with a flick of his wrist.

“You’re so predictable.”

“And you were eavesdropping!”

“You’re just clumsy to notice your surroundings,” he winked, knocking you to your back with his leg over your ankle. As you pushed yourself up, he kicked out your arm, holding it down with his over your head. He was so close once more, and you were sweating and burning from mortification.

“I’m everywhere,” he said, “I bet this you already imagined. What else is in that head of yours?”

“Cauldron, you’re insufferable,” you grunted, and with a well calculated move you freed your hands from him, but your thighs pressed against his still.

“You were fucking lethal with that dagger when I first saw you,” he says, his fingers slowly spreading over your thighs, and flipped you in a heartbeat. His chest pressed against your back like mold, you felt every single perfectly sculpted muscle of him.

“I wish I could send one to your face,” you hissed, your patience wearing off, as your face pressed into the dirty ground.

“Yeah, talk dirty to me,” he groaned as you sent your elbow into his jaw, and pushed yourself up. Once more, both of you standing, you circled each other once more. What the actual fuck is happening right now?, you thought as you wiped the sweat off of your eyebrow, sending a quick glance over the ring, seeing as everyone was still sparring, not one curious pair of eyes in their way.

Azriel once more got behind you, locking your arms, his chest pressing into your back.

“You love coming behind my back,” you whispered, huffing at his mischievous face.

“Come and find out how much,” he replied.

“Gods, Azriel, stop!” You raised your voice, earning some eyes from across the ring, as you escaped from his hold. “Just, stop.”

While you prayed the ground would swallow you whole, Azriel seemed perfectly fine, enjoying your rather filthy interrogation.

“If you want to test that theory of yours,” he flicked your nose lightly, “Just come find me.”

“You wish,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I do,” he winked, and went over to Cassian, declaring a change of pairs.

—-

After the training session, you asked Nesta if you could use one of the spare rooms to shower and change. The House prepared your bath, the tub already filling with hot water as you stepped inside, throwing your clothes on the bedroom floor and submerged in the water.

You kind of flew out of the ring, not wanting to spend another second breathing the same air as Azriel.

You rubbed your eyes at the memory of him at your back, holding you down, so you can’t escape from him. You imagined him deeply buried inside you, his hard and heavy cock sliding in and out your pussy at a rapid pace, his chest pressed against your back, and your face buried in his pillows -

You rinsed quickly, stepped out the water and threw the towel to the bed to search for some clothes you left here once. The House quickly fulfilled your request, stepping into the flowy summer gown, brushed your hair and opened up the door, ready to escape from here, because Azriel’s eyes and voice kept replaying in your head, making you more flushed than before.

But now you noticed the shadows at your feet. You noticed them slowly, but surely licking their way up your ankles, the thin tendrils quickly disappearing under the hem of your dress. You let out a surprised moan, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

“You react to them so deliciously,” Azriel hugged you from behind, his strong arm coming over your stomach, while the other followed a tendril, his fingertips brushing after it. “Tell me, do you really want to go?”

No.

You should push him away, get far away from him, from this place, to forget this whole day, forget him -

He chuckled.

“For someone who has a lot to say about me, you’re very quiet.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, as his fingers brushed so close to your bare sex.

“Oh, you’d love that, don’t you? I, for one, have a lot to say,” he said, and you heard the soft click of the room closing, and turned you in his arms to face him.

Fuck it, then.

“Then prove my theory true,” you breathed, your brows slightly raised in challenge. Azriel smiled widely, his hand which was on your stomach now brushed against your jaw, angling your head so he could kiss you deeply. He tasted divine, his lips devoured yours, his other hand brushed under your dress, smacking your bare ass, causing you to jump, gasping, which he swallowed with his relentless kisses. He backed you towards the bed until your knees hit the frame. Your fingers brushed against his clothed chest, stomach, until his leather pants, pulling him incredibly closer by his belt hoops.

“Don’t rush me, sweetheart,” he whispered into your mouth, spreading kisses down your jaw and neck, then swallowing your pants in a feverish kiss. Tongues and teeth collided, bottom lips bitten and drawn out, chests rising rapidly.

But you need more, more of him, so when you grabbed his T-shirt angrily on his chest and bit his bottom lip, you finally were pushed onto the bed.

“I’m starting to think my theory remains false,” you spread your legs for him taunting, sighing, playing disappointed.

“You’re just a fucking brat with a big mouth,” he came after you after discarding his shirt and pants, ripping at your dress.

“Where’s your big mouth?” you asked, panting slightly as he pressed featherlight kisses along your collarbone.

“Right on the very woman who raised my dick with just a single throw of a dagger.”

He ripped harder on the material of your dress, finally giving away, revealing your very naked form underneath. Azriel brushed his thumb over your nipples, pressing kisses between your breasts, then sucking the pebbled flesh. You moaned shamelessly, his hands roaming over your waist and hips, spreading your thighs so he could lay between them. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against your bare cunt, your hips raising unconsciously to make more contact with him.

When he finally licked into your aching core, your back arched from the bed, fingers disappearing into his dark locks, pulling harshly as he ate you out like you were his last course of meal.

“You’re dripping for me,” he grunted.

“Fuck yeah,” you moaned loudly, not even trying to stay quiet. He hugged your thighs, fingertips printing onto your sensitive skin, tongue flicking against your clit, and diving into your hole over and over again.

“So fucking sweet,” Azriel groaned, rutting against the mattress to ease his aching need. “You’re gonna come on my tongue like the good girl you are? Or gonna make it difficult by being a brat?”

Words seemed to disappear from your mind, tongue tied as you kept kneading his locks, pressing his nose closer to your clit with each lick.

“Words,” he demanded, chin glistening with your slick.

“Yeah, I’m gonna come on your tongue,” you replied breathlessly, as he dived back and licked away everything you gave to him.

Insane.

You shook as your orgasm hit, thighs pressing harder against the side of his head, Azriel not letting up until you pushed him away, because you were so sensitive.

“On your knees,” he ordered, pressing a kiss between your breasts. You pushed yourself up on shaky hands, slowly catching your breath.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he slapped your ass cheek, the burning sensation spreading rapidly between your thighs, your pussy throbbing with ache.

“You like that?” He asked, and sent another hand down harshly on your other cheek, jumping the slightest, spreading your knees wider for him. He chuckled.

“Dirty little thing.”

“Azriel,” you looked over your shoulder, noticing him kneeling behind you, pumping himself slowly, his wings spreading wide behind him, and his shadows relentless. You were on the verge of begging.

“So impatient,” he taunted, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance. You let out a loud moan, throwing your head back. He chuckled once more. “And so responsive.”

“Don’t fucking talk, and fuck me already!”

“Now, if you’re going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like a little brat,” he licked a strip along your neck, fingers curling around your throat as he pushed in, then out. You groaned at the loss, huffing impatiently. Azriel’s fingers curled tighter around your throat. “Are you going to be good from now on?”

You nodded.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Motherfucker.

“Yes!” You shouted, glaring at him over your shoulder, to which he just smiled.

“You look so good with my hands wrapped around your throat.”

He stretched you out so fucking good, your eyes rolled back as he started pounding into you. The harsh sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths and moans filled the room, as his hand left your throat, and gathered your unbound hair into a makeshift ponytail, and guided your head to the side, facing the other side of the bed, where a mirror laid against the wall.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” Azriel pressed you against his chest, holding you up by hugging your stomach, while his right hand disappeared from your hair and circled your clit.

“Yeah, you like watching yourself, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing my cock,” he groaned against your ear, biting on your earlobe, while you watched him fucking you from behind.

And holy shit, yes, that sight was mouthwatering. Watching him guide his hip into yours at a vehement pace, his dick deep buried in you, while his other hand rubbed fast circles around your pussy. Your face was blotchy red, sweat and tears becoming one.

