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Azriel counted the seconds in his mind, waiting for this dream to end. 

Any moment now, he'd open his eyes to the ornate carvings etched into his bedroom ceiling, the stone washed in the pale blue glow of the creeping pre-dawn hours. 

After countless nightmares, this exact view became a lifeline to him over the years. The carvings were absolution. Proof that whatever horrors had unfolded moments before belonged to a world with no power over him.

The wounds inflicted upon him would vanish with waking, and the atrocities he'd committed would dissolve into the same oblivion as the dream itself, leaving neither scars nor consequence. The ceiling was his salvation. 

The ceiling never came. 

Instead, Rhys eclipsed his fading view of her retreating form and the slight yet unmistakable shake of her shoulders from sobs he would never unhear. It was clear there was no easy way out, no waking up from this nightmare of his own making. 

“Azriel.”

The stern voice belonged to an eerily formal Rhys as he entered the hallway. The last thing Azriel felt he needed was reprimanding and it irritated him that so many others had involved themselves in his matters of the heart. 

Could he truly have the audacity to be so upset, though, if he was the reason they were involved in the first place? Attempting to break fast at their shared table with hickeys from a woman he barely knew (who also happened to be the elder sister of his High Lady) on full display was hardly discreet behavior. 

“I don’t need this from you,” He found himself churning out the words, if nothing else but to shield his wounded pride. With nauseating clarity, her hatred that he thought would be easier to stomach than her love, “for her own good”, was one of his gravest, if not the gravest, miscalculations of his immortality. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands right now.” Rhys retorted.

Feyre and Cassian slowly slid into the hall after Rhys’ failed attempt to handle the matter privately from where the others were still trying to finish their meals. 

Cassian’s arms crossed over his thick chest. In his eyes, Azriel found regret, but as soon as Cassian had revealed it, disappointment eclipsed any lingering sympathy toward his brother.

“This has nothing to do with you. With any of you,” Azriel sneered. He was lashing out at himself, but he would strike anyone in his path. 

“You just humiliated our friend in front of everyone, you think we’ll just look the other way? Not to mention, Elain is a mated woman. To a Vanserra. You understand those aren't just personal consequences anymore, Azriel? They're political."

“Political?” Azriel’s nostrils flared. “I never stuck my nose in your business when you were actively courting Feyre away from Tamlin despite the barely passable relationship with Spring at the time. I respected you that much.”

“You keep my mate’s name out of your damn mouth.” Rhys snarled with all the restraint of a beast pacing behind the bars of its cage, keenly aware that the iron between it and its prey was more a suggestion than a true restraint.

“You couldn’t even wait until she was out from Under the Mountain, when she was still in chains. You don’t get to act better than me.” 

Azriel knew exactly which cut to lay. The sick, misplaced satisfaction that flashed across his face lasted only a heartbeat before Rhys was a blur lunging for his brother’s throat.

Cassian caught Rhys around the middle, boots squealing against the marble floors as he wrestled his High Lord backward. With what little wit he began to regain, Rhys allowed Cassian to drive him away from Azriel, if only to keep Feyre from being swept into a brawl between three Illyrians. 

Azriel would not have been nearly so fortunate had they been alone.

Rhys shoved Cassian off of him, eyes trained on Azriel with foreign regard. "Your self-destruction never stops with you, does it?”  

“Enough,” Feyre sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before smoothing her finger tips across her eyebrows. “You both are lashing out and childishness isn’t going to help her, which is who this is really about.”

Azriel’s demeanor softened in the slightest as he angled towards Feyre. “You know I would never do anything to hurt her.” But even as the words left his mouth, he pegged them for the lies they were. Because everything he had done to hurt her, he had done knowingly. It didn’t matter if he did it for what he believed was her own good. Intention was as useless an excuse as any. 

Feyre winced as the blatant lies landed. “I warned you to not fuck up this one thing. One thing, Azriel. All you’ve done the entire time you’ve known her is agonize over how you don’t deserve her. I hate to think you were right.”

Azriel felt like his world was ending. The realization that he may never be able to fix this, that things may never go back to the way they were, that he couldn’t just turn back time as easily as he had managed to waste it, filled him with despair. 

Rhys impatiently squinted at the dial on his wrist. “I would ask you to stay back, but the Shadowsinger is needed at this meeting in Day. So let me make this perfectly clear,” He stepped closer to his brother, the depersonalizing tone not lost on Azriel. Despite being slightly shorter, what Rhys lacked in physical height he made up for in High Lord menace. Rhys’ voice dropped to something dangerously quiet. "You will not speak to her. You will not go near her. You will not look at her. You will not so much as breathe the same air until we return and settle this."

The fight left Azriel’s body as he accepted Rhys' terms with none of the spite he held just a minute ago. The defiance that had burned so brightly moments before guttered into exhausted resignation. He gave a single nod.

"I mean it." Rhys said, each word sharpened to a blade. His jaw flexed, fury still simmering just beneath the surface. Feyre's hand slipped around his forearm, her gentle touch grounding him before his temper could crest again. Rhys exhaled through his nose, and allowed her to guide him down the hall, leaving Azriel and Cassian alone.

“Cass-”

Cassian shook his head, which surprised him as he did it. But the person before him wasn’t his brother. His brother who had spent so long waiting for love, yearning for it in secret and wishing for it on every star during Starfall, would never do this once he found it. 

“I can't bring myself to understand how you spend decades mourning a future you think you'll never have, only to throw it away the moment it's placed in your hands. I’ve defended you our entire lives because you’re my brother, even when you’ve been wrong. Especially when you’ve been wrong. But I can’t– I can’t stand by you in this.”

Azriel’s words were stupidly stuck in his throat once again. He’d broken her heart but he’d also betrayed his friends’ trust in the process. He watched them rally for her, protect her, and somewhere deep down inside, he felt a strange mix of guilt and relief that perhaps he had done the right thing after all. She had them; why would she ever need him?

“How can I fix this?” The sorry words tumbled out of his mouth pathetically.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure you get to.”

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She was vaguely aware of her surroundings. Voices, trying their hardest to remain lighthearted. Afternoon sunlight saturating surfaces in a deep honey hue. Bodies– three to be exact– restless yet well meaning in the way they fidgeted from different areas of her room. She didn’t pick up on it, but their eyes flitted amongst one another in helplessness and concern. She knew she was here, but she wasn’t here.

