no choice but to daddy

Cassian’s responding huff is less wounded and more offended this time around. “How come you’re allowed to touch her?” 

“Because I don’t rub her back like I’m trying to warm her up after a dip in the Sidra.” 

“Is that what it is, gorgeous?” Cassian hums conspiratorially, laying his head on your pillow and encouraging you to open your eyes. “Am I just too hot to handle?” 

You end up looking slightly down at him from where your head is resting on your folded arms, and while his smirk screams mirth and his eyes ooze love, the tension in his wings really gives away the extent of his concern. 

You throw him a bone. “That’s exactly it.” 

His wings relax before fluttering gently. “I knew Az was just jealous of me.” 

“Can you blame him?”

“Not even a little.”

“I don’t appreciate you two ganging up on me,” Azriel announces with a certain level of reproach, though he dutifully repositions the cloth to the side that hasn’t been warmed by your fever heated skin. 

“You usually love when we gang up on you,” Cassian replies, returning to lying on his back as he smirks up at his Illyrian mate. 

“I’ve never once said I liked that.”

“Didn’t have to.” Your reply comes muffled by the way your face is hidden in your arms, but you know it’s heard when Cassian lets out a laugh. 

Before he has a chance to continue his crusade against Azriel, the shadowsinger speaks.

“Cassian, why don’t you go to the shops and pick her up some ice cream.”

“But-”

“It might not bring her fever down, but I think it would feel nice.”

Cassian stills, and when you open your eyes you’re met with his furrowed brow and hazel eyes. “Would that help, sweetheart?” 

The warmth in your chest nearly rivals the fever you’re suffering and the slight burning of your sinuses. 

“That’d be really nice, Cass.” 

He looks at you like you’ve just gutted him. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a barely there kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed. “You’ll be okay with Az?” 

You can almost hear Azriel glowering at the Illyrian general, but you muster up a grin. “I’m in good hands.”

Cassian softens further, pausing to squeeze Azriel’s arm in thanks and to press a kiss to his temple in apology for the teasing before he takes off out the window. 

Azriel’s quiet for a few moments, long enough that you can feel the mattress pulling you deeper into its hold before he speaks. 

“You’re too good to him.”

You twist your neck so that you’re facing him, though you keep your eyes closed. “Hm?”

Azriel shifts higher up on the bed, perched on the edge by your hip and raising his hand to brush the sweaty baby hairs plastered to your hairline. 

“Your forehead is as hot as the cauldron, yet you placate him because you know he’s worried about you.” 

“He’s easy to placate.” 

Azriel hums noncommittally. “Try to rest, my love. I’ll play interference and keep him distracted when he gets back.” 

And that all sounds well and fine, but a brief moment of panic stops you from immediately giving in to sleep.

“But I want my ice cream, though.”

Another breath tickles your shoulder—the Azriel equivalent of a laugh—before it’s chased away by a delicate kiss and a shroud of shadows. 

“I’ll make sure you get your ice cream, love,” he promises as your consciousness starts to darken at the edges. “Get some rest.”

Nothing about that male was innocent; from that leering look in his eyes whenever you walked up to the counter to the way he leaned in close whenever you offered a nicety. And that was all it was: a nicety. Right? Azriel was now unsure if he had misread your body language and you were actually interested in the guy as well. He hoped not.

You were one of the priestesses who had joined the group of Valkyrie, where Azriel had first met you. From what his shadows gathered, Cassian had taken you from an abusive household in one of the Illyrian camps and deposited you to the safety of the House of Wind library where many young, troubled females sought refuge. How Azriel had been unaware of your close presence for nearly four decades was baffling. Your scent alone had his instincts reverting to outdated primal urges.

It had been a handful of months of your training and something of a friendship had blossomed between you and the otherwise impassive Shadowsinger. From the first time you nicked his jaw with the heel of your foot, he had been...fascinated by you.

Many shared water breaks and lunches later, it became routine for him to accompany you in Valeris to drop you off at Feyre's art studio to help teach the youth classes and then take you home. And, despite your continued insistence that he didn't need to trouble himself, he found escorting you to be the best part of his day.

Much to his confusion, he couldn't push you from the recesses of his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, your face appeared, a smile curving your lips and eyes sparkling with mirth. Every female he came across sparked no feelings in his chest like you did. Hel, his body responded to you like a teenager.

He thought you felt the same until the fateful day where you asked to stop at the local apothecary on the way to the House of Wind. He had obliged of course, needing no pleading from you when just the tilt of your head was enough incentive to assent to any idea you could come up with.

It had become a new development for you to hold his hand during this shared time together, something Azriel had been startled yet content to do. You often commented on the state of his hands, never rudely or disgusted, as he was accustomed to, but concerned over his well-being.

You examined one of the thickest scars as he led you through the city, thumb brushing over the raised skin. "Everything must be a sensory nightmare," you murmur affectionately.

He pulled you closer to avoid other pedestrians. "After five hundred years you learn to live with it."

You obviously weren't satisfied with his answer. "Have you ever asked Madja for some type of balm or anything? Surely there's something that would help."

With any other person, he would have pulled his hand from their grasp and switched the topic, but he rather enjoyed your fussiness. So he let you explore the leathery ridges of his scars with your own small, soft fingers, and reveled in the attention. "Sure, I've asked her, but there's very little that can be done when I have very little time to keep up on taking care of them. My job is very demanding."

You huffed, annoyed. "You take so little care of yourself, Azriel. I feeling inclined to believe you put more effort into managing Truthteller than you are of your own body."

He bit the inside of his cheek to hide the tilt of his lips. He was really enjoying your fussiness.

As soon as you entered the apothecary building, he left you to conduct your business at the front while he perused the store. An annoyingly handsome male greeted you with an annoying smile and Azriel resisted the urge to let his shadows spy on your conversation. You were a grown female and the least he could do was provide you with privacy.

He took a breath to release the tension coiling in his shoulders. He also might have rolled them dramatically so that the siphon on his bicep glinted in the apothecary's eye.

Fortunately, you wrapped up your conversation and paid for your items quickly before returning to Azriel. His heart flipped when your fingers found his immediately.

He didn't have anything to worry about. Right?

The assorted smells of spices and essential oils assaulted Azriel's sense for the third time in the past fortnight. He thought that after that first visit it would be some time before he stepped inside the stupid apothecary yet here he was.

Like every other time, you were at the counter and speaking with him while Azriel attempted to distract himself by looking at soaps and sugar scrubs. Who could blame him that he had the occasional urge to send his shadows to eavesdrop? It's not like he actually authorized the direction.

His teeth clenched tightly at the sound of your melodic laugh reaching his ears. Why the Hel was he making you laugh? And about what? Some dumb herbal joke, no doubt.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the male rubbing something into your hand. The intimate gesture caused Azriel's feet to storm out of the shop before the movement could register in his brain.

