In search of a portal to Velaris

You shook off the thoughts—both of finding a date and of being with someone who wasn’t Azriel. It would take a lot more than a simple whim to get over him, and although disheartening, that revelation was crucial. You needed to move on. You needed to stop reading into every small move he made. He was just nice, just giving to his family. 

Frustration and tiredness gripped you next, so you set course for the Sidra. You figured the lapping tide would calm your mind and ground you, and when you plopped onto the first bench you could find, you found your suspicions were correct. Closing your eyes, you let the water take over. 

It wasn’t until you started to notice the chill under your legs that the air shifted. You could tell it wasn’t Azriel instantly, something about the movement of the air not feeling like him. Instead, the swish of wings caused you to snap your eyes open to find Cassian standing before you, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow raised in silent accusation. 

“That was cruel,” he said, tone not unkind. “You’re not cruel. Not on purpose. What did he do to make you so upset?” 

He did several things to make you upset, but they all sounded childish, even in your head—childish and not even his fault. But you weren’t even sure what Cassian was referring to, so you started with that. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Cassian sighed like he was getting ready for a long night. He tugged at the seams of his pants and sat beside you on the bench. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Tell me why you said you have a date when you’re sitting by yourself right now.” 

It was your turn to sigh. You leaned back and looked out to the Sidra instead of at Cassian’s patient gaze. “Don’t make me talk about it. It’s bad enough that you’ve caught me in my lie.” 

“Yeah, no offense, but I didn’t actually think you had a date.” 

You huffed out a humorless laugh. “Am I really that pathetic?” 

“Well… No,” Cassian slowly replied. “But I never thought you would do that to Az. And I’m sure he doesn’t think that either. But it hurt him to hear you say that, and I guess I’m trying to understand why you did. Like I said, you’re not cruel.” 

Something felt like it was running in circles in your head. You kept your arms crossed over your chest, but craned your neck to look at Cassian again, trying to find answers in his features. You found only open searching from your friend. 

You shook your head slightly. “I did it to protect myself,” you stated obviously. “I needed to let him go, and he needed to know that I would be fine without his constant attentiveness. It’s never been fair to him.”

For all of his gusto in entering this conversation, Cassian now stared at you with an utterly blank expression.  Not even his wings twitched as you both looked at each other. Cassian had his arm hooked over the back of the bench, and it looked to be cemented there as he processed your words. 

Feeling uncomfortable in the silence, you continued. “I’ve been his responsibility ever since I was Made, and it’s not fair that my feelings have kept him trapped for longer than he’s needed to be. I’m so grateful that he’s been here for me while I’ve been getting adjusted, but I’m adjusted now, and he needs to start living again.” 

Another pause. Cassian turned your words over in his head. “Your feelings?” 

“Of course that would be the only thing you catch—Yes, Cassian, I have feelings for Azriel. But you and I both know that’s ridiculous.” 

He blinked. Something close to irritation stirred in your gut. 

“You think—” Cassian began, before stopping himself and moving back on the bench slightly. “You—But Azriel… and you—” 

You followed each sentence he uttered, only for them to trail off. Some of the irritation mingled with embarrassment within you, and you clenched your jaw, gripping the stone beneath you. “Yes, Cassian, I know it’s very hard to believe and probably quite a comical thought, but if you could gather your words that would be very appreciated.” 

Cassian muttered a silent ‘comical?’ to himself that made you raise your brows, but the Illyrian seemed to finally land on a solid thought and quickly reached out to shake your hand. Your wrist flapped in his grip. 

“You’re wearing this,” he started, forefinger tapping the ring on your pinky. 

“Yes? And? It was a sweet gift,” you offered. 

“It has—the siphons.” 

“It has what?” 

“The blue. It’s part of the siphon Azriel wears on his chest. The underside.”

You looked away for a moment, searching the surroundings for nothing. “Why on Earth would he put that in there?” 

Cassian gave you an incredulous look. “What about the flying cloak?” 