“Oh you’re definitely taking this.” Mor was nestled in her best friend’s wardrobe, rummaging through the various dresses draped on velvet hangers. She held up a strip of glittering organza as if she’d struck gold. The sheer, summer-hued fabric was just so that it was opaque where it was bunched and left little to the imagination where it laid flat. Two strips of the fabric ran down either shoulder and met just below the navel, gathering there before flowing down to the floor like a waterfall between the legs. 

“It’s a Day Court party, not an orgy,” Amren quipped from where she was perched on the chaise near the window. “Though many would argue there’s no difference.”

It was all white noise to her. Mor was trying to help her find a dress to wear to Helion’s party after the court summit, though the idea of adorning herself in her jewels and a practiced smile felt too much to ask for. 

Certainly, the heartbreak would heal. The pain would wane. The disappointment would linger but otherwise recede, like froth on a beach from a wave long gone. It was the humiliation of letting the wrong person in so deeply that would haunt her from the shadowed crooks of her immortality. There wasn’t a corner of her life he hadn’t touched in some way. 

It was unfortunate enough that over the years she blossomed beneath whatever it was he gave her. She called it love once, but in hindsight attention was likely a better word. Perhaps it was punishment reserved for the foolish to only realize the extent of reality after they could no longer change it. 

She knew what her friends were doing, but there was nothing more she wanted than to be alone. After breakfast they came to check on her, first Mor, then Feyre. Even Amren, who rarely concerned herself with matters of the heart, found herself stopping by unasked. 

It was then she told them everything. Her conversation with Mor, when she stopped Azriel in his pursuit to clarify his intentions, which led to the cruel conversation that followed. A truly unfortunate string of events that was somehow even more humiliating when she recounted the saga to an audience. 

“I’m not wearing that,” she turned beneath her sheets, facing the other side of the room. Vaguely aware of just how pathetic rotting in bed was at the moment, she could barely bring herself to care. It was easier to hide the tears beneath her blankets when she felt them coming on again instead of answering for them when looks of sorrow crossed over her friends’ faces. 

“You didn’t even look.” Mor deadpanned.

“I did look, and I’m not wearing that. I’m not having my tits out in the same room as Beron and his whore son.”

“Eris would have no complaints, by any means.” Amren offered her unneeded two cents. 

“That’s the fucking problem.”

“Your tits won’t be out.”

“They’ll be out enough.”

“Come on! You’ve only worn this once, and I nearly ate you up.” Mor stood up to walk the dress over to her bag. 

“The only other time…” her voice faltered. At first she was trying to remember where she’d worn it, then remembered too suddenly, too rudely, why she’d worn it. Mor all but forced it into her hands when they went shopping for Tarquin’s Summer Solstice party last year. 

“Azriel will drive himself mad over it,” Mor reasoned as she pushed her to the till.

And it had, just as she’d hoped. Azriel’s eyes followed her around the entire day and night. She felt his eyes, even sitting beside him at dinner. He barely touched his food. Nudging her knee with his when he laughed, draping an arm over the back of her chair when the alcohol began to loosen him up, inhaling her scent every time she shifted like it was a drug. Later that night, he slipped into her room in the Summer Palace and Feyre and Rhys who were next door played the game of pretending not to know at breakfast the next morning.

The girls must have read her mind because the room fell silent again. 

She swaddled the blankets tighter around her body, feeling the ghost of his touch against her will. His hands beneath her shirt, the weight of his body against hers, his knee pressing her legs apart the way he knew would push her into the completely pliant state that had preceded all of her most feverish memories. Where she’d once felt herself warm at these thoughts, they now settled like rocks in the pit of her stomach, forever and undeniably linked to the look on his face and the tone of his voice when Azriel told her he’d never have her as anything more than a body to warm his bed. 

“I’m not too keen on vying for his attention anymore, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She referred to Azriel with frigid indifference in her voice, but no one was stupid enough to believe she truly did not care anymore. 

“Oh this is not for Azriel,” Mor smirked. “This is for Helion.”

Mor and Feyre broke into light laughter, but she couldn’t bring herself to join them. Turning back around to face her friends, she felt her jaw loosen in awe but kept her mouth shut. 

“Are you serious?”

She supposed she should’ve seen this coming, and if she wasn’t so preoccupied these past 12 hours, she would have. It was inevitable for her friends to tease her when it came to the High Lord of the Day Court, his persistent courtship (and what she demanded was but a one-sided flirtation) as much a secret among them as the genre of books Nesta kept her nose in. 

It was something that always mildly entertained her, but never anything she put any real stock into, for her heart always sat in Azriel’s hands, and Azriel seemed to attach himself to her at the hip around Helion. A fact she once adored now rendered her ill. Again, love was never the word. Infatuation. Delusion. Possession, even. 

“You know what they say… the only way to get over one male is to get under another one.” Amren supplemented again. 

“That’s literally not how that saying goes,” she grabbed the pillow beside her and smothered her face to block out the light and sound that had suddenly become too much. “And I’m not interested in being under anyone right now, actually.”

“Not even the absurdly tall, unfairly handsome High Lord of Day who has been shamelessly captivated by you since the moment you crossed paths?”

On any other day it would’ve made her laugh and shove Mor in the shoulder. Mor had always been a proponent of “team Helion” as she’d called it. 

A harmless bit of entertainment between friends somewhere along the way became a bandwagon that the rest of the Inner Circle jumped on. Helion, of course, was always more than happy to oblige, admiring her openly and without apology, simply because he loved to.

She never thought much of it. 

Flirting was as natural to Helion as breathing, offered as freely as his laughter and with no more expectation than a smile in return. There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about it. She knew where she stood with him because he never asked her to decipher hidden intentions or search for words left unsaid. If he thought she looked beautiful, he told her. If he wanted a dance, he asked. If he wanted to make her blush with some outrageous compliment, he did so with all the confidence of a mate which he was not.

So she played along, feigning exasperation at his relentless charm, batting away compliments she secretly loved to receive, indulging his theatrics because, at the end of the day, that was the nature of her friendship with Helion. He flirted, she humored him, they laughed; it was fun. Helion was fun. He was charming, beautiful, and entirely too much, but she never expected anything more from it.