As soon as the fresh air hit his face, he gulped it in, attempting to calm the overwhelming surge of emotions filtering through him. What was happening to him? He had never felt so strongly about anyone. Ever. Not even Mor or Elain or Gwyn.

Less than a minute later, the bell on the door chimed and a tentative hand perched on his arm. "Azriel?"

He slowly turned around and met your worried eyes. "Are you finished?" his voice came out gruffer than he'd intended.

You nodded, searching his gaze. "Are you alright? You ran out like the hounds of Hel were on your heel."

Not even those hounds could stop him from tearing into that male if Azriel had spent one moment longer in that small, stuffy parlor. It was only by consideration of you that he'd managed to make it outside and cool off instead of reacting.

He flexed his fingers to release any lingering frustration. "I'm all right."

Your attention flicked to his hand and you grasped it without ceremony and brought it up close for examination. "Are they hurting? It's growing colder and I assume that irritates the skin?"

A portion of Azriel's bad mood melted. Here you were caring for him while he was in a bad mood over some inconsequential fae.

"It tends to feel tight and itchy in cold weather, especially when it's dry," he murmured softly, "but it's manageable."

True enough, his skin had been starting to crack and bleed which was more uncomfortable than painful. He would opt to wear gloves but they only felt more constricting, making him feel suffocated.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You said that last time. Are you just to averse to anyone wanting to help you that you pretend everything's fine all the time?"

"Us males are the ones who are supposed to take care of females; not the other way around."

"Well Azriel," you twine your fingers with his and press a gentle kiss to his irritated knuckles. "I'm going to take care of you regardless of your old fashioned gender beliefs."

He used his free hand to chuck under your chin in a playful scolding. "Didn't anyone teach you how to speak to your elders?"

"Considering the amount of times I've mopped the training mat with you, I deserve the right to speak to you anyway I wish." You retaliated confidently, stepping close enough that he could smell that scent that was uniquely you.

Azriel had a comeback on the tip of his tongue when a shadow drew his attention to the outside of your hand that held his. Right where the apothecary had touched you was turning red as if aggravated. "What did he do to you?"

"Hm?" you looked to where he was studying and a blush tinged your cheeks. "Oh, he was just-I asked if I could try out a new product he had lying about."

It didn't take a professional detective—which is what Azriel essentially was—to know that you were lying. He only wondered why?

He considered heading back into the shop and demanding to know what was in this product that had marred your skin but decided against it when you pulled him away, rambling on about something or other and effectively hauling Azriel's thoughts to you. Which worked Every. Single. Time.

"-he put this product on her hand that made it rash. And, I swear to the gods Cassian, I am going to kill him if he touches her again."

Cassian ducked to avoid a fist to the face, and chuckled, completely oblivious to the amount of sleep—which was less than usual—Azriel had lost over this situation. "You can't exactly do anything about it. She's allowed to date whoever she wants because she's only your friend...right?"

Azriel swept a foot and knocked Cassian on his ass. The bastard knew she was more than a friend and just wanted to get a rise out of Azriel.

Cassian tapped out and they both went to get some water.

"I just don't know what to do." Azriel scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling at a loss. "I'd leave her alone if she asked but I don't know if I could live knowing she was with another male."

A large hand clapped over his shoulder. "You're in love, you idiot."

Love? Azriel anticipated the alarm that normally accompanied that word. Instead, he felt welcome to the idea. Perhaps he did love you. And if that was the case, then he had to do something about it.

"I don't think either of us ever expected this but what-"

"Just tell her," Cassian replied bluntly, sipping at his water as if they were discussing something as innate as the weather. "There's no need for dramatics. At least that's what Nesta told me when I finally confessed my feelings.

"Should I really trust yours and Nesta's love advice?"

"Considering I get laid multiple times a day, yes." A smug smile grew on his brother's face, unsettling Azriel.

He swallowed what was left in his cup and walked away without another word. If he was going to confess anything to you, he needed to be away from Cassian so as to not do anything stupid.

"You're welcome!" Cassian called.

Azriel flew into Valeris and spent the better part of an hour pacing outside of the art studio, contemplating what he would say.

He was completely certain that whatever he managed to come up with would disappear from his mind as soon as he saw you walk out the doors and he was right.

The sight of you laughing at something Feyre said had Azriel's heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Would he feel this way every time he saw you? Most likely. Was he ready for it? Absolutely.

You hadn't noticed him immediately, speaking to Feyre in a hushed tone when the high lady prodded you and you finally looked up. Azriel had never seen so beautiful a smile as the one that tilted your lips.

"Well, I'm just going to close up," Feyre said and returned back inside.

"Hi," Azriel offered.

"Hi," you blushed.

No matter that you had done this more than a dozen times, it would feel brand new each time.

Soon enough, you and Azriel were walking along the Sidra hand in hand, talking about anything and everything. Azriel considered telling you about his feelings every now and then but was too afraid to break the relaxed moment.

"Can we stop by the shop?"

Azriel nearly groaned aloud at your request. "Must we really?"

"Yes!" you replied, nearly giddy. Giddy to see the apothecary? "I have something ve-ery important to pick up."

He hesitated. The past few times he had been able to hold himself back from saying or doing something stupid but he wasn't so sure as to this time.

Before he could answer, you were tugging him in that damned shop.

He was there, like always, and greeted you eagerly. Azriel was about to move to a wall and leave you to your shopping when you pulled him with you to the counter. The closer in proximity to this male had his blood boiling but your hand in his was an anchor. He wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon Westley," you tilted your head, "this is Azriel, my boyfriend. Azriel, Westley owns this shop."

Boyfriend. You said boyfriend. And without any stumbling or delay. Azriel's chest puffed in male satisfaction and he gave Westley a smug grin.

"You're the Shadowsinger, right? I was tempted to ask each time you came in but was too nervous." Westley chuckled uneasily, eyes sliding from Azriel to you as if searching for some comfort from the tension rising.

"I am."

A pregnant pause and then you clear your throat. "Do you have my balm?"

"Yes!" Westley took the out and scurried into the back room to retrieve whatever you had ordered.

"I"m your boyfriend?" Azriel wasted no time in asking, leaning against the counter and pulling you close, his hand snaking to rest on your hip.

Pink splashed across your cheeks, something he'd never get tired of seeing. "I-I assumed? We have been going out for the better part of four months...right?"

He smiled softly at your sudden timidness and he moved his hand to the small of your back to better hold you near. "We have," he assured, much to your relief, "although I hope you'll forgive me for not taking you out on actual dates. An issue I'll remedy tonight."

"So you're not mad that I told Westley that we're together?"

"Mad? If anything I'm pleased. The guy's been bugging me every time we've come in."

Your brows pulled. "Why?"

Azriel rubbed his thumb along your spine. "He watches you like you're the last dessert on the table and always makes you laugh." He grumbled.