“What about the what?” You jerked your head back slightly, now completely and utterly lost. “You mean the coat Azriel was letting me wear when he flew me places?” 

“No, the cloak. It’s tradition. His mother—” Cassian cut himself off again, releasing your hand finally. He’d been shaking it around since he started talking, and you were glad to have it back. You clutched your fingers in towards your chest and stared at your friend, suddenly worried about his sanity as he squinted his eyes up at a passing cloud. 

“Cass, are you alright? I don’t—I’m confused.” 

“You’re confused,” Cassian nodded to himself, words final. He remained squinting at the sky. 

“Right. So, can you explain this psychotic break to me, or am I meant to pick up on context clues or…” 

Cassian suddenly stood, the wind taken up by his wings startling a small screech from your lungs. You followed him up on pure instinct, and the Illyrian grabbed both of your shoulders. “Come on then.” 

“Come on? Come on, where? Cassian, I still don’t—Cassian!” Your questions were lost to a scream as Cassian practically shoved you into his arms and took to the sky. You pushed your face into his chest and felt the cool whips of night drive into your skin, missing the “cloak” Cassian was going on about on this impromptu journey. 

Your one saving grace was the view of the ring on your finger as you flew. It seemed to shine against the wind, sparking bright blue with each gust against the stone. The color warmed on your skin, a small comfort in the otherwise jarring flight. Just as quickly as you took off, Cassian deposited you on the balcony of the House of Wind. He marched forward instantly, leaving you in the dust with more questions than answers. 

Now you were trapped. You shifted your weight onto your heels and accepted defeat without putting up much of a fight, rolling your eyes at Cassian’s retreating form. There was a fleeting second you considered taking the stairs back down to Velaris, but your legs were all but frozen, and you were hoping to give Cassian a piece of your mind. You had almost forgotten about your disastrous night with Azriel. That was, until your gracious sister alerted you to her soothing presence. 

“I take it you figured it out?” Nesta drawled, snapping her book shut, her rigid posture hidden behind a rather tall chaise. 

“Figured what out?” you tiredly sighed, rounding the room to sit beside her. You watched her eyes dart up to the ceiling in the same way Cassian’s had just minutes ago. The only difference was that hers looked markedly less confused and entirely more agitated. 

“Absolutely no one listens to me in this family,” she hissed to herself before turning to you. “Do you remember when you confided in Feyre about loving Azriel?” 

You reared back, gripping Nesta’s arm in alarm. “Keep your voice down. What is the matter with you? And yes, I remember confiding that in her. Something I will never do again, it seems.” 

“Enough dramatics. Do you remember what she said?” 

“Of course not, Nesta. That was months ago and I was half-delirious on fae wine.” 

Nesta was looking up the ceiling again, counting something, maybe, or just sitting in her breaths. She jutted her jaw to the side and then dipped her finger along her neck to snag on a chain there. With a quick tug, a ring fell from behind her bodice, dangling from the gold it was looped to. 

“Look,” she ordered. “I have the same ring you do. Only different in one way.” 

You examined the red twining along the edges. “Okay?” 

“Feyre has one as well.” 

“A welcome gift?” 

Nesta’s eye twitched. “Elain does not have one.” You stared blankly back at her until she stood from the chaise and took her book with her. “I swear you were not this dumb when we were children.” 

“Nesta!” you called out, offence lining your tone. 

Your sister did not even look over her shoulder. “If you cannot put together the pieces, save for your lack of self-worth, then I do not have the time for this. Open your eyes to how he looks at you, I swear.” 

Her last words were filled with such exasperation that you felt chastised. You slumped back into the chaise and chewed on your lip, running over the jarring events of the evening. You certainly were not turned in early with a warm drink and a book as you had planned. No, instead, you were analyzing how Azriel last looked at you, using lingering crumbs to put anything together. 