Perhaps she would have, had her heart not already been elsewhere.

Mor, however, delighted in challenging otherwise, and by extension, challenging Azriel’s restraint. 

Her favorite scheme consisted of “drunkenly” pushing her best friend into the high lord at a party and watching him catch her by the waist to steady her. They’d exchange smiles, a cheeky comment perhaps, before Helion’s hands would slide lower to her waist and get her to dance with him. 

"Careful," Mor would tease afterward. "Someone might think you actually like him."

She would laugh because the idea was ridiculous, but Mor always said it as if she knew something no one else did. 

"Hmm," Mor would muse. "It's awfully easy with Helion, wouldn’t you say?."

"It's easy with Az," she would correct without hesitation.

"I don’t know. You never have to guess with Helion. You’re always wondering with Az." 

She’d dismiss the challenge. “Love isn’t supposed to be easy.” 

She believed that then; that loving someone meant accepting the silences, learning the language of half-finished thoughts and lingering glances, believing that the things left unsaid somehow carried more meaning than the things spoken aloud. How painfully naïve that seemed now; why wouldn’t loving someone be easy if it were right?

Azriel never found any of it as amusing as Mor and the rest of their friends did.

He noticed every lingering touch after a winnow, every dance Helion coaxed her into, every smile he managed to draw from her with effortless ease. He noticed the way he leaned close when speaking to her, the casual intimacy with which he occupied her space and she never seemed to object.

To her, it was harmless.

To Azriel, it was proof. Proof that there would always be someone better equipped to love her than he was. Someone quicker with a smile, lighter with their words, unafraid to let themselves be known. Helion never seemed to hesitate before speaking, never weighed every sentence until the moment had long since passed. He simply existed beside her with an ease Azriel had spent years trying and failing to imitate. 

Everything that Azriel did in front of her was life or death, the difference between earning her love or losing it forever. Helion seemed to carry none of the same burden and it worked for him. Jealousy had never been a close and personal friend to Azriel until he met her. 

She could reassure him a thousand times that Helion was only Helion. Yet in hindsight, she never stopped to wonder why she felt compelled to defend their friendship to a male who was neither her mate nor, apparently, her lover. 

Love, she thought now, was perhaps not a question of difficulty or ease, but of wisdom and foolishness.

Mor reverently laid the dress on the bed, careful not to rumple the delicate fabric. Her voice softened. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and this is all in good fun. It’s all we can do for you right now.”

She sighed, suddenly guilty for the inconvenience of her own emotions. “I know, I’m sorry. It seems as though I’m only capable of offering my gratitude in cruelty."

“Don’t be. Just be ready to leave tonight, that’s all. We’ll take care of the rest.”

In silent acknowledgement, Mor, Amren, and Feyre readied to take their leave. Her heart broke, knowing they would not take her uncharacteristic defiance personally, but it also swelled in gratitude that they afforded her the chance to be alone without her explicitly asking for it. She slowly sat up, watching her friends file out of her room. 

She hated this, feeling pathetic. She hated being the one that needed tending to and taking care of. She was the one that took care of others. 

Most of all, she despised that one male had the power to make her feel so distraught, so small. She wished she could snap herself up and carry herself as tall as she usually stood, to continue as if nothing had happened, to be able to lie to herself that he was nothing. For everything to go back to normal. 

“Thank you,” her voice was smaller than she intended for it to come out, but it was all she could manage. Tears rimmed her bloodshot eyes again.

“You can thank me by bringing that dress.” Mor snarked, but her eyes were tender. 

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She’d never admit it to Rhys, but the Day Court always held a special place in her heart. Of course, there was comfort in an endless expanse of velvety night sky generously punctuated with stars. Comfort in the dominating, snowcapped mountains that guarded the life enclosed within their valleys, with their resilient purple-gray faces that have gazed upon their wards for centuries. 

Yet, there was equal comfort for her in the long days and buttery skies of Day. At any given window she was gifted a view of the rolling green hills hemmed with all manner of flora, fauna, and flowing streams. They stretched until they winked out of sight where the grass met the sky, and beyond still.  

Those views became something of a lifeline to her against Azriel’s constantly flicking gaze, measuring every shift in her expression and demeanor, waiting for the perfect time to get her alone with minimal outburst.

The feeling of being watched which once made her gut twist with anticipation now made it turn over uneasily. 

Since their arrival, Azriel had been relentless. Not in the way he once was, though. No quiet shadows curling around her hips or ankles, no careful distance disguised as patience. He sought her out openly now. His gaze followed her across rooms, catching on her every movement, every attempt to disappear into conversation with someone else. More than once, she felt him begin to approach, only for Rhys to appear at her side with effortless timing, placing himself between them under the guise of some casual remark.

Cassian was even less subtle. A hand on Azriel’s shoulder, a loud interruption, a poorly disguised question that redirected the conversation elsewhere, anything to keep Azriel from reaching her without turning the situation into a spectacle in front of Helion. The effort was almost comical, if not for the desperation behind it.

Mor and Feyre were quicker still. The moment Helion’s initial greetings were exchanged and the group began making their way toward the chambers to freshen up, they slipped an arm through hers and pulled her away, filling the silence with chatter and refusing to give Azriel so much as an opening.

She was grateful, but she also knew there was only so much her friends could do to keep a determined male at bay. 

Elain, meanwhile, followed Azriel like a duckling.

She almost felt pity for her, unable to keep herself from putting herself in Elain’s shoes. The man she found some incidental infatuation with finally takes her to bed, in what must have felt like an alignment of the stars and the beginning of her new life, then refuses to so much as look at her the next morning. But Elain clung to Azriel despite his coldness toward her, and that’s where her sympathy ended. 

“Where have you been?” Helion’s voice was her tether to reality, bringing her back to the porcelain columns and hand tufted rugs of his palace’s dining room. “You usually afford me a longer bout of feigned interest in my stories before you completely disregard me. In my own home, at that.” 

The smile that came to her lips was easy. If nothing else, she could count on Helion to make things feel normal. To make her feel normal. 