You laughed, "You make me laugh all the time."

"That's different,"

Westley stepped back out with a metal tin and opened it, revealing the scent of lavender, chamomile, and a few other scents Azriel didn't recognize. Without asking, he reached for your hand and, before he could do anything, Azriel grasped his wrist, twisting it at an uncomfortable angle. Westley yelped.

"Don't touch her," Azriel warned deeply, glaring at the male.

You soothed your hands along Azriel's chest, attempting to calm him down. "Azriel. Let go. You're going to hurt him."

Without letting go, he looked at you. "Every time this bastard has put his hands on you, you grow a rash or your skin gets red. I can't stand to see anyone put you in any discomfort."

Your features softened and you curled your fingers around his forearm. "I promise he wasn't doing anything intentionally harmful,"

Azriel slowly let go of the apothecary's wrist and instead glared at him. "What have you been putting on her?"

Westley rubbed at his tender skin and kept his eyes glued to the counter. "A healing salve-"

"-for you." You finished, picking up the tin he'd dropped and dipping your fingers into it to collect the ointment inside. "I wanted to make something that would help your scars so Westley and I concocted a salve. It took a few tries to get it right—hence why I had a few rashes—but we got one that proved hopeful."

So that's why you had rashes? Because you had been testing out a salve for him?

Nobody had ever done anything so thoughtful for him. Ever.

He gave in to his urge and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. The rest of the shop, and Westley, disappeared, leaving only you and Azriel in this cocoon of warmth and intimacy. His fingers dug into your hips, pressing you so close you could have crawled into his skin. Your own fingers found and grasped tightly at his shoulders, leveraging you upwards.

Ahem.

Azriel pulled away and looked, heavy-lidded, to the apothecary who was watching the scene with a wince. "It'll be two six gold coins."

Azriel tossed whatever he had in his pocket and moved you out of the shop. "We're never going there again," he mumbled.

"What about if you need more ointment?" you laughed, amused by his apparent disliking of the fae.

"Madja can gather the ingredients and make it herself. I don't want to see you around that male ever again."

You only leaned into his side, massaging more ointment into his hands as he led you to a sidewalk, gentler than he'd ever imagined anyone could be with him. "I love you Azriel. Even if you're acting like an overprotective male."

"And I love you," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and took you home.

Your refute of your fae form hung in the air, bed sheets crumpling between your fingers, expression distraught. There was no reason for them to believe you, though they weren’t outright throwing you into the dungeons you knew lurked below. That had to be a good sign. Your lungs felt as if they were going to burst. 

“I swear,” you repeated, only because no one had said anything. There was only blinking and dead air. “I don’t even have any magic or special skills that would help me in an uprising. I didn’t have this body a few hours ago. You have to believe me.” 

Something flickered on Rhysand’s face as your pleading faded. Another silent conversation then took place. He looked to Azriel—who seemed to flinch—and Azriel gave him one stiff nod. The High Lord ticked his jaw and rubbed his hand along his chin. 

“It would be easier for us to believe your story,” Rhysand slowly replied, though his voice was void of the earlier suspicion. He sounded tired. “If you did not sit in this room, emanating power.” 

You paused, brows furrowing. You looked within yourself for whatever he was talking about, but everything felt different about you, so it was impossible to pinpoint. You didn’t feel powerful, and you certainly didn’t feel emanating, but you were also interpreting a strange language and seeing colors you never had before, so your judgment was unreliable.

You grimaced. “I… am?” 

“It’s quite overwhelming,” Mor gently offered, hands clasped together in front of her waist. She brought her fingers up and pinched them. “Maybe even a little bit suffocating. So you’ll have to forgive the third degree. There are many threats we have to look out for. Especially in recent months.” 

“Suffocating,” you whispered under your breath. “I didn’t mean—” 

“It’s all right,” Azriel interrupted as your fear began to grow once more. 

You craned your neck up to look at him, still so close and imposing over the bed. He had a strange smile on his face that looked as if it was meant to be comforting, but it came across as pained and lingering. You blinked at him. 

“We could clear most of this up now if you were to let me in,” Rhysand posed, snapping your gaze away from the Spymaster. He tapped his temple and nodded towards you. “It wouldn’t hurt if you allowed me to look.” 

“Look?” 

“In your mind. I’m Daemati. I can confirm everything you say if you allow me in.” 

Right. You’d read about that. You remembered. You’d wanted him to look not too long ago, but that had been before—before the pain and fear and blubbering confession. Before you realized you were even more different than you’d thought. 

“How do I do that?” you posed, eagerly straightening on the bed. “Can I just say you can come in, or—” 

“No,” Rhysand shook his head. “It’s more contingent on that wall around your mind. The barrier. It’s—very strong. If you get yourself to lower it, or even just find a point for me to see in, that would be helpful.”

You blinked, searching your mind for the offending force. You shifted to sit on your heels, vaguely aware that you’d distanced yourself from the headboard as the conversation had gone on. If anyone were going to believe you, you needed to do this. You needed to remove the barrier and let Rhysand— 

You paused, an airy breath escaping you. 

Was this real? 

It had to be. 

You bit hard into your bottom lip and focused, but instead of a barrier, you passed by a thread. The same thread that had led you here, and the same one that elicited such a panic within you when you pulled at it before. You formed your thoughts around it, letting a few brush along its edges. A choking sound caught in the room. You searched harder for the barrier. 

Your mind was like a physical space, unusual in its layout. You could see the wall Rhysand was referring to, but it didn’t necessarily look like a wall. It was made up of fractured lines and letters that mixed into words you couldn’t read. Alarmingly, the words were so familiar you almost had the ability to make them out, but the moment you tried, they would warp and become illegible. 

Frustrated tears welled in your eyes—frustrated and confused and scared. Each time you got closer to the wall, it would inch away, and you ran and ran until an ache permeated along your temples. You wouldn’t allow yourself to fall into the abyss that panicked over this strange form of your mind. But you had never been able to see inside this way, so—no, this was real. You were going to approach everything as if it were real, because if you didn’t, you would be crazy and in denial. You could only pick one. Could only accept one at a time. 

There was a small dent in the wall. You could pick out where the letters wavered there, a small warped outline hovering just above the floor of the space. You were out of breath by the time you had an answer for Rhysand, the act of searching your mind more taxing than you had anticipated. 

“I think there is something—a way for you—” 

“I see it,” Rhysand quickly responded. He dove in before you were ready, a blinding panic filling you. It didn’t hurt, but something felt wrong. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there, and you supposed he wasn’t, but it was more intrinsic than that. The discrepancy felt ancient.

You sucked in a breath and fell forward slightly, reaching to steady yourself and grasping at the first thing within reach. Fingers wrapped around your wrist and held you steady, and you clenched your eyes shut as the invasion continued. 