“Ah-az,” you whimpered, feeling your orgasm building up. He responded by pulling out, turning you around and letting you fall back on the bed, meanwhile he pulled up one of your legs, while you spread the other and Azriel pushed in once more, continuing his rapid attack on your cunt, curling his fingers around your throat, your eyes rolling back at the sensation and new, deeper angle.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he kissed you, licking into your mouth, swallowing all your moans. “Look at me,” he rasped, darkened hazel eyes meeting your glassy ones. His hips met yours like rapid fire, nipples rubbed against his broad chest, the sensitive skin making you shiver. You brought your fingers down to his face, brushing against his jaw and pushing his hair back, kissing him so deeply and moaning so loud, as he brought you over your second orgasm. Your thigh shook in his hand, as he rolled himself under you, careful of his wings, the new angle burying him even deeper inside you.

“Az, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you laid on his chest.

“Give me one more,” he elevated your head by your hair, pulling carefully, and kissed you gently, swallowing your hiccups. “You’re doing so good, give me one more,” he muttered while spreading kisses down your jaw and neck. Once you calmed down and caught your breath, you pushed yourself up against his chest, and slowly started to ride him. His huge hands never left your hips, always guiding your every move on his cock. His tattooed chest was slick with sweat, his lips kiss bitten, but he never looked more beautiful.

“C’mon baby, use me,” he mewled, pushing you against his cock, punching your nipple in his thumb and pointer finger. You cried out, shaking.

“Too much,” you pleaded, thigh shaking uncontrollably, arms giving out and Azriel hugged you against him, helping you out. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, and turned your head to face the mirror one more time. Azriel followed your lead, now watching together as he fucked you from below, your face tear soaked.

“You look so pretty on me,” he kissed your cheek, drawing out a loud whimper as he sped up his movement.

“Fuck,” he gasps, burying his fingers in your hair, “You gonna come?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, foreheads pressed together.

“Come with me,” he jerked, feeling his cock twitching inside you, and you once more squeezed on it, sending both of you over the edge. You bit down on his collarbone, his fingers squeezing your waist so tight, as you shook, trying to catch your breath from the orgasm.

What just happened?

“Shit,” you shivered, feeling immensely spent, your muscles like jelly.

“Was the theory true, then?” Azriel teased, turning his face towards you, his lips spreading wide at your deadpan expression.

“I just came three times.”

“Answer the question.”

“Cauldron, yes! Yes, you are a quiet, observant, mysterious guy, who appears to be fucking amazing in bed, with an even filthier mouth.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, bringing your mouth to his in a sweet kiss.

“Am I packing?” He cooed, pulling out from you, both of you hissing at the sensation, your thighs quickly covered in the remnants of him and you.

“Azriel!” You smacked his chest, gaping at him, while he had the audacity to laugh out loud at you. Egoistic ass.

He tightened his grip on your waist, not letting you go, teeth nipping at your jaw playfully. “Another round?”

“I just came three times!”

“And I have all day.”

“Can you use your shadows?” You asked after, and when his eyes literally lit up, you knew you were in for a long night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were always the more laid off, the reserved, the less talkative of the Inner Circle. Almost like Azriel, you thrived in silence, yet your observation was never overlooked.

You noticed things that others easily overlooked. Noticed things which at first seemed to be nothing, but later it’d turn out it was significant information.

Now, the thing is, you did talk. You tuned in with sarcasm, thoughtful responses, but unnecessary conversations often made you uncomfortable and icky.

Filling out the silence with useless words? You found silence comforting. It was enough for you.

However, Cassian often forgets that you are your own person. Even if he does it out of respect, answering questions that were meant solely for you, nowadays became unbearable.

You can’t remember when he picked up this habit. You never asked, and he never said so. For a while, you were relieved that Cassian knew you inside and out to come up with reliable answers for you, and answer them, for you. But he never asked if you were okay with it.

For a while now, you felt a shell of yourself. After all this time, you were convinced you were no one else, but Cassian’s opinion. Cassian now lived for two people, you lost yourself in the process.

Is it really me, or is it just Cassian’s opinion? You often found asking this yourself, but never seem to grasp an honest answer.

You knew you should stand up for yourself and confront him, but oh how much you hated it. You went so long without telling him to stop, so why now?

That was your mantra all dinner at the Townhouse.

You were seated between Azriel and Mor, while Cassian, Rhys and Feyre sat on the opposite side of the dinner table. Cutlery clinking and wine sipping, conversations and laughter flew shamelessly.

It was okay. Everything was okay.

Until Mor turned to you.

“How’s house hunting?” She asks, big brown eyes twinkling in the fae lights. Your old landlord terminated the lease agreement, and now you had the pleasure of going all over Velaris to find a new place for yourself.

Rhysand not once offered you a permanent room not only here, at the Townhouse, but at the House of Wind, but you kindly declined the offer.

You liked your peace, and neither place seemed… not quiet.

And the ten thousand steps up to the House of Wind was intimidating.

You cleared your throat, ready to answer, when Cassian beat you to it.

“She didn’t find anything yet.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by the way he was so fast to cut in. You shouldn’t be mad that he was so casual with it.

But something inside you snapped.

Your fork clinked loudly against the porcelain and the floor creaked as you pushed the chair from under you with a sharp movement. Azriel’s shadows swirled around your ankles like they also didn’t expect you to react like this, his neck snapped your direction, Mor and Rhysand looked bewildered, Feyre freezing in her place, while Cassian furrowed his eyebrows the slightest.

“Can you just let me answer a fucking question meant for me?” Your shaking voice echoed off of the walls, as stunned silence grew heavier with each shallow breath.

You never raised your voice. You never threw a tantrum. You suppressed your anger deep and well, locking it away in a tiny box deep within your mind, but it seems the key wasn't thrown away.

Cassian’s complexion paled a little, his usually warm brown eyes growing wary. Your heart was pounding against your chest, like the whole organ was ready to jump out and walk away.

“I know I don’t talk a lot,” you sighed, your voice now coming off broken. “I know it’s easy to push me sideways, because I was never meant to stand out. But please, let me just answer a question for myself.”

Not long after that, you stormed off. You felt bad for the unwanted attention you created, but it was a long time coming.

Because someone as quiet as you, can also lose temper.

—-

Cassian never meant harm.

He knew how little she likes to speak, and every time he said something instead of her, it was purely for the reason she loathes small talk.

He never meant for her to feel uncomfortable, unappreciated.

He liked when she relied on her, and liked the way she felt she could trust him. Guess he took it on a personal level, and now, he might lose that trust they built over the years.

Or maybe, was it just him building that trust? Was it just him seeing that trust?

Cassian stayed rooted in his chair, eyes remaining in her cold seat between Mor and Azriel. He thought she accidentally dropped her cutlery, but when he saw her towering over him with a dangerous glint in her eyes, his pulse dropped.

He never saw her mad.

He never meant to make her mad.

And now his dreams will be haunted by her glare, by her surfaced insecurity of not feeling enough.

Ever.

—-

Being a quiet person doesn’t always make sense to other people. They often think you’re so mean, you know better, or like a hard rock nobody can find the strength to carry, or even crack a little.

Or, it was the complete other way around, when they wanted to split you open with harsh and cruel words, because they just couldn’t accept that quiet can exist in a person.

You never could’ve imagined how easy the avoidance was, almost like a natural thing. Being in your own world, dealing with things at your own pace, no one breathing down your neck every step you make. However, working with the IC meant constant feedback, meetings and responsibilities meant to deal with keeping your people safe.

That’s why your avoidance didn’t last long, because Rhysand ordered everyone at the Townhouse.