She’d zoned out as Helion regaled the dinner table with his latest crowd-pleaser, a story in which he and his injured pegasus Meallan had found themselves stranded in the deep valleys at the outskirts of his court. Creative liberties were taken in his recounting to be sure, given this was most likely the fifth or sixth time he was telling it. However, she didn’t think her lack of awareness was so obvious.

“I’m quite over it already. You lost me when somehow your toga tore right off as Meallan fell out of the sky.”

“Well, I added that detail just for you, I recall you have quite the active imagination.”

“Then how lucky am I that I was able to entertain myself just before my brain could conjure any images against my will.”

“You wound me.”

“I take pleasure in it.”

“No doubt, you make no effort to hide that,” Helion’s smile was easy and light, but his eyes squinted as if assessing the lack of edge in her tone. “But it would take a little more effort to hide that something has been bothering you.”

“Helion–” she sighed. 

“I could tell the minute you arrived.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm.” His eyes flickered over her, far too attentive. “I supposed you’re exhausted.”

“Yes, how perceptive you are.”

“And yet you’ve barely touched your meal.”

She glanced down at the untouched plate in front of her.

“Mother above Helion, your obsession with me reaches new heights.” She scoffed, trying to turn around where the conversation was headed.

“I couldn’t help myself even if I tried,” The words were teasing, but now it was his turn to lack the usual quipping tone that accompanied his banter. 

Helion waited for her to reply, to give him even an inch to go off of. 

“You are many things,” he said quietly. “Sharp-tongued. Quick. Maddening.” The corner of his mouth lifted when hers did. “But quiet? I’ve never known you to be quiet.”

Her smile faltered. When he looked at her deeper, as if urging her eyes to speak with his, she looked away, reaching for her wine instead.

“You’re reading too much into it.” 

“Perhaps,” Helion leaned back, giving her space rather than pressing closer. “I’m not going to ask if you want to talk about it, but–”

“Good.”

As it was, more people than she was comfortable with were already aware of the innards of her love life against her will. She’d be grateful if no one else was privy to the specifics of her humiliation if she could help it. 

Helion took the hint and put the rest of the conversation to bed, even if there was more he wanted to say. Before he could change the subject, Elain’s laughter bounced off of the porcelain columns, bright and airy, as delicate as she was. 

The sound was out of place enough against the quiet chatter that it drew attention immediately. Conversations softened, heads turned. And despite herself, she looked across the table. Elain’s hand was barely wrapped around Azriel’s bicep, as if she needed him to steady her.

Azriel’s reaction was immediate. His frame tightened, eyes snapping toward her, and for one awful moment, their gazes caught.

She looked away first.

Azriel removed Elain’s hand from his arm. Not harshly. Not enough for Elain to notice. She only smiled and leaned closer into his side, oblivious. She found herself feeling equally cold towards Elain, the very feeling riddling some tender part of her heart with guilt.  

No, she thought to herself. You’re acting like a child. If he did this with Elain, he could’ve done it with any woman. It changes nothing. But Azriel was still looking at her, praying to catch her eyes again if even for a second.

Feeling the pathetic, warm tears prick her waterline once again, she made a show of exasperatedly attempting to evict a pesky eyelash from her waterline. “It’s been a long day.” 

“Filthy liar.” Helion nudged her knee with his beneath the table. 

She let herself lean into it for a moment; his warmth, his kindness, his familiarity. 

She loved her family. Rhys, Feyre. Cassian. Amren, Mor, and she’d even found herself one of the few people Nesta could tolerate. But in the past few hours, that bubble had begun to feel impossibly small, everyone a bit too close for comfort, through no fault of their own. Every look, every question, every attempt to help carried the weight of their concern, and she was so tired of being worried over. So tired of being known, of having the most private parts of herself laid bare for everyone to see, even if it was out of love. Even if every person around her only wanted to protect her. 

There was no room left for her to unravel quietly, without a dozen people standing by to witness it.

Jumping at the opportunity to leave Velaris felt like a betrayal, but perhaps she needed the distance more than she realized. Helion was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that she could exist outside of her heartbreak. That she could be loved without needing to reach into every wound to somehow feel worthy of it. 

“Regardless of what’s bothering you, I’m glad you’re here. These halls have missed you.”

“I miss being here as well. Given your good sense, my role as Rhys’ emissary doesn’t allow me nearly as much time at your court as I would like. I’m mostly in Autumn nowadays, Mother help me.”

“Mother help you indeed,” Helion chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Or, Mother help Beron, knowing you.” 

She snorted a genuine laugh for the first time in a day. “Eh, at the end of the day he’s senile at best, clinging on to his last few shreds of testosterone if only to prove to himself his withering faculties still serve him well.”

“Hmm. You’re a cruel woman.”

“I thought I was known for my sharp tongue?”

“I never said I didn’t like it.” Helion defended himself with a self-satisfied smirk. 

She rolled her eyes, feeling a tug at her lips again. “Besides, Lucien tries to make the trip down whenever I have to go. It helps, having a friend around.”

“I’m glad he can be there for you, then. You have a good head on your shoulders, that’s for sure. It’s why I’ve been trying to openly poach you to Day. We could use your smarts here. And I’d selfishly appreciate having a friend around too.”

For the first time, she did not immediately defy his offer to move here. It was only a pause that lasted all but 2 seconds, but Helion caught it. 

“You always have a home here, you know that.”

A shrill snap pierced the air. 

A few silent seconds followed, swallowing the room and every conversation with it.

The look toward Azriel was instinctual, as much as she hated to admit it. 

There was blood.

Despite her better judgement, panic still twisted low in her stomach as she regarded Azriel’s bloodied hand dripping one crimson drop after another onto the hand-woven placemat. 

Feyre and Elain gasped at the same time Rhys expelled a tired breath. Cassian murmured something unintelligible. The others were dead silent. 

Azriel had shattered the wine glass in his hand, sending the liquid and glass across his plate. He barely seemed aware of the damage he’d done, his attention instead on Helion. On Her. On Helion’s attention to her. 

Had he been eavesdropping on their conversation? The realization took root as Azriel's attention remained fixed on Helion. 

Nausea churned in her gut, threaded now with a fear that he wasn't going to let her go. She couldn’t make sense of what was going on in his head for him to cut her loose then refuse to leave her be, neither did she care to understand anymore. Yesterday, she wanted to talk. Today, it was too late. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Rhys muttered, perhaps not as quietly has he intended.