He had already been looking at you when you said you had a date, his gaze tracking your voice the second you opened your mouth. He always seemed to do that, so attentive in the way he listened to others. You remembered how he had started listening with rapt attention, gaze flickering down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. There had been nothing assuming there, no expectations; he always watched you like he was simply there to listen, to be there and let you be heard. 

And then you had said it, and things shifted. His expression flashed; his jaw had twitched. He had already been looking at you, but it seemed he somehow lost the sight of your face because he was quickly refocusing, brow curling uncomfortably. When you thought back on it now, he had looked… hurt? Lost? Your initial assumption was relief, but that had been a terrible conclusion. That had been an unfair judgment and you were now left wondering how many assumptions you had been making. 

Because you had never really asked him, had you? You had always seen yourself as an unwanted burden he was too kind to brush off, but maybe you hadn’t been unwanted, not at first. And maybe you inserted your opinion of yourself too rashly in your relationship with Azriel. Maybe he liked the responsibility, and you thought you knew what was best for him. 

Maybe you loved him too much to be selfish, and that was the problem. 

Or maybe… 

Could he love you? Was that the point Nesta was making with the rings? 

An idiotic thought, even for you. And you were being called dumb and confused quite a lot today. 

Your racing conclusions were cut off by yet another presence entering your space, but this time, you knew it to be Azriel. You could hear the gentle undercurrent of his shadows and just knew it was him as if by some instinct. Steeling yourself, you turned your gaze up to meet the Shadowsinger. 

And you looked at him—you stared up at him as he looked at you. 

He looked strained, at odds with himself. 

“Cassian said we needed to talk,” Azriel offered, this being the third time he opened his mouth to speak. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted space. I left because I thought you did.” 

You didn’t move from your seat. His shadows swarmed beneath your feet, unwilling to listen to their master. “Space for what?” you almost whispered. 

He raised his brows, shifting his gaze to the floor. “To think, I suppose. I’ve made you angry, done something to ruin this. I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

The picture was falling apart again. You’d finally pieced something together after Nesta’s words, but this was not lining up with your conclusion. You stood, taking a few steps towards the Shadowsinger. 

“Why would you think that, Az? I’m not mad at you.” 

“Why would I—Y/n, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. You hardly speak to me unless I prompt you. You don’t stay at the House.” 

“I wanted to let you have your life back,” you earnestly replied. “It’s probably what Cassian wanted us to speak about. But then… he said I was confused and maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was pushing my thoughts onto you and you didn’t want so much space.” 

“I want no space,” Azriel affirmed. He took a step forward and met you in the middle of the room. “And my life—there is no life I would want back. My life now is… you are everything to me.” 

That gave you pause—a stunning, all-encompassing pause. You felt your eyes widen and your mouth fall open, but nothing could stop your reaction. Several of your conclusions, your assumptions, somersaulted in your mind. 

“What?” you whispered. 

Azriel shook his head, reaching a tentative hand out to cup your jaw. “I’ve tried to be subtle, to go slow, but you have to know. If you’re thinking I want space from you, then I haven’t made this known enough. You know that I love you. Tell me how to show—” 

“You love me?” you blurted out, lost in the soft touch on your cheek and still more alert than you’ve ever been. 

Azriel’s expression morphed into hurt again. “Of course I love you. That’s why we’ve been courting. To take things slower until you were ready.” 

“Courting?” 

The hurt was wiped clean. Azriel’s brows came together, his next words sounding punched from his lungs. “Yes, angel. Courting. Since Starfall.” 

You temporarily spun at the name, but you had no time to focus on that. “Since Starfall?” you gaped, once again offering nothing but repetition. 

Still holding you in his hands, Azriel searched every inch of your face. He didn’t let you go, but you felt his grip reposition as if to ground himself. He ducked an inch lower to fully catch your wide eyes. 

“Did you—not know?” 

You gave the slightest shake of your head. “You never…” 

The air in the room shifted again, and Azriel was clearly panicking. He bit into his lip and searched your features again, looking for something to make sense of this. It was a mirror of your last few weeks. You wanted to provide him with some comfort, but nothing came to mind. 