Of course, the only person you wanted to avoid a little longer was Cassian. But once he cornered you, there was no escape.

He held your elbow lightly, but still demanded attention.

His eyes held the weight of regret, his expression crumbled.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You never heard his voice sound so light, so out of breath, so heavy with sadness.

You couldn’t look at him for so long.

After your outburst of sudden anger at that dinner a few days ago, you felt cringed and embarrassed. You debated apologising for shouting, but soon realised if you never would have spoken up, you’d always be spoken for.

Your opinions were never his.

Your thoughts were always yours.

As you looked up at him, at your General, you tried to smile, but quick enough morphed into a grimace. “It’s okay, Cass.”

He shook his head disapprovingly. “No, it’s not.”

He waited. He knew, he felt deep within his bones there’s more. That there’s a fight within you saying what you truly want him to know, and saying what he wants to hear.

What you think you want to hear.

But when your eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed like you were in pain, because he knew the inner war brewing inside you was soon coming to an end with the decision solely based upon your own need.

Your own need, which you always buried deeper than it was ever okay.

Cassian waited.

“I appreciate that you were always there,” you said with a small, shy smile on your face. “I know you thrive in chaos and loudness, but I'm not,” you shake your head gently. “I like the silence, the observation. I thrive in that. And you know I'll answer whenever I want to. You don't have to act like a spokesperson for me. I can handle myself. I stayed silent about this for so long because I hate confrontation but even I had enough. Maybe I do need to learn how to be more open like you, but please,” you closed your eyes with a little line between your brows, “Let me answer for myself.”

Cassian couldn’t muster a reply. His fingers still curled around your elbow, but it seemed he was anchoring himself rather than keeping you from escaping him. So, he just nodded, and after a silent moment between you, he let you go, and watched you walk away.

Cassian still remained close to you, although he couldn’t help but feel as if he was still walking on eggshells around you.

But he did what he was supposed to; giving you enough space to decide what counts as comfortable for you.

As a result, he watched you.

He watched you when you had to go and deal with Helion one time, and knowing his flirtatious behaviour, Cassian was ready to jump in if he noticed you felt uncomfortable. His body was spiked up with adrenaline, but once he saw your deadpan expression, he just knew; it was an answer for Helion's attempt.

He watched you closely, when Eris had the capacity of making comments about your companionship with the General.

“And yet, you bring everyone so much joy when you leave the room,” you cocked your head to the side, eyes squinting a little, smirk deepening as Eris’s pointed ears turned red.

Cassian snorted.

For a moment, he had to bite his lips so hard he tasted metal, because as calm as you stayed, he felt his blood boil, but hearing your comeback, he exhaled, relieved.

Once you escaped Eris’s arrogance and cock measuring with Cassian, you held onto his hand.

“Thank you for letting me handle that.”

“Well, I was delighted to see him turn into a tomato,” he says, and you laughed.

He loved the sound of it.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” you looked away, still a little embarrassed at the way you raised your voice at him in front of everyone.

“I deserved that,” Cassian says, his thumb brushing against your palm, breath caught suddenly.

You cleared your throat, and mustered a playful smirk on your face. “Well, it was funny to see your face when I shut you up.”

“Yeah, kick me more,” he scoffed, bumping his shoulders with yours. “ What do you want, beg you on my knees?”

“If you insist,” you shrugged, but when he lowered himself in front of you, your eyes widened. You tugged your hand away, or more like tried, because his iron grip didn't let you.

“Cassian…”

“I am so sorry for the way I acted for so long,” he started, his eyes boring into yours, and brought your knuckles closer to his mouth. “Everyhting I did was for keeping you safe. Keeping you close to me. I wanted you to rely on me, to know that I’ll always catch you if you fall. I was just too blindsided to notice how this was affecting you.”

“Keep me close?” You asked back with a whisper.

“And keep you on your toes,” he added playfully, but quickly turned serious when he saw your confused expression.

“Close to you?”

“C’mon sweetheart,” he kissed your knuckles, “you’re smart. You can figure it out.”

“Is this a subtle love confession?” You raised a single eyebrow.

“For now,” Cassian nodded enthusiastically. “I want anything, but subtle, tho.”

You couldn’t help, but to roll your eyes, however, the smile that spread over your face was anything, but subtle.

“You can never be subtle,” you said and slid a finger under his chin. Cassian smirked with mischief.

“Why would I hold back my charm?” He winked.

“Sometimes I wish you would,” you replied and pulled him up, watching him clean his leathers.

“Ouch, sweetheart. You wound me,” he put a hand over his heart.

“Let’s see how much wounding you can handle,” now it was your turn to wink, before stepping away from the gaping Lord of Bloodshed, and winnowing away, leaving him behind stunned.

Sometimes it was him who needed to be shut up.

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 radiating heat of his entire body—all corded muscle and solid weight—lays across your petite frame, molding you into the mattress beneath him. You groan, blinking back the haze of sleep as the realization hits: Azriel is well on his way to becoming one with you.

“Az,” you mumble weakly, trying to nudge him back with an elbow. “I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t care,” he replies gruffly.

“What do you mean you don’t care?” You gape at him in disbelief.

“You’re comfy. Deal with being suffocated by your lover.”

“I have to pee, tho.”

“Nooooo,” he whines now, his strong arm tightening around your waist in a desperate hug.

“Would you like me to pee in bed?”

“Hold it.”

You huff and puff, wiggling against his death grip to no avail. Apparently, Azriel is incredibly clingy on the rare mornings his profession doesn't demand his presence.

“Stay still, godsdamn it,” he groans against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You’ve got a bad breath,” you say.

“Yours is worse,” he bites back. To get you riled up, he presses a kiss to your neck with a loud, teasing breath.

“Ew, get away with your filthy mouth!”

He laughs softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You can be sorry from the other side of the bed.”

“You’re kicking me out?” he mocks, his tone dripping with feigned hurt.

“You’re choking me!”

“You never once complained about that,” he reminds you. A slow, menacing smirk spreads across his handsome face, and you blush instantly as uncalled memories of shared moans and moonlit nights flood your mind.

For a few minutes, you both lay still. The room is silent, save for the rhythmic slide of Azriel’s fingers up and down your stomach. His breathing is calm, hovering on the edge of sleep. You need to prevent that.

“I’m hungry,” you announce.

“I’m not moving,” he answers with ease, tucking his midnight wings around you like a heavy, silken cocoon.

“You want me starving?”

“Eat me. You usually provide a great feast, so I guess you can try it with me,” he shrugs casually. Your cheeks burn with fresh flames; you are genuinely speechless.

The only option left is to fight. You attempt to turn around, and in the struggle, your knee makes slow, deliberate contact with his morning wood.

Az grunts, then huffs a laugh. “Not the feast I was hoping for.”

“Prick,” you whisper against his neck, your lips brushing his Adam's apple.

In response, his large palm slides up your side until he reaches your breast, squeezing the soft flesh gently. “Oops, must’ve mistaken you with the pillow.”

“Cauldron boil me,” you laugh at his poor antics. “Actually, no. I’m boiled up already. Move, Azriel.”

“Aww, you’re calling me hot? Did I make you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I’m gonna fart under your nose,” you threaten.

“Release your demons,” he replies, eyes still closed. You’re not even sure he’s opened them once during this entire back-and-forth.

“Azrieeeeel,” you whine, your patience finally snapping. “I’m seriously going to pee myself.”

He groans loudly, finally releasing his grasp. You seize the moment, slipping away toward the bathroom. When you return, you find him sprawled on his back in the center of the bed, his wings fully spread and claiming every inch of the mattress.

With careful footsteps, you approach and climb onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his slim waist. Hazel eyes bordering on green snap open immediately, and his hands find your hips.