Helion said nothing, only glanced between Azriel and her. His brow drew into a deep furrow when he realized he couldn’t hear her heart beat. She had stopped breathing.

“I’m so sorry–” Rhys began, but Helion lifted a hand. 

“Accidents happen,” Helion said simply. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly that only Azriel caught it and brought him out of his strange trance. He absorbed the mess he’d made and quickly set upon cleaning up what he could. 

“I’m sorry,” Azriel repeated, looking up at her again between carelessly handling the shards of glass, still so far away from his current situation he couldn’t even register the further harm he was causing himself. 

All he could focus on was trying to meet her eyes again, and instead felt sick to his stomach when her head was turned the other way. She didn’t even seem to realize that her fingers had curled into the table cloth beside her plate, desperately trying to keep herself together in front of everyone. 

The leash Azriel kept on himself, usually tight and unyielding, had slackened without his consent. He wasn’t proud of sharpening his hearing to their conversation. He was aware he had no right. And yet, watching Helion touch her however briefly, watching her smile and soften in his presence drove him past a line he wasn’t aware of and his body acted before his mind could even register it. 

You continue to embarrass her, disrespect her. You are insufferable. He told himself as he uselessly dabbed at the wine stains on his trousers. 

Helion’s large fingers gently prodded between hers and the table cloth to release her hold. As soon as he felt her loosen, he pulled his hand back. 

“I think it’s best if we rain check dessert. It’s quite late, and I imagine everyone would benefit from some rest before the remaining courts arrive tomorrow. Please, enjoy the sitting room or the balcony if you wish,” Helion’s smile was gracious, the born host he was. But it was clear the night was over. “Azriel, please let my healer Flora take a look at that hand before you retire for the night.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rhys wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin before chucking it on the table harder than he meant to. 

“Let me take a look,” Elain frantically took Azriel’s hand in hers. She was the only one who would care to even touch him now, so he pathetically let her. 

She barely inspected the wound, instead holding his hand just to hold it and fussing over the amount of blood. He guiltily drank in the physical contact, the light fingertips over his wrist and forearm until, from across the table, she stood up quickly and left the dining hall. As if the shame had finally overridden his desperation, he yanked his hand from the cradle of Elain’s arms and rose to follow. 

Rhys stopped him, grabbing his bicep with such easy force that it looked harmless to anyone else. “You will not create more of a scene than you already have. You will take care of this yourself, am I clear?”

Azriel shrugged out of Rhys’ hold. Everyone else filed out of the dining room, desperate to release themselves from the uncomfortable energy the night ended on.  

“Are you alright?” Feyre asked quietly, more out of obligation than care. 

“Guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” Azriel whispered, unable to meet her eye. 

Feyre said nothing, offered no help or words of comfort. She shook her head and left as well, leaving Azriel to stew in his wounds, emotional and physical. 

Eventually, everyone retreated to their respective chambers, exhausted from the travel and lethargic from the feast Helion insisted upon for his company. 

Helion found her leaning against the threshold to the balcony off the sitting room, eyes closed against the nighttime breeze, the closest thing to relief she’s had in over a day. 

“Do you need anything?” Helion asked from behind.

She shook her head without opening her eyes or turning around. She was so sick of feeling this way, so foreign to her own self. 

“Do you need a distraction?”

Her eyes fluttered open at that, finally turning around and raising her eyebrows to feign playfulness. “You’ll have to be more specific, your many definitions of a ‘distraction’ concern me.”

He chuckled fondly at her suspicion, neither could he fault her for it. “I did acquire a few manuscripts from Thesian's libraries. Not as impressive as mine, obviously, but they’re worth a few hours of your time, I think.”

She snorted.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to look through them yet. Truthfully, I think I was waiting for you. Just the two of us, like old times,” He watched a twinkle form in her eyes. “Of course, they are in my bedchambers currently.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she felt them pulse. “You are relentless.”

“I know how it sounds.”

“It sounds exactly how you intended it to.”

“Well... yes. But it’s true, they are. Then again, multiple things can be true at once…” Helion’s flirting was so effortless, and at times so ridiculous, but he knew it always managed to make her laugh, and that’s really all he was after. 

“I think I just need to be alone tonight.” Her voice was barely higher than the ticking of the clock in the dining room behind them. 

Helion’s smile was kind and gorgeous. He shifted closer to her, if only to push open the second balcony door to widen her view. 

“Whatever you need. I know you enjoy the nights here, so I will leave her highness to her balcony,” Helion dramatically gestured towards the view, knowing she loved to spend a lot of her own time there. It was one of her favorite places, after all. “And consider the little something on the table there a gift from an old friend.”

A warm breeze carrying the faintest scent of verbena and portulaca. The railing cooled her palms as she wrapped her hands around the iron, savoring the shock of the sensation. 

Up here, it was only her. Her and the hills. Many times over the years she wished she could disappear into them, build herself a modest cottage, and never return. Nothing entirely advanced and definitely far from perfect. It would most likely remain unremarkable– a hole in the roof, a gap in the window, mismatched stonework– far from what she was used to in Velaris to be sure. But it would be hers, a product of her own two hands, and that would make it more of a home than anywhere else she’d been before. In place of the fae-light chandeliers, marble staircases, and plum-sized jewels in coffers just below her feet, she would hang herbs to dry above the kitchen sink, line crystals on the windowsills, tend to her misbehaving garden, leave out dishes of milk for the animals that wandered in and out as they pleased, and fill every empty nook of space with her favorite books.

She ached for it. At one point, she ached for it with Azriel. Just the two of them, away from court politics, Illyria, their shame, everything left behind exactly as they’d intended. She wanted a life and home with him so deeply that it played like a film reel in her mind. She'd write her stories and read them to him, rattle off the names of their most frequent animal visitors while Azriel struggled to keep up with them. Azriel would be the one to fix the hole in their roof and the gap in their window, to brew her tea and bring her to sit beside the fire until they were hungry for dinner or wine or for each other. 

Thinking about it now, she laughed bitterly with shame that she so easily let him infiltrate her dreams. A fantasy she’d created solely for herself and cultivated over the years was so easily amenable to the presence of a male she only thought she knew. She was the one who let him in, and scrubbing him from her life would begin with scrubbing him from her cottage in the hills.