Memories were tumbling around behind the wall—of New York, the busy streets when you went to the city, a few moments on a train as you scrolled on your phone. You felt each memory being observed by the High Lord, but those weren’t all of your memories. You couldn’t show him everything, even though you willed it. A blurry image of your reflection materialized in your mind—the you from before. You fixed your hair in a floor-length mirror in a fitting room, ears rounded, features plain in the way any human’s were. And then Rhysand was forced from your mind with that same ancient force, a harsh shove sending him stumbling back in the physical space. 

You let out a shuddering exhale. The High Lord paled. 

~~

You were left alone without much fanfare, though the several baffled looks thrown your way made you feel like a sideshow. Rhysand had been quick to share what he had seen, and the fingers gently holding you in place had let go—slowly, reluctantly but not. Mor had been the last to leave the room, a fleeting smile and a promise to grab you for lunch offered at the threshold of the door—your door, you supposed. 

You weren’t quite sure what was in store for you here. Oddities were not uncommon from what you could remember from the books, but this level of oddity was probably uncharted. There was also the frustrating fact that you couldn’t just show Rhysand all of your memories at once, but that frustration was also paired with the harrowing realization that you didn’t know everything that was kept behind that wall in your mind. As you had examined it, you had realized. 

You rocked up from the bed for hopefully the last time that day, drifting to the window and then to the door. You’d seen enough of the billowing clouds and unfamiliar foliage, and you wanted to prove more to yourself. 

This was real. This was real, and you were left to interpret it, and now that you were not an alleged member of an unknown uprising, you felt more comfortable branching out. 

The door to your room clicked open, silk flowing past your calves and the floor seeping a chill into the soles of your feet. Nothing creaked or groaned as you walked past the hulking door, though you could hear other things that you shouldn’t have been able to. A wind whistling in a tree far off, the low murmur of speaking several rooms away, the rhythm of heartbeats all out of cohesion—it was all very overwhelming and rivaled the jarring nature of your sight. 

Still, you trekked down the hall. 

The House of Wind was similar to how your brain had conjured it up. Sprawling hallways made way for doors with intricate carvings, and you let your fingers trail along the stars and clouds in the wood. You felt the cold marble beneath your bare feet. You focused on just your heartbeat and tried to remember what your apartment looked like back home. Tried to recreate the dull hum of the refrigerator in your ears and pretend you were feeling the worn carpet that came with old apartments. 

That all felt distant, somehow, but you knew it was there. You had been there, and now you were here. 

You turned down another hallway and the window there was so large, so… revealing, you almost gasped. The city you couldn’t see before was in perfect view from this vantage point, and your fae eyes—you were fae, you had accepted—could make out each billowing chimney and the route of the winding pathways. You approached without meaning to, setting fingers on the window panes and nearly pressing your nose against them as well. 

Velaris. 

This was Velaris. 

You felt yourself spiralling again, but the panic was interrupted. Someone cleared their throat, the sound purposefully gentle, but everything was startling, so you jumped, yelping and covering your mouth. When you spun on your heel, it was Azriel, and he looked pained again. You wondered if that had to do with his harrowing backstory, but you could remember that he was joyful in the books. At times. 

“I apologize,” Azriel said with a slight bow of his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Everything scares me,” you tried to brush off with a choppy, placating laugh, but Azriel’s expression only became more closed. 

“I apologize for that as well.” 

Your eyes flicked behind him, taking in the massive wings that seemed glued to his back. They didn’t move as you remembered they had before, the muscle looking stiff. 

“It’s not your fault.” You blinked back to meet his eyes and held them for only a second before searching for a nondescript landing place. “I’m usually very good at adjusting to things. I—I think I’m having difficulty coming to terms with this, though, so it may take me some time.” 

“You said this wasn’t real,” Azriel stated. You watched his hands flex at his sides. “Do you… still feel that way?” 

You nodded jerkily. “Yes.” An audible exhale. “And no.” 

You looked off to the side, observing the way the light from the window reflected in broken streams along the wall. You couldn’t tell what season it was here, but the clear skies may have told the story of Spring. There weren’t very many colors in the trees when you had looked down. Perhaps it was Summer. None of that mattered. 

“Is there anything I can do—” Azriel started, and when you looked up, he was leaning slightly, eyes ready to meet yours “—to show you that this is real? To help?” 

“I don’t—” He didn’t know that you knew things about him. He didn’t know that this was a book, a story, and that this would perhaps never feel real. Something told you to keep that to yourself. Your mind hadn’t let Rhysand see that part. “I think I need time to adjust, maybe.” 

Azriel’s brow twitched, but he didn’t give anything else away. He nodded once, eyes fluttering to the ground before pressing his mouth into the whisper of a smile. “Lunch, then?” 

Walking beside him involved shadows. They whisked past you and trailed along their master, though he paid them no mind. You, on the other hand, eyed each of their movements, unsure what they were reporting back to him in their brief whispers. You shouldn’t know that they told him things. You shouldn’t know that he commanded them. 

“They will not hurt you,” Azriel reassured. He held out his hand and let one pool into the divot of his palm. “They are like extensions of me, but their own beings. They collect information.” 

“Should you be telling me that?”

“Perhaps not,” Azriel hummed absent-mindedly. “But you can’t spread secrets to my enemies if I am one of the only three people you know.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled past your lips, the first real bout of humor to find you. You covered your mouth again, this time from pleasant shock, and continued to walk beside the Shadowsinger. He stared at you openly as you did so, only turning back to the hallway when you cleared your throat and pressed your lips together to hide the lingering smile. 

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed. “I’ll have to meet more people.” 

“You will regret wanting for that.”

“And what is that supposed to—” 

You heard him before you saw him, a low voice asking several questions in the room over. He sounded serious and firm, but his words were trailing and seeking rather than demanding. It wasn’t Rhysand, and the responding female voice was not Mor. You blinked to orient yourself to the onslaught of sounds as those two also spoke up in the conversation. Four—four people in the room and four heartbeats and four paced breaths and—

“Are you all right?” Azriel asked, and you looked to see his eyes searching yours. 

“Oh, um, yes.” You glanced at the door where you were sure to enter. “I’m getting used to… hearing things. It's a lot.” 

“If you need more time—” 

“No!” you rushed out, settling yourself when Azriel’s brow furrowed. “No, I just need a moment. I want to have lunch. I want to see more and see that this is real. My brain couldn’t possibly conjure up something so large. I need to see that it’s big.”

Azriel seemed to contemplate. He glanced at the door and then back at you, tracing the outline of your face as the muscle in his jaw feathered. You had no idea what was running through his mind, so you guessed. 

“I promise I’m not a danger to anyone. It really is just the sound. Sometimes the colors and the light. Senses, I guess. But that’s part of all of this—the proving. I don’t have any plans to hurt anyone in there. If that was what—” 

“It wasn’t,” Azriel shot down. He moved his hand to the door. “If it… if anything starts to hurt, we can stop. We can introduce you to things more slowly.” 