“Hi,” you murmur, leaning in to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He turns his head, catching your lips to deepen the kiss. Tongues graze, his hand moving to steady the nape of your neck.

“Did you brush your teeth?” he asks against your mouth.

“Don’t you dare make it a problem.”

“I’m not, just proves my point that your bed breath is worse,” he smirks arrogantly.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

Azriel kisses you harder. “I’m already ruined.”

“By what?”

“By my mate,” he says. With a sudden shift, he flips you both over, using you as his pillow once again—but not before peppering your nose, cheeks, jaw, and lips with soft, lingering kisses.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur into his hair, your hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his back.

Emerie and Nesta snorted, but raised their glass at you and drank, Emerie the wine while Nesta some tea, meanwhile Gwyn looked a little mortified, her pale skin burning in pink blush.

“What do you mean by that?” She asks, her blue eyes widening in curiosity.

“I mean that they don’t waste their breath with unnecessary words. They save that energy to devour you to your bones,” you explained, leaning closer to her a little, and she blushed even more, blinking.

“I want my man to whine, whimper, moan and grunt while he absolutely makes love to me,” you bite your lip, your head flooding with unholy things as you imagine a certain someone rearranging your guts.

“I’m not sure that’s love making anymore,” Nesta laughs.

“Yeah, that’s fucking,” Gwyn sips her wine, your eyes widening at her bluntness.

“Gods you filthy girl,” you wink at her, teasing her while she laughs at you.

“Who do you want to test that theory?” Emerie asked as she snacked on some untouched popcorn. Before you could shamelessly admit to them your obvious attraction toward a certain Illyrian warrior with blue siphons, who happens to be overly quiet and you’re hundred percent so fucking sure he’s packing, Nesta gasped.

“Mother above, you truly have to ask that? It’s Azriel, you fool,” she smacked the popcorn out of her hand, earning an annoyed grunt from Emerie.

“Oh my gods!” Gwyn exclaimed, her hand coming up to her mouth in mock disbelief.

“I won’t deny it. Well, I would if I were sober, but right now, it’s just us and the House, who’s a true girls girl, never dropping the thought over to him, am I right?” You asked playfully, looking up at the ceiling and getting your goblet full of wine, and dropping a full chocolate cake over the table. Yeah, the House was in your favour.

“Now that I’m thinking, he’s really that quiet, mysterious, observant guy,” Emerie says, eyeing the cake before you push it closer to her, earning a grateful wink.

“Y/n spends three training sessions with him and comes up with her theory,” Gwyn shook her head, but the playful glint in her eyes said she finds this amusing.

“The first occasion was more than enough to come to the conclusion that he’s packing,” you said without a heartbeat.

“I knew you were dirty minded but damn, you’re worse than Cassian,” Nesta sipped her tea, but a little teasing smirk stretched across her face.

“Well, it was obvious you were eyeing him -“

“- More like shamelessly eye fucking him,” Emerie muttered, cutting in Gwyn’s words. You snorted, changing your position on the floor, because you no longer felt your ass and back.

“I’m not sorry for finding him drop dead gorgeous,” you whined as you stretched out your body, the girls giggling above you.

While the three of them were training for a long amount of time now, they successfully lured you into the training ring two weeks ago. You owned one of the cafés in Velaris, where the three of them quickly became your regulars, knowing their orders by heart, already waiting for them usually around Fridays, when they seemed to have a couple of hours free time to spend besides seeing each other once a week for training and work. They were yappers, you quickly realised, and when once you snorted by accident while Nesta told the girls about her mate, Cassian’s fuck ups, she looked up and asked your opinion about the situation, and you stuck with them ever since.

Now, you were nowhere near on the same level as them. While they trained as Valkyries, you found that throwing daggers was more for your fun. And knife work, and swords. You learned all the footwork, just because Cassian begged you, and some arm and core strength, because as much as you didn’t want to admit, the swords were heavy. And the daggers were aimless, your wrists and biceps quickly giving up.

But once you got stronger, practicing at home your curls and aims with harmless darts you purchased at the market, he let you throw daggers into the wooden target at the ring.

And when the dagger you sent flying darted into the wooden targets head on your first try, the smug smirk on your face was inevitable, as you faced a stunned Cassian and saw Azriel for the first time, leaning his shoulder on the entrance with crossed arms over his chest, his eyes boring into yours.

You never saw a man that beautiful before. His tall frame held a pair of strong wings, one of the widest you’ve ever seen, his biceps bulging from his leather vest, tattoos curling around them, up against his neck. His hazel eyes glinted in the sun, his almost black like hair fell onto his forehead lazily, a single blue siphon glistening in the center of his broad chest, his jaw so powerful, it could cut your finger and you’d bleed out happily.

And when he talked, Mother above, you clenched your thighs together so hard, you gave yourself a sore muscle. That deep, delicious baritone of his voice was like thick honey on your sore throat. Fucking soothing.

But he didn’t talk much. However, his stance held so much power, without words and fight, he got your unresolved attention. Coming up with your theory was easy work.

What you didn’t notice, though, as you continued to eat and drink and laugh with the girls, was the shadow tendrils lurking from behind the living room's entrance. How the soft tendrils drifted back into the dark hallway, and rushed all the way back to Azriel’s room, singing their spying back to their owner.

And Azriel only just smirked.

—-

“I’m having trouble breathing, wait,” you huffed, bracing yourself on your knees as you tried to catch your breath after Cassian ordered you and the girls to sprinting sets. While they didn’t have as much trouble with the speed and breathing, you hated every single second of it.

“Pathetic,” Cassian replied, scoffing.

“I’m going to use you as my target if you don’t shut your mouth,” you threatened, glaring up at him.

“How unfortunate for you today we’re doing hand-on-hand combat,” he announced, earning a heavy grunt.

“Again?”

“You’re shit with your jabs.”

“No more raspberry cheesecake for you,” It was his favourite from your café, so you had every intention in you to deny it from him. Slowly emerging to your full length, you slowed down the erratic heartbeat against your chest, and looked around the ring, already seeing the girls pared up. You turned, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Who am I-“ you started, but another deep voice cut you in.

“- Me,” Azriel walked toward you, his leather vest showing off naked tattooed biceps, your mouth already watering at the sight, but as soon as you registered what he just said, you gaped at him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sparring with him? Over your dead body. Which could be soon.

But the Illyrian just smirked.

“I spy with my little eye someone with an unresolved theory,” he circled you, voice so low, so taunting.

“What?” Your heartbeat picked up again.

“Would you like to see if it’s true?” He leaned closer, whispering in your ear, sending goosebumps along your body.

“What is true?” You asked, turning to face him, seeing his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m quiet. I’m observant. I’m mysterious,” each sentence sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening against your training vest, the material brushing against the sensitive skin, making you hiss at the sensation.

Oh, fucking holy shit.

Your eyes widened in utter shock and mortification, your cheeks burning in complete embarrassment. He fucking heard every single word from the sleepover.

And he fucking giggled at your reaction. He leaned in again, his lips touching your earlobe, his warm breath licking the side of your neck.

“Now, you better start sending jabs or else Cassian’s going to come over and take you away, and I’m not yet ready to give you up.”

You sent a clumsy punch toward his face, to just get rid of his smugness, which he caught with a flick of his wrist.

“You’re so predictable.”

“And you were eavesdropping!”

“You’re just clumsy to notice your surroundings,” he winked, knocking you to your back with his leg over your ankle. As you pushed yourself up, he kicked out your arm, holding it down with his over your head. He was so close once more, and you were sweating and burning from mortification.

“I’m everywhere,” he said, “I bet this you already imagined. What else is in that head of yours?”