Behind her, a shallow ceramic dish rested on the small bone-inlaid table between two cushioned chairs. The contents of the dish made her huff a tiny relenting laugh. She could never mistake the familiar mounds of dried leaves for anything other than mirthroot, her and Helion’s vice of choice whenever they were together. They’d always indulge towards the end of a visit, sitting at this very balcony for hours, as if they had no responsibility other than smoking every last roll they drew. These skies had heard all manner of conversion between the two. But she was thankful to partake alone, just for tonight. 

Sinking into the cushions of the over-stuffed chair, she lit the end of a small roll of mirthroot wrapped within its paper, begging the warmth of the smoke she breathed in to quell her broken heart. She liked pretending the warmth settled somewhere deeper than her lungs. Somewhere closer to the place that actually hurt.

Try as she might to erase Azriel’s image from the back of her eyelids, she could not manage to do it. With another two puffs, the familiar relaxation set into her bones. Instead of bringing the relief she expected, she felt her shoulders sag deeper into the cushions before the tears began again. They came swiftly, silently, relentlessly. She didn’t try to stop them. 

She was mourning. Mourning the version of life she had just last night before the drinking started. Mourning the version of Azriel she’d fallen in love with. Mourning the version of herself she now was because of how close she let Azriel come. 

Despite the feeling of her entire life jolting to a stop, the Day Court buzzed on below her. The world never stops spinning. How extravagant of her to nurse a broken heart on this beautiful balcony overlooking a beautiful mural of nature and life, with this beautiful fucking joint between her fingers. It could truly be worse. She couldn’t spend much longer feeling so sorry like this when truly the only loss that had happened was Azriel’s.

She was so taken by her own plight, of her fantasy cottage she was so desperately trying to reclaim, at the beauty of her surroundings, she barely registered the figure at the entrance to the balcony behind her.  

“Are you okay?” Azriel realized how stupid the question was as soon as it left his mouth. 

She quickly swiveled her neck at his voice and regarded him standing awkwardly at the threshold, as if uncertain whether stepping onto the balcony would be crossing a line.

The dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders bowed as though something invisible had settled across them— Azriel looked nothing like the Shadowsinger who could bring armies to heel with a glance. He looked exactly as miserable as she hoped he felt.

She didn’t expect to laugh in his face. Albeit mirthless, the response caught him off guard too. 

“The first time you speak to me since you tell me I was nothing more than a good fuck to you all these years, and you ask me if I’m okay?”

His face crumpled.

"I know." He swallowed. "I know, I'm sorry. It was stupid. I didn't—I didn't know what to say. I just needed to say something, I suppose."

She turned back toward the balcony, the mirthroot between her lips. This time her hand trembled slightly as she dragged the thick smoke into her lungs. Quickly wiping the tears already staining her cheeks, she scolded herself for not wiping them earlier. 

His voice was hoarse as he attempted to fill the silence, to make his appearance worth her while. "I have no right to come speak to you. No right to ask for forgiveness–”

“Yet here you are.”

“But if we could just talk…"

She didn’t respond. Instead she closed her eyes, trying to preserve the serenity that she’d come out here for in the first place before Azriel had done what he seemed incapable of resisting lately– tainting it with his presence. 

Azriel waited for her to respond, mistaking her silence for permission. “I’m not asking for much–”

“I think you’re asking for a lot.”

“Please.” His single plea was as shattered as it could get. 

“You want me to make you feel better, that’s why you’re here. This has nothing to do with me.”

Azriel’s desperation rose. This was the most she’d talked to him in the past 24 hours and her attention, regardless of the frigidity of it, was a high even more intoxicating than the mirthroot could be. “No– no that’s not true. Please.”

She clenched her teeth at his persistence and crushed the remaining mirthroot in the dish with a force she mentally directed at Azriel’s head. Finally, she rose from her chair, spinning on her heels to face him once again.

“Do you know how pathetic you sound?”

“I know. I don’t care.” he shrugged with defeat. 

"What did you think was going to happen?" Her hands flew outward. "Hmm? That you’d finally get me alone, say your piece, and I’d forgive you instantly? All it would take for me to forget you insulting me, humiliating me, wasting my fucking time was a sorry? Then what? I'd hike my dress back up and we'd pretend none of it happened?”

“No." He shook his head so quickly it bordered on frantic.“No, I don’t want– I don’t expect– it wasn’t my intention–”

“But it was, wasn’t it? It was just about the sex all these years to you? We bore our souls to each other, shared everything. I knew things about you no one else did and I told you things I thought I’d take to my grave. The sex came because of that. It was real to me, and I thought it was real for you too.” She didn’t realize when the tears had started again, or when her voice began to rise, but she couldn’t stop herself now that Azriel had opened the floodgates. 

"I just..." He scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling a situation that had already spiralled out of his control slip further. "I needed you to know I didn't mean it."

“Then why say it? Am I supposed to believe you simply because you said so?”

“I panicked. I panicked, and the first thing I thought to do was push you away. I wish it were different–”

“You told me I meant nothing to you!”

Azriel stepped closer but she immediately took a step back. Her body rejected him entirely, and although the aversion was foreign at first, it also gave her the slightest comfort that she would be okay one day without him. 

"I was trying to protect you."

She stared at him for a long moment, as though she genuinely couldn't decide whether he was actually that stupid. 

"Protect me?" she repeated quietly. "That's what you're calling this?"

"I—”

"Humiliating me and using me was protecting me?"

"I didn't mean for it to become into… everything that it has." 

"But it did," Her voice sharpened. "Whether you meant it or not, that's what happened. You stood there and made me feel small in front of you that night, in front of everyone I love that morning, and somehow you've convinced yourself that it was an act of mercy?"

"I thought if you hated me," His jaw flexed. "I thought it would make it easier for you to let me go. I never deserved you. I would’ve given you much less than you deserve."

"I refuse to let you think yourself so sacrificing," Her voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "You decided what I deserved. You decided what I could handle. You decided I should hate you. Did it ever occur to you to consider what I wanted?"

She searched his face as if hoping she'd find some trace of the man she'd loved. She couldn’t find him, even if she tried, for she did not know the man in front of her at all. 