“The ring,” Azriel finally landed on, tilting your chin up with his thumbs. “I gave it to you then. I-I told you I wanted you to keep it close, as I would keep the other piece.” 

“You said that?” you asked, trying to remember his words after he had slid it on your finger. Everything had been a blur of giddiness. 

“Yes. I told you it would always guide you back to me. You—I haven’t seen you take it off since. It was a courting gift.”

“I thought it was a normal gift.”

Azriel’s expression widened. “Illyrians always give it to their partners. We have it made when we meet.” 

“You had this made for me when we met? In the human lands?” His nod was hurried and disjointed. “But I—I didn’t know that.” 

Azriel’s panic increased. He ran his hands down from your jaw to rest at the back of your neck. “The jacket,” he quipped. “You accepted it. You wore it everywhere I took you.” 

“To keep warm!” you exclaimed, feelings of hysteria taking over. “I thought you were letting me borrow it for convenience!” 

“It’s a tradition—the flying cloak. Illyrian men are meant to take their partners everywhere. We guide them. The cloak goes along with that. I had it tailored into a coat for you to be more comfortable.” 

Breath escaped your lungs. “Cassian called it a cloak,” you said to no one, pulling yourself out of his hands to pace the room. You moved your palm to your forehead. “Am I—am I missing anything else?” 

Azriel stared back at you with a beseeching expression, hands limp at his sides. His shadows were swarming, some batting at his head, and his wings were pulled tight against his back. Not sprawled out for you to see. They were always out for you. 

“Just… small things,” he spoke quietly into the air between you. “But, I had thought you knew. I thought—” 

Silence blanketed the air, your pacing now taking up less room. You went one way and then the other, your hand on your chest as you tried to quell the pressure there. It was aching somewhat, but you also couldn’t catch your breath and your world was turning upside down. 

So many things you had missed. So much confusion and heartache and this was all right in front of you. But how were you supposed to know? How were you meant to understand the idiosyncrasies of Illyrian traditions when you were still discovering how your ears worked, for God's sake? 

Azriel loved you. 

He was standing before you and telling you he loved you, that he had been loving you, and you were blind to it all. You were too caught up in your doubt and confusion to see it. 

You finally stilled, fingers curling into your palms as you faced the man before you. He had been watching you, and something settled when you caught his eye—when you stopped looking like you were about to bolt. 

And then realization struck him. He frowned. “But you asked about my history. You asked about my life before you.” He was grasping at straws himself, trying to find hints that maybe you knew all along. But he was not going to like this answer. 

You pressed your lips together. “I was asking you about your hobbies, Azriel. I was trying to tell you to do more things you enjoyed instead of watching over me.” 

“Things I enjoyed?” he almost deadpanned. 

“Yes.” 

“And I told you I went to pleasure houses.” 

“Yes, Azriel.” 

An agonized sound left him. Azriel covered his face with his hands and then moved them to his hair, tugging at the roots. “Gods, I—I am so sorry. I thought you were asking about my romantic history.” 

You shrugged slightly, unable to offer anything beyond that. He couldn’t know that it had hurt beyond belief then, because it was silly to acknowledge that now. You had only been hurt because he hadn’t been yours, but that wasn’t even true. This pain and hurt had been of your own creation, spurred on by your lack of insight. 

Azriel seemed to catch onto your train of thought. He cast his woes aside and leaned down to find your gaze from across the room. “This is not your fault. This is entirely my fault. I should have been clearer with my intentions. I should have known this was confusing. Nesta mentioned it, but I thought—” You pressed your nails into your hands until they hurt. “—I thought it was clear how much I adore you.” 

You let out a breath, trying to release some of this tension within you. It didn’t work. Obviously it didn’t work. How were you so blind? So caught up in menial things? 