“Cauldron, you’re insufferable,” you grunted, and with a well calculated move you freed your hands from him, but your thighs pressed against his still.

“You were fucking lethal with that dagger when I first saw you,” he says, his fingers slowly spreading over your thighs, and flipped you in a heartbeat. His chest pressed against your back like mold, you felt every single perfectly sculpted muscle of him.

“I wish I could send one to your face,” you hissed, your patience wearing off, as your face pressed into the dirty ground.

“Yeah, talk dirty to me,” he groaned as you sent your elbow into his jaw, and pushed yourself up. Once more, both of you standing, you circled each other once more. What the actual fuck is happening right now?, you thought as you wiped the sweat off of your eyebrow, sending a quick glance over the ring, seeing as everyone was still sparring, not one curious pair of eyes in their way.

Azriel once more got behind you, locking your arms, his chest pressing into your back.

“You love coming behind my back,” you whispered, huffing at his mischievous face.

“Come and find out how much,” he replied.

“Gods, Azriel, stop!” You raised your voice, earning some eyes from across the ring, as you escaped from his hold. “Just, stop.”

While you prayed the ground would swallow you whole, Azriel seemed perfectly fine, enjoying your rather filthy interrogation.

“If you want to test that theory of yours,” he flicked your nose lightly, “Just come find me.”

“You wish,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I do,” he winked, and went over to Cassian, declaring a change of pairs.

—-

After the training session, you asked Nesta if you could use one of the spare rooms to shower and change. The House prepared your bath, the tub already filling with hot water as you stepped inside, throwing your clothes on the bedroom floor and submerged in the water.

You kind of flew out of the ring, not wanting to spend another second breathing the same air as Azriel.

You rubbed your eyes at the memory of him at your back, holding you down, so you can’t escape from him. You imagined him deeply buried inside you, his hard and heavy cock sliding in and out your pussy at a rapid pace, his chest pressed against your back, and your face buried in his pillows -

You rinsed quickly, stepped out the water and threw the towel to the bed to search for some clothes you left here once. The House quickly fulfilled your request, stepping into the flowy summer gown, brushed your hair and opened up the door, ready to escape from here, because Azriel’s eyes and voice kept replaying in your head, making you more flushed than before.

But now you noticed the shadows at your feet. You noticed them slowly, but surely licking their way up your ankles, the thin tendrils quickly disappearing under the hem of your dress. You let out a surprised moan, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

“You react to them so deliciously,” Azriel hugged you from behind, his strong arm coming over your stomach, while the other followed a tendril, his fingertips brushing after it. “Tell me, do you really want to go?”

No.

You should push him away, get far away from him, from this place, to forget this whole day, forget him -

He chuckled.

“For someone who has a lot to say about me, you’re very quiet.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, as his fingers brushed so close to your bare sex.

“Oh, you’d love that, don’t you? I, for one, have a lot to say,” he said, and you heard the soft click of the room closing, and turned you in his arms to face him.

Fuck it, then.

“Then prove my theory true,” you breathed, your brows slightly raised in challenge. Azriel smiled widely, his hand which was on your stomach now brushed against your jaw, angling your head so he could kiss you deeply. He tasted divine, his lips devoured yours, his other hand brushed under your dress, smacking your bare ass, causing you to jump, gasping, which he swallowed with his relentless kisses. He backed you towards the bed until your knees hit the frame. Your fingers brushed against his clothed chest, stomach, until his leather pants, pulling him incredibly closer by his belt hoops.

“Don’t rush me, sweetheart,” he whispered into your mouth, spreading kisses down your jaw and neck, then swallowing your pants in a feverish kiss. Tongues and teeth collided, bottom lips bitten and drawn out, chests rising rapidly.

But you need more, more of him, so when you grabbed his T-shirt angrily on his chest and bit his bottom lip, you finally were pushed onto the bed.

“I’m starting to think my theory remains false,” you spread your legs for him taunting, sighing, playing disappointed.

“You’re just a fucking brat with a big mouth,” he came after you after discarding his shirt and pants, ripping at your dress.

“Where’s your big mouth?” you asked, panting slightly as he pressed featherlight kisses along your collarbone.

“Right on the very woman who raised my dick with just a single throw of a dagger.”

He ripped harder on the material of your dress, finally giving away, revealing your very naked form underneath. Azriel brushed his thumb over your nipples, pressing kisses between your breasts, then sucking the pebbled flesh. You moaned shamelessly, his hands roaming over your waist and hips, spreading your thighs so he could lay between them. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against your bare cunt, your hips raising unconsciously to make more contact with him.

When he finally licked into your aching core, your back arched from the bed, fingers disappearing into his dark locks, pulling harshly as he ate you out like you were his last course of meal.

“You’re dripping for me,” he grunted.

“Fuck yeah,” you moaned loudly, not even trying to stay quiet. He hugged your thighs, fingertips printing onto your sensitive skin, tongue flicking against your clit, and diving into your hole over and over again.

“So fucking sweet,” Azriel groaned, rutting against the mattress to ease his aching need. “You’re gonna come on my tongue like the good girl you are? Or gonna make it difficult by being a brat?”

Words seemed to disappear from your mind, tongue tied as you kept kneading his locks, pressing his nose closer to your clit with each lick.

“Words,” he demanded, chin glistening with your slick.

“Yeah, I’m gonna come on your tongue,” you replied breathlessly, as he dived back and licked away everything you gave to him.

Insane.

You shook as your orgasm hit, thighs pressing harder against the side of his head, Azriel not letting up until you pushed him away, because you were so sensitive.

“On your knees,” he ordered, pressing a kiss between your breasts. You pushed yourself up on shaky hands, slowly catching your breath.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he slapped your ass cheek, the burning sensation spreading rapidly between your thighs, your pussy throbbing with ache.

“You like that?” He asked, and sent another hand down harshly on your other cheek, jumping the slightest, spreading your knees wider for him. He chuckled.

“Dirty little thing.”

“Azriel,” you looked over your shoulder, noticing him kneeling behind you, pumping himself slowly, his wings spreading wide behind him, and his shadows relentless. You were on the verge of begging.

“So impatient,” he taunted, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance. You let out a loud moan, throwing your head back. He chuckled once more. “And so responsive.”

“Don’t fucking talk, and fuck me already!”

“Now, if you’re going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like a little brat,” he licked a strip along your neck, fingers curling around your throat as he pushed in, then out. You groaned at the loss, huffing impatiently. Azriel’s fingers curled tighter around your throat. “Are you going to be good from now on?”

You nodded.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Motherfucker.

“Yes!” You shouted, glaring at him over your shoulder, to which he just smiled.

“You look so good with my hands wrapped around your throat.”

He stretched you out so fucking good, your eyes rolled back as he started pounding into you. The harsh sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths and moans filled the room, as his hand left your throat, and gathered your unbound hair into a makeshift ponytail, and guided your head to the side, facing the other side of the bed, where a mirror laid against the wall.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” Azriel pressed you against his chest, holding you up by hugging your stomach, while his right hand disappeared from your hair and circled your clit.

“Yeah, you like watching yourself, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing my cock,” he groaned against your ear, biting on your earlobe, while you watched him fucking you from behind.

And holy shit, yes, that sight was mouthwatering. Watching him guide his hip into yours at a vehement pace, his dick deep buried in you, while his other hand rubbed fast circles around your pussy. Your face was blotchy red, sweat and tears becoming one.