You felt the confusion show on your face. “Hurt?” 

 “If it’s too much.” 

“I don’t think I understand.” 

Azriel shifted his weight between his feet. “I only mean that you can leave whenever you might need to. I didn’t understand when you first woke up, but I do know. I understand that this is more than you are used to, but it doesn’t have to be pain that makes things real.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Your face heated. “Azriel. Is this about the head thing?” 

He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t—” 

“I promise I will not slam my head into any walls or hard surfaces again. That was—”

“Rather terrifying.”

“Right,” you blunted. “I can imagine it wasn’t pleasant watching a strange girl freak out and then try to put her head through a wall. But I’m more settled now. I promise, this will help more than anything.” 

He searched your face for a moment longer, his mouth parted as if to say more, but he didn’t. 

You gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry for being dramatic.” 

The door wrenched open before he could speak to the troubled expression morphing his face. A grinning, much larger Illyrian took up the doorway, his wings on full display and contrasting the small shape Azriel had been trying to shove himself into. This man’s hair was longer, his features more rugged and bright. When you startled, a habit it seemed, a sturdy chest connected with your back. 

 “Cassian,” the man greeted, raising his brows in an inviting motion. “Heard you’re not where you're supposed to be. Happens a lot around here.” 

Your gaze flicked down to his outstretched hand, and the size of it dwarfed yours as you hesitantly reached out to accept the shake. He rattled you with one firm, steady flip of his wrist, and the presence at your back seemed to become more imposing. 

“Cassian,” Azriel grumbled out.

Cassian only clicked his tongue. “Yeah, got it.” He gave you a conspiratorial look. “He warned me not to be overwhelming. But you can handle it. And I’m not overwhelming.” 

The casual air of his words had you blinking, your hand still connected with his. Everyone else in this world had been so formal with you. You knew the contrast to your world had a lot to do with the speech patterns and lack of modernization, but Cassian almost seemed modern. Like you could pluck him out of Prythian and smack him in the middle of Boston and he would adapt within hours. Maybe even pop onto public transit and yell at a curb-side vendor before asking any questions. 

“Right. You have mastered the art of subtly, surely,” Mor spoke from around the door. She peeked her head over. “Now let them actually enter the room, Cassian.” 

Another wolfish grin directed at you, and Cassian seemed about ready to tug you into the quaint dining room by your hand, but a low sound at your back halted his almost-tug. Cassian’s grin turned teasing as he stared above your shoulder, and he raised his hands up in surrender, a low whistle humming in the air. 

“Oh, enough,” Mor murmured at him, smacking his chest. “Let them in.” 

Things were certainly different from when you had first woken up. The suspicion was gone from each look thrown your way, replaced instead with curiosity and knowing gazes that you couldn’t place. The light mood you found in Cassian was contagious as you took in the room. Rhysand sat at a long table beside a woman you knew to be Feyre, the pair sharing a private smile and an even quieter laugh. He hadn’t wanted you to be around Feyre—you could remember him saying that. 

You knew fae were territorial and protective of mates, and that plot point had been one of your favorites when you read the books, so for him to allow you near her so quickly— 

“Oh, hello,” a light feminine voice chimed out. The tone was similar to yours. Familiar but entirely not. “I’m Feyre.” 

You offered a nod. Your name. “Nice to meet you.” 

She gave you a sympathetic look as you winced against shimmering light reflecting off the pebbled glass of several shining utensils. The entire dining room was alight. “Would you like to sit down? I’m told you have had quite the journey. I’d like to hear about it, if you would be open to sharing.” 

“I don’t have very much to offer,” you replied, following her outstretched hand to the open chair at the table. “In terms of the journey, I mean.” 

Mor took up the seat across from you, her gaze pointedly down, allowing you to speak. Feyre sat at your left side and Rhysand at the head of the table. There were people missing, even as Cassian found his own place and Azriel lingered near the opposite end. You wondered where the others were, and then cursed yourself for knowing too much. 

On the table, the food was like the language—foreign, but eerily familiar. Everything looked like something you had eaten before, but it also didn’t. The colors were slightly off, the proportions skewed. You felt your brow twitch as you tried to make out the type of meat that rested on a bed of greenery, and then took a breath through your lips as your nose began to burn at the extra attention to scent. 

“You just woke up here?” Feyre casually asked. She had begun to eat, and so had the rest of the table. Azriel had sat down at some point, though, not directly beside you. Something about that felt unnatural. 

“Um, yes. There was a pain in my stomach—like a pulling. I passed out from it, and then I woke up in this house.” 

Feyre briefly flicked her gaze across the table before asking, “Do you still feel the pain?” 

“No. No, that’s gone.”

She hummed. Rhysand spoke. “Tell us of New York.” 

He said the name with such lavish carefulness you almost snorted. “New York is the state I live in. I guess—within the continent I live on, New York is very small, but many people live there. I moved there for school.” 

“Is that where scholars typically go?” Mor inquired. 

“There are schools all over the country. I was—or am—getting my degree in library science. I’m going to be a librarian.” 

The switch to speaking in the past tense was unnerving, and you corrected yourself quickly. You shifted in your seat and picked up your fork, poking at the resemblance of a tomato. 

“Library science,” Mor enunciated. “You have to become educated in the study of the library?” 

“Yes. It’s very extensive. Libraries are crucial to conveying knowledge where I’m from. Things are more digital now, which many people think makes libraries archaic, but we actually offer quite a bit in that realm.” 

“Digital.” Cassian repeated the word under his breath.

“You are very passionate,” Feyre observed, a smile in her voice. 

With a furious heat taking over your face, you replied, “I guess so.” 

“Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that you landed in our library, then,” Rhysand hummed, his eyes shining violet over the rim of his glass. 

Maybe this would be a good time to tell them; you were talking about books, about libraries, and this would be the time. You weren’t sure how they would react, but it had been almost a full day in this world and no one had really tried to kill you. No, they were being… kind? Less doubtful? You weren’t sure, once again, what any of it meant. 

Instead of talking, you shoved a piece of spiced meat in your mouth and chewed.

The flavor of it was unlike anything you had tasted before. Your taste buds reacted neutrally, as if you had whatever this was hundreds of times, but your thoughts were driving the meal, and you couldn’t connect your past to the present. 

The meat became ash in your mouth. Your fork dropped unceremoniously on the table, and you pressed your fingers to the polished wood to stop yourself from spitting it out. Casual conversation had begun to flow amongst the group, but it quieted at the sound. Your face heated again. The metal clattering against wood still stung at your sensitive ears. 

“That bad?” Cassian jested. 

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly and swallowed with considerable effort. 

“She doesn’t like boar,” Rhysand drawled back. “Noted.” 

Noted. Noted?