The rush of hearing those words from Azriel warred with the feeling of incompetence at your confusion, leading to a silence that you didn’t realize you were maintaining. Azriel caught it, though. He caught everything when it came to you. 

“Do you…” At the broken sound of hesitance in his voice, you shot your wandering gaze back to him. “Do you not want me? Is that why you’ve encouraged me to… get my life back?” 

He said the last few words through gritted teeth, and everything fell apart. All of your confusion and frustration and hurt. The world felt lighter, as if you might pass out.

“Azriel, of course I want you. I have wanted you since I met you. I thought you didn’t want me,” you explained, watching the way his shoulder slumped. 

“That’s insane,” he muttered. 

“It wasn’t. It made sense to me. I thought I was a burden to you. I thought Rhys was making you help me.” 

“I asked to help you. I begged him to let it be me.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“I know,” Azriel softly replied. He found you again near the fire, taking careful steps to capture your hands in his. He raised them and kissed the ring against your skin. “I know.” 

You looked at him with a fondness you reserved for when his back was turned, finally feeling free to put it on display. He winced as if it hurt him to see, and knowing what you knew now, you were sure it did. Because while you had been pining after him, he had been seeking affection. Searching for even a morsel in a one-sided relationship. 

So much wasted time. 

“Why have you never tried to kiss me?” you asked when he began tracing the contour of your jaw. “Perhaps that would have made things clearer.” 

Azriel smiled softly, the expression a tinge forlorn. He tilted his head to gaze at you fully. “I told you—I was willing to take things as slow as you needed me to. To be subtle, even when it was hard to do so.” 

“Is that why Feyre and Nesta didn’t have the… courting period?” 

Azriel tucked your hair back with gentle fingers. “They had entirely different circumstances, but yes. I was doing things the more traditional way to give you more time to adjust. I didn’t want to scare you.” 

“I’m not scared.” 

“Will you let me start again, then? Let me show you how I love you?” 

You were going to say yes. Even so, you reminded him, “I’ve been so confused, Azriel.” 

“I know,” he whispered again, his nose now nudging yours. “I know and I want to fix it. Let me fix it.” 

You placed your hand over his heart, the ring on your finger clicking against his siphon. “Okay,” you whispered. 

And he kissed you, then.

Your chest lit up with a foreign glow, and he kissed you harder. 

Clutching your wine glass in twitching fingers, you directed your attention to Feyre and the babbling Illyrian babe in her lap. Things always seemed so effortless for her in this world, but that wasn’t true, and you knew it. Still, you found yourself envying her mateship and the ease with which love found her. It may have been a journey, but Rhys was clear with his intentions, and the mating bond cemented that. 

Even Nesta, harsh and unrelenting as she was, had a sure bond that she could rely on. And then there was Elain, finding her way with Lucien in minute acts that all meant something to both of them. You had tried to chalk your feelings for Azriel up to jealousy or seeking a partner in a paired-up family, but those were surface-level excuses. The way your heart raced in his presence, the spark that lit up your skin each time you touched—those were not symptoms of pure loneliness. 

But you were sure he would think it was desperation if you pursued him. He was the only single male out of the fae you knew, and you knew so few people in this world. If you started professing your love for him, waxing poetic about the simple way he smiled, you knew the pitying look of rejection would come soon after. He would wince slightly and run his hand along the side of your head as he so often did, and then he would say that he didn’t see you that way. That you were new and unexciting and a responsibility above all else—his High Lady’s sister that needed help adjusting to life as fae. 

He hadn’t exactly shown interest in you. He had been kind and attentive and bordering on adoring, but that was just how he treated his family. You’d seen it. You were not going to be the pathetic little thing chasing after him in the wake of a war. Things were at peace now, and he didn’t need to be bogged down with the toll of rejecting you. 

Still, you sighed as you watched him enjoy his night. You bit the inside of your cheek and choked down another glass of the fae wine you could barely stomach. Your sisters asked you questions about your training with Madja, and you answered them, allowing the ring on your pinky to dig into the skin of your palm. When Azriel had given it to you, sliding it onto your smallest finger, you had been elated, feeling light and dizzy with affection. You felt foolish wearing it now. 