“Ah-az,” you whimpered, feeling your orgasm building up. He responded by pulling out, turning you around and letting you fall back on the bed, meanwhile he pulled up one of your legs, while you spread the other and Azriel pushed in once more, continuing his rapid attack on your cunt, curling his fingers around your throat, your eyes rolling back at the sensation and new, deeper angle.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he kissed you, licking into your mouth, swallowing all your moans. “Look at me,” he rasped, darkened hazel eyes meeting your glassy ones. His hips met yours like rapid fire, nipples rubbed against his broad chest, the sensitive skin making you shiver. You brought your fingers down to his face, brushing against his jaw and pushing his hair back, kissing him so deeply and moaning so loud, as he brought you over your second orgasm. Your thigh shook in his hand, as he rolled himself under you, careful of his wings, the new angle burying him even deeper inside you.

“Az, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you laid on his chest.

“Give me one more,” he elevated your head by your hair, pulling carefully, and kissed you gently, swallowing your hiccups. “You’re doing so good, give me one more,” he muttered while spreading kisses down your jaw and neck. Once you calmed down and caught your breath, you pushed yourself up against his chest, and slowly started to ride him. His huge hands never left your hips, always guiding your every move on his cock. His tattooed chest was slick with sweat, his lips kiss bitten, but he never looked more beautiful.

“C’mon baby, use me,” he mewled, pushing you against his cock, punching your nipple in his thumb and pointer finger. You cried out, shaking.

“Too much,” you pleaded, thigh shaking uncontrollably, arms giving out and Azriel hugged you against him, helping you out. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, and turned your head to face the mirror one more time. Azriel followed your lead, now watching together as he fucked you from below, your face tear soaked.

“You look so pretty on me,” he kissed your cheek, drawing out a loud whimper as he sped up his movement.

“Fuck,” he gasps, burying his fingers in your hair, “You gonna come?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, foreheads pressed together.

“Come with me,” he jerked, feeling his cock twitching inside you, and you once more squeezed on it, sending both of you over the edge. You bit down on his collarbone, his fingers squeezing your waist so tight, as you shook, trying to catch your breath from the orgasm.

What just happened?

“Shit,” you shivered, feeling immensely spent, your muscles like jelly.

“Was the theory true, then?” Azriel teased, turning his face towards you, his lips spreading wide at your deadpan expression.

“I just came three times.”

“Answer the question.”

“Cauldron, yes! Yes, you are a quiet, observant, mysterious guy, who appears to be fucking amazing in bed, with an even filthier mouth.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, bringing your mouth to his in a sweet kiss.

“Am I packing?” He cooed, pulling out from you, both of you hissing at the sensation, your thighs quickly covered in the remnants of him and you.

“Azriel!” You smacked his chest, gaping at him, while he had the audacity to laugh out loud at you. Egoistic ass.

He tightened his grip on your waist, not letting you go, teeth nipping at your jaw playfully. “Another round?”

“I just came three times!”

“And I have all day.”

“Can you use your shadows?” You asked after, and when his eyes literally lit up, you knew you were in for a long night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Doing my job,” he replied, voice as low as yours, but lacking in emotions.

You continued to glare at him.

“What is the matter with you? Ever since you came back, you act like a fucking know it all!”

It has been six months since Rhys came back from Under the Mountain. Six months, since you got back your only living relative after fifty years of silence.

You’ve been in survival mode for that period of time. Your senses got dulled due to the amount of grief, long nights spent crying and wishing for your brother to come back to you in whole.

He wasn’t whole.

He bore more pain than he ever let show.

He let the pain turn into anger.

Azriel was your salvation in the last fifty years. Maybe even before that, but from your brother’s disappearance Azriel felt a need to soften your aching heart.

Fifty years gone with a blink of an eye, and you fell in love as quickly with him.

It was cruel; while Rhysand was in suppressed pain from Amarantha’s abuse and his mate being in Tamlin’s hands, you and Azriel had never denied your feelings for each other, not even in front of him.

Maybe, it was bad.

Maybe it wasn’t the right time.

You tried to be careful in the first few months. You tried to put your brother’s feelings first, having discovered his mate being the human girl who head first went Under the Mountain, who now lived as a Fae, with Tamlin at the Spring Court.

You tried to be the sister you were before the fifty years of Amarantha, but even your brother couldn’t deny the change that occurred.

Him, coming back with more pain than he left.

You, having feelings for his Spymaster, which you never tried to sweep under the carpet.

You were careful, as well as Azriel, when it came to Rhysand. You both put your needs last in order to help Rhysand overcome his suppressed emotions.

You rarely left his side, because you also just had to make sure he was real, he was back and free. Your brother, the High Lord of the Night Court, was back and free.

But when he called in his favours with Feyre, when she started to come around, to feel whole again, you felt a relieved sigh leaving your chest, because seeing Rhysand’s eyes twinkling with stars and smile so bright, your eyes couldn’t help but wander off to Azriel.

And found him looking back with just as much joy and excitement as you, because you both felt that maybe, now you can show your relationship more freely.

But oh well, how your dreams had shattered.

Because you never wanted to live in secrets shared in the dark anymore. Kisses pressed when nobody was looking. Holding hands under the table. Looking at Azriel like he himself hung the stars in the shadows.

You wanted to love him freely and loudly, just like he deserves. It’s unfortunate that Rhysand thought only about what could serve him, and your relationship with the spymaster wasn't it.

He didn’t bother answering you, but you had enough of his brooding, of his strange play of being mysterious.

“You love him as your brother!” You exclaimed, voice cracking at the edges, but you couldn’t stand him doing this to Azriel.

Being so cruel to him.

Rhysand smacked his palm against his study table so hard, the glass of whisky shook and his violet eyes, just like yours, twinkled with danger. “And I love you, because you’re my sister!”

“This is not love, this is sabotage!”

Rhysand laughed.

“I never even began to sabotage,” he said slowly, and you paled.

“You’re cruel,” you bit out through gritted teeth, your fists shaking, the crumbled note cutting your skin. “Just because you found your true love, doesn’t mean you get to deny other’s feelings!”

Rhysand’s glare could cut ice, but you wouldn’t falter.

Rhysand knew and felt the change between you and Azriel. How can he not, when Azriel was looking at you like it was you who painted the night sky full of stars? How can he not look at you, and his eyes lighten up, like it was always meant to be you? How can Rhysand not notice the subtle touches, the way you lingered closer to Azriel, whenever he was back from his missions, your eyes raking through him searching for any cuts, any wounds needed to be healed?

Rhysand was scared. He was scared, because he knew if your relationship became more serious, there would be a much bigger possibility of you being targeted, held as leverage for the Shadowsinger and everyone else in the Inner Circle.

Rhysand was thinking in terror, and if it meant to keep you safe, he needed to separate the both of you.

“I don’t believe you know him,” he said the lie with such grace, he almost cringed.

Because you knew Azriel like the back of your hand, and in that fifty years, this evolved into something more.

But you just stared at him, your eyes glossy, cheeks tear soaked, and laughed bitterly.

“How can I, when you don’t let me see him?”

A beat of silence.

Only the rustling wind sweeping through the huge crowns of the trees was heard, but Velaris remained peaceful, stars twinkling in the night sky.

You shook your head with defeat, no longer able to look at your brother, who seemed more of a stranger now, than when he came home.

“Don’t I deserve a chance?” You asked with shoulder’s falling, tears running down your face with newfound force. You didn’t bother wiping them away. Your brother didn't care with an answer. Nowadays, it seemed like he was ghosting you, tuning you out completely.

“This isn’t fair to me,” you muttered, and turned away from him, heading towards the door you almost kicked in first.

“Don’t you dare walk away,” said Rhysand, his deep voice full of demand, but you were done listening to him.

“WHERE IS HE?” You shouted so loud the whisky glass cracked, your suppressed magic leaking from the tip of your fingers. Something glinted in your brother's violet eyes, but he remained silent.

“Where is he, Rhysand?”

“He won’t come back until further notice.”