Yes, she still loved him, but in the way a muscle retains a memory. It wasn’t the same. The brain does not always forget a memory just because it is traumatic. An arm does not forget the pain just because the bandage is off. The heart does not immediately stop loving just because it was broken. 

He opened his mouth to speak, with it came another step closer to her based on pure instinct. 

She backed up, closer to the railing now.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“I couldn’t sleep–”

“Go find Elain, I’m sure she’ll put you right to bed again.” Her eyes darted to his neck, where the stain had mostly faded, but it was still there– a bloom of purple against blanched skin. She’d never seen him so pale, save for when he’d almost died in her arms years ago on a mission in the Bog of Oorid.

Azriel sighed, frustrated. “I told you that was a mistake.”

“Elain of all people, Azriel? You can’t tell me that was a mistake when I was the one who sat with you while you cried over her being mated to Lucien? Who listened to you mourn another woman because you thought she was taken from you. I was the one to sit with you and console you, all while aching for you.”

"I was caught up in the idea of her," His words tumbled over each other. "Because Rhys had Feyre. Cassian had Nesta. I convinced myself... I don't know... that it was supposed to happen that way. That she was supposed to be mine. It wasn't love. It was convenience. Desperation." He laughed bitterly at himself. "At that point... I would've taken anything."

She went still. 

"Anything?"

Azriel’s stomach dropped.

"I didn't mean–"

"You did. Anything but me." Her voice was unstable, the mirthroot in her system not doing her any favors.

"It wasn't because you weren't enough."

"Oh please," Tears blurred her view of his disheveled face once again. "From where I'm standing, I spent years loving someone who would've rather settled for anyone else than take the chance on me."

“You never saw it, and I never understood how. You were always too good for me.”

"Stop saying that."

"It's true."

"No," She shook her head harder this time. "If I'm too good for you, then you never have to try. You never have to become better. You just get to decide I'm unattainable and call it selflessness.”

As she spoke, the realizations of him repulsed her. His cowardice, his self-pitying nature. She wondered how much of his own anxieties he’d projected onto her unconsciously. 

"That's not fair."

"You want to talk about fair?" The laugh she gave him was humorless and accusatory. "I see it, now. Your self-loathing has always been about you. Not me."

"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Azriel said weakly. "It's just what you do for people you love. You let them go."

"You fight to become worthy of the people you love. You don't throw yourself a pity party and call it sacrifice. You don't let your wounds keep festering because they're familiar. You heal for them, if not for yourself. That’s love, and if it really does mean something different to you, then perhaps you never loved me at all.”

The weight of her words landed squarely in his chest, in some deep part of his inner self he didn’t know could still be hurt as an adult male. The pain was only as great as it was because of the truth behind her words, the knowledge he’d failed her.  

Azriel panicked anew. Something in this already fucked conversation became worse. Became wicked, rotten, wrong. All wrong. It was worse, infinitely worse to lose her, than risk hurting her. Somehow, he’d managed both now. This was not what he wanted, what he meant to do. All he wanted now was to get her back, but the possibility of that seemed farther and farther gone. 

His resolve was bursting at the seams. 

“I do love you.” he whispered. 

She only shook her head, exhausted, and finished with the conversation. Finished with him. 

“You have to understand. You could have any male you wanted. You have had every male across Prythian throw themselves at your feet and you never even realized. For whatever reason, you chose me,” he tried to reason, her waning attention somehow spurring all of the fight he refused to give this entire time. Only when it was too late did he feel the need to try in the way she’d needed him to all along. “When you told me you wanted to be with me… when you wanted this to be real… I'd spent years convincing myself we were only friends because it was safer that way. As long as you didn't ask for more, I could pretend I wasn't failing you. I told myself if all you wanted from me was the sex, the least I could do was give you that, it was all I could be good for.”

“You knew I loved you all these years?”

A long silence followed, filled in only by the whistling breeze and voices far below the balcony’s edge. Nothing Azriel could say seemed to be the right thing. “I did.”

“So this game you played where you pretended that the love I poured into you all those years was just charity, was that to make it easier for you to cut me loose when I inevitably wanted more?”

He bristled. When she said it aloud, stripped of every excuse he'd spent years wrapping around it, it sounded exactly as evil as it was. In Azriel’s insecurity he had also been extremely selfish. He’d wasted these years he could’ve otherwise basked in her companionship.

She gestured helplessly toward him. “And it wasn’t enough.”

The panic did not subside. It grew with intensity, faster than he could manage to digest, and his heart felt like it would give out at any moment. Azriel would have never been able to predict that she would become so hurt, so distrustful of him, that every explanation would land wrong and every truth would sound uglier than the lie. 

Azriel stepped forward again, stupidly mute and unable to resist her pull he’d been at the mercy of since they’d met. 

There was nowhere for her to step back now. Her back pressed into the rail and she was reminded against her will of another railing, another night, another version of him in this exact dance, but to a very different tune. 

Suddenly he was too close. Too close in memory, too close in front of her now, it was all too much. For all of her efforts to keep him at arm’s length today, he was suddenly consuming all of her air, her mind, and now her good sense. 

Azriel intruded upon her violently, claiming every single reprieve she could possibly take. It was too much. He was too much and she was not enough. It made even more sense now than it did before. The bite of the cold rail against her back as she tried to move away again should have spurred her to leave, but instead it cemented her in place, immobile in her despair. 

"Get..." She shoved his chest, but he barely moved.

“I can’t go.” His voice cracked, finally.

She shoved harder. "Get away from me."

She shoved again. 

“Azriel, I mean it.”

One last futile shove before her voice broke entirely.

"GET AWAY!”

The anguish in his bones from her desperate screams loosened his own limbs, rocked him off balance, and he began to stumble back as though she’d struck him. 

“Get away from her. Now.” A second voice rose above the night, low and deadly. Above the muffling in her ears, the irregular beat of Azriel’s splintered heart. Azriel stepped back in shock, and a large gust of air abandoned her aching lungs. Her shoulders sagged and she gripped onto the railing to keep upright. 

Helion was already crossing the balcony before his command had reached their ears, pulling Azriel away from her by the shoulder. It wasn’t a rough tug, nor was it all that civil either. His hosting duties had taken quite a new level tonight and his patience with the male was wearing thin.