You couldn’t take it off. Azriel seemed to look for it whenever he saw you, eyes going from your face to your hands as if on instinct. He would touch it sometimes—when he flew you over the city or took things from your hands to carry instead. You would feel his thumb brush the metal embossed with twines of azure stone and think something was there, but then he would offer you a polite smile and simply walk beside you. He would blush and laugh with Mor, but he would only smile with you. 

Pity. It was pity, surely. 

You had clung to him for weeks after being Made. Something about him brought you comfort in a newly abrasive world, so he allowed you to follow him around and you accepted his touches with greed. It had all been ordered. Rhys had surely ordered his Spymaster to ensure his mate’s sister was properly cared for, but you hadn’t been thinking about the implications at the time, pathetically seeking him out under the pretense of a genuine connection. And sure, Azriel was not cruel. He thought of you as family and cared for you as such. But your feelings were yours alone. 

“Shall I take you back? Or would you like to sleep here?” 

You startled at the sound of his voice, Azriel suddenly at the back of your chair. The room had dimmed in conversation, with Rhys and Feyre gone to put Nyx to bed and Mor only muttering short sentences in low tones that had Cassian nodding in agreement. Elain had all but vanished from the table, and Nesta was facing the fire to capture its warmth. You had missed the shift as your thoughts ran rampant. 

Your chair creaked as Azriel leaned against it, mouth closer to your ear. “Are you alright?” 

You blinked and tilted your head slightly to show you were attentive to his words. “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Azriel hummed. “So would you like to stay?” 

Staying at the Riverhouse would mean distance from Azriel. And you could walk to the clinic in the morning rather than depending on him to fly you down. That was good. 

“Yes. That would be best.” 

“I’ll walk you back then.” 

He always walked you to your room—all the way there. He never came in, always content to stop at the door, but he never did anything less. Even now, when he would leave for his own room at the House miles away, he was offering to take you down the hall. It was too much. You’d become too much. 

“That’s okay,” you breathed out, finally turning your head to look at him. Your faces were only inches apart, and you had to catch your breath at the closeness. “I’ll find my way.” 

Something unusual flashed across his expression, quickly righted with a soft smile. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

“It’s just down the hall, Azriel. I doubt I’ll get lost.” 

He blinked, looking between your eyes before clearing his throat slightly and standing straight. You used the opportunity to push out from the table, trying to ignore his guiding hands. “Right, of course,” he nodded. He looked lost for a moment, standing before you. His wings twitched as you looked over his shoulder to the joining hall. “I’ll—goodnight, then. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Azriel.” 

~~

Distancing yourself from Azriel after your dinner revelation was not an easy task. You hadn’t realized how much you’d intertwined your life with his, and the realization was enough to make you cringe. He was a whole person with a life before you, and now you were reliant on him for so many things. 

So, you tried to make your own way. You stopped asking to stay at the House so you could walk wherever you needed. You asked passersby for directions instead of waiting for Azriel to tell you where shops and restaurants were located. You even tried making friends, talking more with the patrons of the clinic to… be more independent—separate, even, from Azriel and your newly grown family. 

You figured he would appreciate the effort. He was probably so tired of guiding you everywhere, of keeping polite smiles on his face as you droned on about your new life and let him fly you around Velaris. And he probably loved that he finally got his overcoat back. He had let you borrow it several weeks ago, placing the Illyrian-forged threads over your shoulders when you asked him to go flying in the middle of the night. 

He had told you how much it meant to him that night as he buttoned it up to your neck. His mother had hand-woven it when he came of age, he had told you, and he had saved it ever since. You might not have understood why a coat was of so much importance, but you understood that you were hogging it. That he had let you borrow it on a cold night, and then you had practically commandeered his prize possession. He always insisted you wear it when he would fly you around, but he was just being polite. 