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you coughed. You reached for the intricately gemmed goblet at your seat and sipped at what you hoped was water. It was not. More choking ensued. Droplets of blood-red wine spilled over the lip as you placed the cup down unsteadily. “Is that alcoholic?” you wheezed. 

From the other side of the table, Azriel’s chair scraped against the floor. He was moving things away and pulling out your own chair in a few swift movements. You followed him up only because your brain was in too many directions at once, the unfamiliar spices from the meat mingling with wine in the middle of the day, and then there were the concerned questions peppering the air from those around you, and this room was so bright. Why was every window in this damn house open? 

“Something plain,” you heard Feyre instruct as you were guided out of the room in a fit of dramatics. “And water. Do you want me to—” 

“No,” was all that came from the Shadowsinger beside you. The hallways became darker. Shadows were lining the walls. When you were alone, Azriel said, “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have assumed everything was okay for you.” 

“It was a normal lunch,” you argued, fingers curling around nothing as you followed his slow steps. He had to be slowing them down for you. “At least I can attest to the reality of this place even more now. I’ve never eaten anything like that in my life.” 

Though even as you said the words, you held a drop of doubt firm within you.

“Feyre had trouble adjusting to the food,” Azriel said. Mostly to himself. “We should have prepared for that.” 

“Feyre?” 

“She was human. From the human lands here. She became fae, as you did.”

But you already knew that. You nodded and bit into your tongue. “You know, you didn’t have to drag me out. I know everyone wants to ask me more questions.” 

“They can ask you another time. You have had a very long—” his eyes flickered to the back of your head and trailed down to your twitching fingers “—stressful day.” 

“Another time,” you repeated. If you woke up tomorrow and were still here, maybe. “Does that mean you plan to keep me around?” 

“Where else would you go?” 

“You could send me away. I don’t… belong here.” 

“You are here now. You landed here. You will stay here.” 

“Why?” 

Azriel hesitated. 

You asked again, “Why would you all trust me so quickly?” 

“Rhys saw inside your mind—saw that there is truth to where you say you came from,” Azriel finally offered. “And with the state of the continent, there are many unknown variables.” 

The taste of the meat was still in the back of your throat and you swallowed hard. “Do you trust me?” 

You caught the underlying meaning in Azriel’s words. Maybe they trusted you, trusted that part of you that you were able to share, but you were also an unknown variable. You needed to be where they could monitor you, and you didn’t blame them. If this were truly all real, all their world, you could pose a threat. But they were being nice, accommodating, and you couldn’t parse out what all of the glances and hospitality meant.

“I want to,” Azriel said. 

"You got my favorite," Az murmurs, carefully taking out the beautifully decorated dessert. You take the statement as a note of appreciation for how well you know him, that much was obvious as you've known each other since birth practically, and in love with each other for half of that time.

He bent his neck down to kiss your cheek and muttering a thank you.

"Don't get too excited now, I heard from Rhys about where you're next assignment is gonna be and I expect a little something when you get back," You tease.

Azriel exhales through his nose and it sounds like a small laugh, "I'll be sure to return the favor if all goes well, love."

"What's wrong?" You ask, the energy in the room has been off since the moment you arrived and you couldn't deny it frightened you a little.

You and Azriel have been going through a rough patch, it happens as often as he overloads himself with work but you have always managed to work through it, it's never too serious mostly the both of you missing each other.

Whenever Azriel was working, you were home, and whenever you were working- he was home. You've spoken to Rhysand about your and Azriel's assignments but it wasn't about when he wanted you both to work, it was simply what needed to be done when it needed to be done.

Both of you being spymasters of the night court, it wasn't ideal to send you both on the same mission unless needed. Most of the time, either one of you or both of you were needed in separate places.

On the days, weeks- if you were lucky- months, that you had 'easy' assignments or days off, you spent it together. You and Azriel would spend time in bed or with your family, going on outings, and trying new things to add to the excitement of life. You loved to be together, your relationship being very sacred to both of you.

"Just tired," Azriel shrugs. You know him better though, something was bothering him that he didn't want to tell you.

You felt his frustration through the bond, you wanted to help him but knowing Az he'd tell you when he was ready.

~~~

"-the fucking shop, I mean honestly how close is she trying to get?"

You didn't mean to eavesdrop. Originally you were coming by to talk to Rhys and Feyre about some of the rumors going around the court of nightmares, nothing too concerning but something that needed to be checked on the next visit. When you heard the muffled voices in the townhouse sitting room.

"Perhaps if you spent less time with her?" Mor suggested.

You couldn't think of anyone else Azriel might be spending time with if not for you. Did Azriel want to spend less time with you?

Your brain immediately jumps to conclusions, Azriel has been in his thoughts as of late, and he hasn't told you what's been bothering him. You thought it had something to do with the distance, perhaps a lack of communication. It was putting a strain on your relationship but you didn't think even more distance was the answer.

Azriel shakes his head insistently, "I don't spend time with her, ever. She finds me somehow, it's maddening and I can't tell Y/n to stay away while I figure out how to solve this, she's always just there."

It was like a dagger in your heart. If you were always there it was because you felt like you never spent time together, how were you supposed to have a relationship if you were never together?

You thought for sure, Azriel felt the same.

"She is a bit clingy," Cassian nods. You felt another pang in your chest, Cassian who was your partner in crime, Mor who was your favorite person to talk to about anything, and your mate had all agreed that you were too much.

"A bit is a bit of an understatement," You heard Feyre chuckle.

You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing, your fault for listening to a conversation you weren't privy to you suppose but you would've never guessed your family felt you smothered them.

Perhaps you were too clingy, you were over at their house every other day. You felt like you were dividing your time between the people you loved, maybe they didn't want you there, and you were an imposition on their daily schedule. You felt embarrassed and humiliated that they were in a meeting to discuss what to do with you.

"I can talk to her if need be, brother," Rhysand gives Azriel a reassuring nod.

Azriel shook his head, "No, no need. I will speak with her, it's my relationship, my responsibility."

Cassian snorted loudly, "Your need to fix things yourself is admirable brother, truly. Let us pray that this will not dig you a deeper grave."

You didn't hear the rest, didn't need to.

Silently, you slipped out the doors of the townhouse. You didn't want to lose your friends so if they wanted space- you'd give them space.

~~~

You disappeared for the rest of the day, and the next. You left a note to Azriel so he wouldn't worry- not that he wouldn't appreciate your shared home now all to himself. You still had your apartment in the city that you rented out when you moved in with Azriel.

There were currently no tenants as there were renovations to be done.

You avoided your room at the townhouse knowing you weren't as welcome as you thought. You didn't show up to training with Cassian and Azriel that morning. Instead, you met informants and did some investigating yourself.

You sent a letter to Rhysand with details on the Hewn City problem, told him that he should look into it as soon as possible, and asked if he wanted you to get a handle on it instead.

He replied with a note giving you thanks and telling you that he'd deal it himself but would call on you with the rest of the inner circle when the visit would happen.