—-

Days turned into weeks, and now the last week of the month turns into another one. Meanwhile, you lived as a ghost of yourself, feeling empty and lonely as the minutes ticked away.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s eat something,” Cassian lightly touched your elbow as you stood rooted at the windows of the Townhouse.

“No.”

You haven’t talked with your family much. You felt as if they all took Rhysand’s side, because not once you heard them talking back to him about his choice to send Azriel away from you.

How could they so easily betray you, when they saw how much he cared about you, how that care turned into love?

You certainly haven’t talked to your brother, who pretty much seemed okay with the idea of you suffering.

You couldn’t pick up anything else from the way he was looking at you sometimes.

However, your eyes never once dulled the pain, the anger he caused. Your spine locked up painfully, your arms remained crossed over your chest, like you were shielding the remaining hope in your body of Azriel returning to you, because that hope kept you looking for him, staying rooted at the window and searching the baby blue morning, and deep blue night skies every single day.

That little hope, you were greedy for it.

Greedy for it, because you felt deep inside your heart, that Azriel wasn't dead. But the ache of something else kept you scratching at your chest.

Cassian beside you sighed, his touch leaving you as he walked back to the dining table, where everyone else stayed seated.

Rhysand, Feyre, Mor, Amren and Cassian.

You faintly heard Cassian murmuring a “she’s not hungry”, and then the clinking of the cutlery against the porcelain.

You had a faint feeling that Rhysand not just once tried to enter your mind. Maybe, to order you to the table, you never knew, because your mental shields blocked him out completely.

Not only him, but Feyre too. She was given powers from the High Lords when she was Made, and Rhysand’s portion of daemati power also appeared in her.

You felt the faint bang against your shields whenever she tried to enter. She wasn’t so careful with it like Rhysand.

You sucked in a harsh breath as you felt that distinct ache in your chest, fingernails leaving red scratches on your skin.

“Y/n?” Mor asked, her voice cautious as she slowly rounded the table.

You couldn’t answer.

You scratched deeper, broke the skin more.

Breath came out ragged, suddenly it was so hard to fill your lungs.

“Sister,” Rhysand’s voice came next, along with his purposeful bootstraps on the floor.

“What have you done?” You whimpered out of breath, eyes searching the morning sky, the sidewalks, panicking.

Something was very fucking wrong.

“Y/N!”

And once you saw him appearing from out of the blue, all bloodied, wings shredded and broken, you teared up the front door of the house, banging against the wall so hard the paint chipped off, and ran towards Azriel, who just collapsed on the ground, his chest barely moving.

You fell hard on the stone under your knees, frantically pulling Azriel closer to you, your chest heavy with that unbearable pain, your eyes burning as you took him in.

His face was beaten, black already smeared across his jaw and eye shut swollen, his lips bleeding. His precious wings shredded, which you knew could be mended, but will take a lot of time to Madja. His leg was broken, his chest barely raising under your palm, your ears started ringing.

You heaved above him, but couldn’t see further across him, like a golden orb swallowed you, cocooning both of you from the world, swallowing both of you in that enormous pain.

“No,” you heard yourself saying. “No, no, NO!”

“Azriel…” You brushed your fingertips over his swollen cheek, brushing away his blood matted hair from his forehead.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” You shouted as loudly as you could from the pain sweeping through your bones, looking over your shoulder to see Rhysand standing a few feet away from you, behind him Feyre, her blue eyes wide with terror.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE,” you wept, burying your face into Azriel’s bloodied leathers, crying over his broken body.

“Get Madja!”

You didn’t know who said that. Maybe it was you, maybe it was Mor, or Cassian. All you knew, that your love was laid unconscious and broken before you, all because of your brother.

And you weren’t sure you could forgive him.

—-

“Leave,” you didn't look up, but felt another winged male entering the room you were standing in, eyes locked on Azriel’s now mended and healing body, but still remained unconscious.

“Sweetheart, please, Rhys…”

“Don’t waste your breath kissing his ass.”

“That’s not true,” you heard the disbelief and hurt in his rumbling voice, but you didn’t care.

“You weren’t even trying to help. Where was he, hm?” You pointed a finger at Azriel, looking at Cassian with expectation. He didn’t utter a single word. “You didn’t even try looking for him. You saw and did nothing, when my brother sent him away. You sat back, and kissed his ass, because what? He’s a High Lord?”

Cassian opened his mouth, but you quickly cut him off.

“And don’t you dare say because he is your brother and respects his decision. Azriel is your brother, too! Where was Mor, huh?” You spread your arms, shoulders shrugging. “At Rita’s, every single fucking time, drinking away her every thought. Everyone went on like it was nothing. You licked his ass clean, even Feyre’s, meanwhile I was waiting for my mate to come back from this gods damned mission, which was purely personal, because Rhysand couldn’t handle that I can love someone else besides him.”

“Mate?” Cassian’s eyes bulged, his wings flaring slightly from the sudden news.

You rolled your eyes.

“Why was I heaving then? Couldn’t breathe? Why did I scratch my skin to the point of bleeding when he appeared broken? I felt his pain in my bones, igniting every vein. He’s my mate, Cassian.”

Cassian cursed softly.

You turned your back to him, focusing on your love on the bed.

“Leave me alone, Cassian. Just like you did when I needed you,” you whispered, and quickly swept away a tear, before he could see it.

When you heard the door closing, just then let yourself cry, body brushing against Azriel’s carefully, forehead pressed against his shoulder, as you wept and wept and wept, until your tears lulled you to sleep, next to your mate, and the faint glow of the golden thread between you.

—-

In the morning, Madja came, waking you up with a gentle touch on your shoulder. Your eyes were puffy and red, but she smiled down at you with kindness. You tried to return it, but it came out more like a grimace.

“I’m going to check his ribs and wings,” she said, putting down her things softly at the bedside table.

“Should I go?” You asked, clearing your throat, while pushing yourself up to sit. Madja just spoke her head.

“Stay, Y/n.”

You stayed. You watched as she undid the bandage on Azriel’s ribs, nodding approvingly as she saw the bruises and cuts clearing nicely. His broken leg remained wrapped, a few more days before his bone fully healed, she said. However, his beautiful wings will take the majority of time to heal, because they suffered the most severe injuries.

Your chin trembled, but blinked away the upcoming tears.

“He should wake up soon,” Madja said, then with a gentle smile, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving you with him alone.

You laid back next to him, careful fingers brushing over his eyelids, his nose, now greenish bruises over his cheeks, until your palm rested on his heart, feeling the solid thump thump thump.

“I wish you would have never been sent away,” you murmured against his skin, tears rolling onto his shoulder. “I wish you wouldn’t have to write that note.”

“I wish I knew where you were, so I could have gone after you,” you nuzzled your face deeper into him. “You mean the world to me, Azriel. Please, come back to me,” you shoulders shook from the force of your crying, your chest heavy with sorrow.

“Come back to me,” you repeated over and over again, lips brushing against his warm skin, palm resting on his heart.

—-

You dreamt of him.

You dreamt of his smile, of his adoring dimples you discovered once and never stopped loving ever since.

You dreamt of his gentle touch, of you kissing his scarred hands, pouring love into his skin.

“My love,” he said with so much love and warmth and softness in his deep voice, goosebumps appeared all over your body.

“My love, my love, my love,” he repeated all over your dream, his voice coming closer and closer until it became so loud, you opened your eyes.

A single faelight lit up the dark room, the sheets around your body warm. You fall asleep after Madja left, you realise.

You blinked twice, trying to get the haziness out of your vision, stretching your arms and fingers, gently brushing over where Azriel’s body laid next to yours.

His heart was beating faster.

Your breath hitched.

You look up, seeing the faelight illuminating his handsome face, his fluttering eyelids.

You gasped.