The thought grated on you. 

“What?” Azriel asked, mouth slightly agape as you gently placed the coat in his stiff hands. 

“I—Thank you for letting me borrow it for so long. I should have returned it ages ago. I was being greedy with it,” you tried to joke, pressing it further into his grasp. 

Azriel remained frozen. His eyes flicked down to the material now in his hands and then back up to you. “I don’t—I don’t think I understand. You don’t like it?” 

A flash of confusion struck you, but maybe he assumed you weren’t going to give it back? “What? No, Azriel, it’s a wonderful coat. Honestly, the softest, warmest thing I’ve ever put on. I just… I know it’s important to you. I’ll wear my own when I need you to take me somewhere. Although I think I’ve been doing well getting around by myself. I’ve been trying to learn Velaris’ layout, and I think I almost got it.” 

Azriel finally moved, curling the coat closer to his chest. He wet his lips before shooting his gaze down to your hands. Finding some semblance of an answer there, he nodded once, mostly to himself. “I’ve noticed that. Have you enjoyed exploring the city?” 

No. You enjoyed exploring it with him. “Yes, very much. The people of Velaris are very helpful with directions.” 

Azriel hummed, rubbing his fingers along the sleeve of the coat. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’ll look forward to you enjoying flying again, though.” 

“Yes, well, I never stopped enjoying that. I’ll try to space it out more, though—maybe get Cassian or Rhys to lug me around every once in a while.” 

“Why?” 

An unmistakable inflection of hurt trailed in his tone. Wonderful, now you were offending him. “Oh! Well, just to take some of that off of you. I know you’re very busy, and I’ve needed a lot of help for a long while.” 

“Take…what off of me?” he asked, words slow and lingering. 

“Um, the responsibility? Again, I know how busy you are. And I know it’s taken me a while to adjust, but I think I've got it now. At least, I’ve got it more than I used to,” you tried joking again, a dry laugh rocking you back on your heels. 

“Responsibility,” Azriel repeated.

“Right,” you affirmed. “Now you can spend more time on other things.” 

“Such as?” 

You clicked your tongue, glancing up at the ceiling as if there were answers there. “I don’t know. What did you do before I was around?” 

Azriel’s brows came together. He shook his head slightly as if you were partially insane. “I don’t think… I didn’t think you wanted to talk about that yet.” 

Maybe you were partially insane. You thought you were having one conversation, but it seemed Azriel was having another. What did that mean? Maybe his life was far easier before you started forcing him into tasks and stealing his clothes? And you weren’t ready just yet to hear that? He really thought you were unstable then. 

You laughed, despite that thought, brushing a hand through the air casually. “Come on, Az. You obviously had a life before me. Multiple lives, if we go on human terms. I’m sure you had several hobbies that didn’t include taking me places.” 

And now he looked uncomfortable. Azriel folded his coat onto his arm, and his mouth twisted before he let out a sigh. “There were pleasure houses, obviously. A few relationships, although they do not seem important in the slightest now.” 

You choked on air, clearing your throat as Azriel itched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling himself. Nothing was up there, but both of you were sure looking. “Oh,” you squeaked out. 

“The relationships are in the distant past. The—well, the casual things are more recent, though nothing after I met you, obviously.” 

Your mind was doing flips, bashing jarringly against your skull as Azriel looked at you with an almost concerned discomfort. When you said hobbies, you thought he would share that he used to train more or had a secret joy for puzzles. You had not expected a brief overview of his sexual partners, but Azriel looked about ready to give you a list if you asked. To dive deeper into the topic you were about to melt into a puddle over. 

This was what you were really holding him back from, then. 

He wanted to go to pleasure houses, but you were taking up all of that time. 

When you remained silent, Azriel shifted his weight between his feet. “I know things were different for you. You were human. I’ve learned of the demands and expectations of human women, so that’s why we’ve been going slo—” 

Your ears were ringing as he spoke. You clutched your hands together and interrupted him. “Right, yes, different for humans. And not alive as long, obviously. Less time for hobbies.” 