Days passed by until it had officially been a week of no contact. Azriel had sent you letter after letter requesting to see you. You denied them all with sweet words to show that there was nothing wrong, that you didn't overhear what they said about you.

Where'd you go - A

Miss you -A

Come back, our home feels empty without you - Azriel

Are you alright? - Desperately need to see you, Az

Several letters with pleading undertones, each one more than the last.

Then letters from Cassian about training, you reassured him that you were following the usual routine. Mor had invited you to Ritas one night and lunch another day- you declined both with excuses of having too much work to focus on anything else. You didn't realize how much they felt it was an obligation to do things with you.

Eventually, the time came, and Rhysand called on you for the visit to the court of nightmares. You were anxious at the thought of seeing them again, maybe as time passed they would feel better with you around now that you gave them space.

~~~

You dressed appropriately for the setting, your leathers, and weapons strapped to your body. The scowl was natural as you hated being here, glares sent to everyone who looked your way, intimidation being the only way to survive this gods-forsaken place.

Bowing in front of Rhysand to fit the narrative, Feyre sent you a curious as you bowed to her, you felt her stroking the inner walls of your mind- a request to enter. You shut her out with strong mental walls, standing once she allowed you, and took your place next to Azriel, slightly behind him and Cassian.

Azriel's eyes followed you, he tried to brush a finger against your hand as you passed him but you clasped your hands behind your back. Through the bond, you felt a sting in your chest. You spared a glance at your mate, you missed him so much your body craved to be near him but you resisted.

It went as well as it usually did, a dramatically villainous speech from Rhys, with some added threats to those opposed to his reign. The High Fae in attendance got drunk on Faerie wine and danced with the whole night ahead of them.

Azriel attempted to talk to you over his shoulder, "Are you upset with me?" He muttered to you with a crease on his forehead.

You shook your head, "No, why would I be?"

"Where've you been?"

With the few looks you've gotten of his face he looked stressed, circles under his eyes, his hands were clenched and you could tell that it was to keep him from fidgeting.

"Now is not the time," You told him, straightening when you saw a reveler get too close to the High Lady.

"We're done here anyway," Rhysand's voice echoed in your mind. You didn't doubt Azriel heard him as well. You took your leave, Azriel right behind you, he caught up so quickly he held your wrist you didn't notice until you felt the world shift and you realized he traveled you both to your cottage home with his shadows.

Azriel had stood in the same spot he landed while you backed away from him a couple of steps.

"You've been avoiding me," A statement. It was heavy with questions, with want of information you didn't want to divulge.

You asked one of your own, "Have you watered the plants?"

"Have I watered the plants?" He scoffed out the last word. "I've barely been able to function without you, Y/n."

You flinched although he didn't yell but the tone in which he spoke felt like he was scolding you.

He continued, "Yes, I watered the plants."

A weak smile was pulled out of you, he probably loved those plants as much as you. You weren't as much a gardener as Elain but you managed a small garden of your own, they were like yours and Azriel's children, something you both grew together. A garden of both of your favorite flowers and fruits and vegetables.

"Seems like you've been functioning just fine," You responded in a smart tone, it just slipped out.

"Tell me what I did, please, it's driving me mad." He stepped in your direction, shadows reaching to touch you, and you saw Azriel forcefully reigning them in like he wanted to reach for you too.

You softened at the sight, "It's not something you did, Az."

"Something I said, then?" He didn't refrain from fidgeting now, in the comfort of the home, he fidgeted with his fingers. "Something I didn't say, I know I didn't want to talk about what was happening before, but I'll tell you whatever you want me to if you promise not to leave again."

You just about melted, you felt yourself wanting to sway at his beseeching. "What was happening before?" You questioned in barely a whisper.

"Hilaria happened. She- Nothing happened- I swear to you, she grew attached. She grew attached to me," He grimaced as he said it. "She was everywhere I happened to be, it wasn't normal, I've warned her off so many times I was glad you didn't notice. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable with her. The moment she got a job at the sweet shop, she got too close, you went there and I knew it wasn't a coincidence."

Azriel had a fucking stalker and you didn't know about it. That was what he was so stressed about. Hilaria- an Illyrian female who had a shitty life, Azriel had given her refuge, because she had no family left to care for her, and a female alone in that camp was no place to be.

You helped Azriel find her a living space, and gave her safety for her to heal from the traumas, she must've mistook that for something else entirely. You couldn't help but to feel bad for her.

"I went to Rhys, he and the others offered their advice and I tried to talk to her about her behavior. She didn't take it well, so we sent her to Dawn court with the assurance that they would do all they could to help her."

"You talked to the others about this?" It all made more sense now. 

He nodded.

"Did Cassian say she was clingy?" You needed to be sure you were getting all the details now.

His brows furrowed, "How did you?"

"Because I was there when you were talking, but I didn't know you were talking about Hilaria." You sat on the couch slowly, forearms on your knees, hands clasped.

You laughed incredulously, slapping your hands to cover your face and running your hands into your hair. "I thought you were all talking about me."

"What?" Azriel's eyes were on you, deciphering your words when he pieced them together. "Why would we ever?"

"You weren't telling me anything about what was going on, I thought I was prying too much, I do spend a good bit of time with everyone, it wouldn't be too far off."

A smile tugged on his lips, one he was trying not to show. He was trying not to make you feel foolish but it was too late. "I love you, but this was not your wisest moment."

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at him with little force, "Az!"

"You had everyone concerned, they thought they had offended you in some way."

"Of course not!" You shook your head in disbelief, at how easily your insecurity took over.

"Now my family has some attachment issues, you couldn't get rid of them if you tried, you would probably want space from them yourself."

You rolled your eyes knowing them all too well, centuries with them and you still felt undeserving.

Azriel kneeled in front of you taking your hands in his and settling them on your lap then caressed your face in his hands. "I could never not want you near me, you're everything to me, understand?" His hands gave your head a gentle shake in emphasis.

"I don't think you understand where my mind was at the moment," You avoided his gaze. You didn't want him to know, the feeling of not being worthy enough for him, how you compared yourself to everything in his past and it didn't seem plausible for him to accept you. When he did accept the bond, it was the greatest moment you ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Azriel was the love of your life, with and without a bond. It was hard for you to accept that he loved you without it if it wasn't for the fact that you trusted him to tell you the truth. He came to you and confessed his love and then the bond happened. You would have continued to pretend you weren't in love with him, otherwise.

"Do you not understand," Azriel sighed, "Do you not understand my love for you, at all?"