As carefully as you could, you pushed against the warm mattress to sit up, laying a shaking palm against his cheek.

“Azriel,” you whispered, thumb brushing against his cheekbone.

Maybe this means nothing.

Maybe your hopes are just high, ready to jump on every opportunity that suggests Azriel might wake up.

You missed his voice. His dry humour, his wordless expressions that you grew so accustomed to seeing, and biting away a laugh at that.

You missed his beautiful hazel eyes, those eyes that held so much warmth every time he looked at you.

Your chin trembled as your vision started to fade, fresh tears ready to spill out. You laid your head on his chest, shoulders shaking soundlessly.

“I miss you,” you cried, voice muffled.

His breathing wasn't as shallow as before. Now, it grew stronger with each breath, chest raising powerfully.

“I miss you,” you said again, hair falling into your face.

“My love,” your dream stayed close to your eyelids, but hearing his voice so clearly sent goosebumps through your body again.

“Come back to me.”

“My love.”

The sheets were rustling.

A gentle, shaking hand touched your back.

You picked up your head so fast the room spiralled, your bloodshot eyes locking onto Azriel’s half open hazel ones.

You couldn’t breathe.

His fingers curled around your dress more purposefully.

“My love,” he said with his voice cracking, his chest rumbling against your palm.

“Azriel!” You exclaimed. “Oh, my gods, Azriel! Thank you, Mother, thank you, thank you!”

You hugged him carefully around his neck, body pressing to him, as he held you close, his nose brushing against your neck.

“It wasn't a dream,” you realised as you looked up from his neck, shaky fingers brushing away his hair from his forehead. His eyes were still half closed, but his growing smile held so much hope that everything was going to be okay, your heart jumped.

“I heard you,” he rasped, his own fingers curling around your hair to see your face more clearly,” I heard you every time,” his thumb swept away every falling tear.

“I love you,” you said with utter certainty, and when Azriel tugged on the bond which tethers you and him together, you smiled wide with relief.

It snapped to him, too.

Azriel brushed his lips against yours, his kiss so delicate and tender you sighed into it.

“I felt you,” you say once you caught your breath,” I felt your pain. I was waiting for you when I felt your pain and that’s when it snapped to me.”

“It snapped to me when I wrote that note to you.”

You cried.

He kissed away every single tear.

Then the door opened.

And when you looked over your shoulder, you saw your brother and Cassian standing there.

—-

Madja came and went, reassuring Azriel that his broken leg healed perfectly, but the wings will take a little more time to be fully capable of flying. So until then, Azriel remained in bed rest.

“You have to understand, brother, that I won’t ever leave her behind, again,” Azriel’s lethal voice in Rhysand’s study echoed, your spine locking up painfully from the nerves. “I won’t let you ever again dictate my waking moments and thoughts. I won’t let you take her away from me, force me away from her.”

Rhysand learned about the mating bond.

His face revealed nothing, but his eyes twinkled a bit.

“This mission was a failure from the beginning,” Azriel said, “because the unbearable feeling of being away from her started to eat me up from the inside out. It drove me insane, and you could think that it was a beginner's mistake, but try being away for so long from your mate without going batshit crazy,” his eyes glinted dangerously.

“I’m willing to stay with you,” Azriel said after a minute of silence, “because you were my brother from the moment you let me stay with you, Y/n and your mother,” he looked at you for a fleeting moment, his hand resting on your lower back.

Rhysand’s violet eyes turned to yours.

You remained silent.

“She is the love of my life, and when you were away, I proved not once, not twice, but all the time that I’m more than capable of loving her as she deserves. Our life didn't stop. We had to survive somehow and this was the result. And I’m not sorry,” Azriel’s touch was grounding, his voice commanding.

Rhysand’s shoulder fell slightly, but you knew, he wasn’t someone who said sorry right away.

Azriel knew that, too, so when he turned his back to him, wings laying low it almost touched the ground, he kissed your forehead lovingly and walked out the study.

You stayed rooted.

“I won’t ever forgive you for what you did to him,” you whispered, a huge contrast to your mates echoing voice. “His broken body will live in my head until the day I die,” your nails bite into your palms.

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."

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 radiating heat of his entire body—all corded muscle and solid weight—lays across your petite frame, molding you into the mattress beneath him. You groan, blinking back the haze of sleep as the realization hits: Azriel is well on his way to becoming one with you.

“Az,” you mumble weakly, trying to nudge him back with an elbow. “I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t care,” he replies gruffly.

“What do you mean you don’t care?” You gape at him in disbelief.

“You’re comfy. Deal with being suffocated by your lover.”

“I have to pee, tho.”

“Nooooo,” he whines now, his strong arm tightening around your waist in a desperate hug.

“Would you like me to pee in bed?”

“Hold it.”

You huff and puff, wiggling against his death grip to no avail. Apparently, Azriel is incredibly clingy on the rare mornings his profession doesn't demand his presence.

“Stay still, godsdamn it,” he groans against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You’ve got a bad breath,” you say.

“Yours is worse,” he bites back. To get you riled up, he presses a kiss to your neck with a loud, teasing breath.

“Ew, get away with your filthy mouth!”

He laughs softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You can be sorry from the other side of the bed.”

“You’re kicking me out?” he mocks, his tone dripping with feigned hurt.

“You’re choking me!”

“You never once complained about that,” he reminds you. A slow, menacing smirk spreads across his handsome face, and you blush instantly as uncalled memories of shared moans and moonlit nights flood your mind.

For a few minutes, you both lay still. The room is silent, save for the rhythmic slide of Azriel’s fingers up and down your stomach. His breathing is calm, hovering on the edge of sleep. You need to prevent that.

“I’m hungry,” you announce.

“I’m not moving,” he answers with ease, tucking his midnight wings around you like a heavy, silken cocoon.

“You want me starving?”

“Eat me. You usually provide a great feast, so I guess you can try it with me,” he shrugs casually. Your cheeks burn with fresh flames; you are genuinely speechless.

The only option left is to fight. You attempt to turn around, and in the struggle, your knee makes slow, deliberate contact with his morning wood.

Az grunts, then huffs a laugh. “Not the feast I was hoping for.”

“Prick,” you whisper against his neck, your lips brushing his Adam's apple.

In response, his large palm slides up your side until he reaches your breast, squeezing the soft flesh gently. “Oops, must’ve mistaken you with the pillow.”

“Cauldron boil me,” you laugh at his poor antics. “Actually, no. I’m boiled up already. Move, Azriel.”

“Aww, you’re calling me hot? Did I make you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I’m gonna fart under your nose,” you threaten.

“Release your demons,” he replies, eyes still closed. You’re not even sure he’s opened them once during this entire back-and-forth.

“Azrieeeeel,” you whine, your patience finally snapping. “I’m seriously going to pee myself.”

He groans loudly, finally releasing his grasp. You seize the moment, slipping away toward the bathroom. When you return, you find him sprawled on his back in the center of the bed, his wings fully spread and claiming every inch of the mattress.

With careful footsteps, you approach and climb onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his slim waist. Hazel eyes bordering on green snap open immediately, and his hands find your hips.

“Hi,” you murmur, leaning in to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He turns his head, catching your lips to deepen the kiss. Tongues graze, his hand moving to steady the nape of your neck.

“Did you brush your teeth?” he asks against your mouth.

“Don’t you dare make it a problem.”

“I’m not, just proves my point that your bed breath is worse,” he smirks arrogantly.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

Azriel kisses you harder. “I’m already ruined.”

“By what?”

“By my mate,” he says. With a sudden shift, he flips you both over, using you as his pillow once again—but not before peppering your nose, cheeks, jaw, and lips with soft, lingering kisses.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur into his hair, your hands smoothing over the broad expanse of his back.