“I don’t mind. I don’t care about that,” he offered slowly. You weren’t even sure what he was talking about. Another beat of silence, and then, in the most usure voice you had heard from him, Azriel asked, “Is that okay?” 

Was it okay for him to go back to pleasure houses? To seek out intimacy? Who were you to decide that for him? “Of course,” you blinked, raising a hand to your forehead. “I’m—I’m going to go rest, I think. Long day.” 

“Alright,” Azriel simply replied, left standing in the hall. 

~~

You missed him, which was terribly awful in the worst ways. 

Not only had he made it abundantly clear that he was setting his sights on other women, but he was being extra nice now, probably fearing for the worst now that you were aware he was going to be spending his newfound time… doing other things.

He asked you to accompany him to dinner every night this week. You turned him down each time, but he still asked, a casual hope ringing in his words. He arrived at the Riverhouse every morning, ready to walk you to the clinic even though you assured him you were okay to go alone. He didn’t bring his coat back, but he grabbed your own from the closet by the door and had it open for you on each of those mornings. 

And his wings were doing strange things. When you would come to the door, he would spread them just a few inches wider, seeking your eyes as they roved over the exposed veins. He opened them behind you as you walked, almost ushering you closer to him on the streets of Velaris. They seemed to ruffle when he sat beside you at dinner, in the sitting room, when he caught you reading and joined you on the couch. It was almost imperceptible, but the sound was becoming soothing, and that was dangerous. 

You were reading too much into things, acting crazy again, and so, you distanced yourself more when you started to notice the patterns. And then you missed him because of it. 

He noticed. You were sure he noticed. You could only turn him down so many times before he began to question the change. 

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked after two weeks of your eyes flitting away from him. 

“What? Of course not.” 

“You’re avoiding me.” 

“I’m not.” 

Azriel took you by surprise then, kneeling by the chair you were nestled into. “You are. Tell me what I did.” 

Such a picture of devotion made you squirm. You unraveled your legs from under you and sat eye-level with the Shadowsinger’s form. “Nothing, Az. Remember, I told you I was trying to be more self-sufficient. Give you more time back.”

“Is this because of our conversation a few weeks ago? Because I only told you because it’s important to understand my history as my—” 

You quickly shook your head, not wanting another recount of his love life. Not when you weren’t part of it. “Nothing like that, I swear.” 

Cassian chose that moment to enter the small library, a decision that was both your downfall and eventual salvation, as time would reveal. 

“Whoa. Hey,” Cassian cautioned, eyeing a kneeling Azriel. “Something going on?” 

“Nothing,” you quipped, feeling Azriel’s eyes still glued to your face as it heated and turned to Cassian. “What are you doing here? Feyre said you were at the camps until next week.” 

“Yeah, well, got sick of the camps,” he replied, brow raised when Azriel reluctantly rose from the ground and stiffly turned. 

“Glad you’re back then.” 

“Thanks for the warm welcome, sweetheart.” Cassian kicked back into a far chair, the air still heavy. “Anyone have plans tonight? I feel like going out.” 

Azriel cleared his throat, fingers flexing with shadows that twined between them. “I believe Mor is going to Rita’s. But I have… business tonight.” 

“Business, huh?” Cassian smirked, flicking his gaze over to you in a quick motion. 

“Cassian,” Azriel warned, but it was too late. Something ugly and hot gripped your throat, making it impossible to swallow.

This was it. This was what you wanted. He was finally free from you, and his words tonight were only a semblance of guilt for leaving you when you asked him to. But it wasn’t fair to hold him in your grasp when he didn’t want to be there. When you were a duty to him. 

He needed to know that it was okay to move on from the responsibility of you, so you steeled yourself and swallowed down the searing pain in your chest that felt like it was yanking at you when you were resolute in your next words.