"It was easier to believe that you needed space from me," You confessed, shutting your eyes tight. Warm lips landed on yours, you were startled for a second before reciprocating the kiss.

He kissed you breathlessly, a minute, two or three- you didn't know how much time passed. Your blood pulsed in your ears, or was it his? it was rapid and created an electric current in your veins.

"I want to drown in your love, to be asphyxiated by it until all I know is you, in this life and after. I could never get enough of you." He whispered the promise on your lips with his eyes closed. You nudged your nose against his to open his eyes.

The warmth of his hazel eyes graced you and you murmur his name, he nudges your nose in response. "I love you."

He’s your mate, yet Cassian is the first one to shake himself out of his shock at finding a nearly frozen fae in the Illyrian wilderness. The Illyrian General moves towards your unconscious frame.

“Don’t touch her,” Azriel growls, his mouth moving faster than his brain for once in his life. 

Cassian gives his brother a bewildered look. 

Thankfully, it spurs the shadowsinger into action. 

He’s on his knees beside you in a heartbeat. In a heartbeat of his own, at least; your pulse is dangerously—lethally—slow and weak. 

“Azriel?” Cassian cautions, taking a few tentative steps towards the heap that makes up your lifeless body and Azriel’s hands hovering over it. 

Azriel tries to respond, but the breath that leaves him is nearly sob-like. “M- mate.”

“Azriel.”

“She’s my- she’s my mate, she’s my mate. My mate.” 

Cassian curses under his breath and rips off his top layer of Illyrian leathers, the one he wears for chilly flights in the high altitudes. 

Azriel doesn’t have time to fuss about you being bundled up in another male’s clothing, nor that you’re going to reek of his brother now, and the thought of Cassian flying home without any protection from the north-chilled wind doesn’t even cross his mind as he quickly wraps you in the fabric, not even bothering with arms holes and the like. 

“Go,” Cassian commands, bending to pick up your jacket—that you seem to have peeled off your frame in your hypothermic state—and giving it a sniff, trying to figure out how you got here and who did this to you. 

“But-”

“I’ll be fine, Rhys is coming to get me and Feyre’s collecting Madja. Go.” 

Azriel tucks you tightly into his chest and dissolves into his shadows. 

Rhysand seems to have spurred the House into action at Cassian’s silent call. Azriel can hear the bathtub in his bedroom running and smells a pot of lavender tea coming to a boil in the kitchen. 

He nearly flattens Morrigan as he barrels into his bathroom—her and Nesta having quickly arranged a pile of towels a mile high and placed some clothes that look like they more-or-less will fit you once you’ve warmed up—and barely manages to kick his boots off before he’s lowering the both of you into the room-temperature water.

Azriel curses, the water feeling bitterly cold as he sinks into it fully clothed with you in his arms, but you gasp as the water saturates your clothing, face screwing up in pain. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs into your temple, slowly unravelling you from Cassian’s jacket to help submerge you further into the tub. You let out a choked sob. 

“Out,” Madja orders the two females, Morrigan immediately complying and Nesta shooting you a concerned glance and Azriel a warning one before quickly following. The ancient healer lowers herself to her knees beside the tub and feels for your pulse before moving her fingers to your pointed ears. 

“How long has she been in the tub?”

“Maybe a minute,” Azriel replies. 

“You need to submerge her more. Lay her back so that her head is floating.” 

The order is blunt and Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever heard a thing so cruel, but he’s just found you and he’ll be damned if he loses you to the cold.

“Shadowsinger-” Madja warns at his hesitation, but Azriel does as told.

Your entire body tenses, arms immediately reaching out and fisting the material of Azriel’s leathers. He leans forward, hovering over you and holding you close to his chest while still keeping your ears beneath the surface. 

He focuses on consoling you, holding your shaking frame tightly to his chest as Madja drains some of the tub and adds warmer water. 

“Burns,” you whisper, teeth chattering and giving away how cold you still are. 

Azriel focuses on not snapping at the healer as her hand shoves between the two of you and she feels for your pulse again. 

“Please.”

Azriel considers pulling you out of the water now that you seem lucid enough to beg him for reprieve, but Madja grabs Azriel’s shoulder and pushes him back towards the water when he tries to sit up. 

“She’s experiencing vasomotor failure, Shadowsinger. She’ll have no recollection of this conversation.” The healer turns the tap to add more hot water as she chastises him. “Rhysand told me you found her without her jacket. That is called paradoxical undressing which is a result of muscles that had once been constricting blood vessels becoming exhausted and failing, releasing blood back to the extremities and causing the victim to feel hot. It is the final stage of hypothermia; take her out of this water and her chances of survival plummet.” 

All that leaves Azriel’s lips is a desperate, devastated please. He doesn’t know who he’s begging; Madja to save you, you to stay with him, or the Mother not to take you from him. 

Madja’s hand leaves your frame and pats Azriel’s shoulders. “She’s shivering again, Shadowsinger; that’s a good sign.”

The treatment continues and Azriel remains silent; it’s easier to do now that you’re no longer begging him, but he’s wildly uncomfortable that you’re unconscious. The only consolation is that Madja is still here, still working, which means she’s got faith in you and your growingly steady pulse. 

Eventually, Madja deems you warm enough and drains the tub, forcing Azriel to look at the ceiling as he helps her rid you of your soaked clothing and dress you in the warm layers Nesta and Morrigan provided for you earlier. 

Azriel’s carrying you into his bedroom where he finds Feyre and Rhysand speaking in hushed tones behind the sofa that they’ve pulled towards the lit fireplace, pillows and blankets warmed by the fire piled up and waiting for you to be bundled into. 

“Azriel,” Feyre gasps, watching the spymaster as Rhysand pulls back the bedding for him to tuck you in. 

Like in the forest, Azriel finds himself on his knees before you, ensuring you’re adequately tucked into the heavy quilts yet still within the flames’ radius of heat. His hand shakes as he moves to brush some damp hair from your temple. 

Feyre dries the strands easily with a wave of her hand. 

“What do you need?” she asks, and Azriel’s face crumbles as he lowers his head to the edge of the couch cushion, his hand remaining on your blanket clad shoulder. 

Rhysand’s warm hand lands on Azriel’s own shoulder. “You need to eat, brother.” 

“I can’t leave her,” he responds instantly, never raising his head.

“I’d never ask you to.” Rhysand’s hand tightens. “Get changed, Az. Get into something dry, I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Can-”

“And I’ll make sure there’s something here for her when she wakes,” Rhysand agrees, knowing exactly where his brother’s mind went. “Get changed.” 

Azriel spares one more look at your sleeping face—your cheeks and lips having far more colour in them now than when he found you—before standing and doing as told. He keeps his attention on you, his ears locked in on the even tempo of your heart, the long, deep pulls of air you inhale, and the rise and fall of your chest against the fabric you’re surrounded by. 

Azriel doesn’t bother with the chair beside your couch, instead lowering himself to the floor and resting his back against the arm of the sofa, wings shifting awkwardly as he makes sure not to disturb you. 

Two bowls of stew appear on the low table before him a few moments later, and Azriel makes himself comfortable as he eats his serving and waits for you to come to.