Behind him, a stone faced Rhys, flanked by Feyre and Cassian. She couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed tonight. The exhaustion was too great and all she wanted– all she ever wanted tonight– was to be alone. 

“I didn’t mean to,” no one would be able to tell that the voice that uttered those words belonged to the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. 

“I told you to stay away from her,” Rhys’ words were precise and measured. “I thought I made myself exceedingly clear to you this morning, but apparently you cannot be trusted with the simplest of instructions.”

Feyre and Cassian regarded Azriel with something foreign in their eyes.

Only Helion saw her. He wanted to close the distance, to put himself between Azriel and her completely, but she’d had enough of male nonsense for a lifetime. His eyes swept over her trembling hands, still clutching the iron railing. “What do you need?” 

His voice was strong, not careful or cautious like she expected. She tried to harness some of that strength into herself, just enough to get her away from here. 

“Just keep him the fuck AWAY from me.” She didn’t mean for that to come out as a sob too, but she wouldn't have been able to stop it anyway. Anger was hot in her bones, her tears, her throat. 

She stormed off the balcony, past a disheveled Azriel, a fuming Rhys, a stricken Feyre, and an unsettled Helion. 

She didn’t notice Mor waiting before the threshold of the balcony until she nearly collided with her.

Mor fell into step behind her friend without a word after giving Rhys a small nod, careful to remain a few paces behind until they got to her chambers. 

Mor caught the door she tried to slam with ease, shutting it softly behind her and they were both in the room. 

“Leave me alone,” she choked out. “I just need to be alone, no one is leaving me alone!”

“Then I’m not here.” Mor offered softly. 

She had no fight left in her. She couldn’t scrounge up the energy to tell Mor to leave or allow her stay. Detached from her immediate surroundings, she didn’t really take in the room at all. It was much less than the soft bed with extra fur blankets Helion knew she enjoyed, the stacks of books above the bureau near the window, or the marble tub of warm water sitting on a private balcony jutting off the edge of the room. The room was simply a collection of edges, able to walk this way and that, but nothing more. 

She stripped out of her clothes and put on the pajamas that may as well have materialized from thin air as she still didn’t register Mor pulling her things out of her bags for her. 

The pair of them climbed into bed. The plush mattress and the weight of the many blankets Mor pulled over them broke her out of her spell. Mor’s warmth radiated from beside her and the anger broke like hot glass, melting into an ache so seizing she could barely catch her breath.

She clutched the arm Mor wrapped around her shaking body, sobbing into her elbow. Mor squeezed her best friend as hard as she could, but said nothing in the hours that passed. Enough had already been said. 

If the dying fire in the hearth was any indication of how much time had passed, the Inner Circle spent the entire night drinking. The sun would rise in just a few drowsy hours, dousing Velaris with its buttery light, wrapping the sitting room of the townhouse in ribbons of pale gold. 

Velaris’ hardest working citizens would be awake early enough to see it– the farmers, the bakers, the teachers and the rubbish collectors– while their High Lord and his Lord of Bloodshed would be passed out like a pair of bums on the couch in last night’s clothes until lunchtime. 

The thought made Azriel laugh. 

She sat beside him, leaning against his side as the vibrations of his laugh went straight to her lower belly. She leaned back to look up at him and he met her gaze instantly. The thin strap of her top slipped off her shoulder with the movement, and without removing his eyes from hers, his nimble fingers slid the strap back up her shoulder but made no further move to leave her skin. 

Her skin pebbled in response like she was the static to his looming lightning strike. Every touch between them was like standing on the precipice of a story so damning, so wild, it terrified her to let it exist unbound. All it took was a single push of courage. A single breath of wind toward an already wavering resolve.

But it never came. These boundaries that defined their relationship were elastic. Azriel pushed the line, she shoved it, but it never snapped. It was a delicate little art, but they were so profound at this dance that it was all they knew. As treacherous as their will-they-won’t-they was, they had to have derived some pleasure, even a little bit, to be able to sit there, in a room filled with their closest friends, drunk, flushed, knee to knee, skin to skin, and still call themselves the best of friends. 

A tale as old as time. A game they’ve played for years. A song whose words they could sing in their sleep. It was all of it and none of it. 

With as many drinks as she’d had, definitely three or four ahead of Azriel, she slanted into his warmth like a cat bowing its head into a tender palm. His arm draped against the back of the couch, allowing her body to nestle into his in the most casual, most friendliest, most normal of ways. The back of her hand rested on his thigh as she threw her head back in laughter at something Cassian said. 

If he was any more sober, his senses would have snapped to attention at the contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to be so skittish now. He savored the touch, the weight of her hand against his strong thigh, and had to reach for his glass just to take away the thought of holding her hand there with his own. 

“You’re staring,” She looked up at him to find his gaze already locked on her features, assessing, admiring.

“I am?” His eyes were dark, shimmering with reflection of the licking flames in the hearth. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help myself.”

He couldn’t explain where he found the audacity to be so bold with a woman so beautiful. But her eyelids fluttered as she regarded him through her eyelashes, and her smile was so damning he suddenly couldn’t even remember what he’d said. 

“You’ll give our friends the wrong idea.” 

He lowered his drink to his other thigh, tightening his grip around the thick crystal-cut glass to contain himself, to contain the heat racing up and down his spine like a bucking racehorse. “What’s so wrong about it?” The side of his full lips curved upward into a playful smile but he was sincere. 

Azriel was fanning the flames of a dangerous fire. Again, they were standing at the brink of something so dangerous, so perfect, either of them could simply push a little farther and everything could finally be different. 

But no. They both enjoyed the strain for it was its own type of pleasure. 

She tried to steady herself, but with the heat of the fire, the multiple drinks, Azriel’s body heat, and mostly her own fluster, she was burning up. 

To break the intense stare neither of them could pinpoint how much time they’d spent locked in, he volunteered to refill her drink in the kitchen. As soon as his broad, black-clad frame disappeared behind the threshold of the sitting room, her shoulders drooped and she ran her palms over her face in frustration. 

It was such a tease, this whole situation. Like a cruel little joke, even if they did find some sick indulgence in it. 

When she thought about it– which she tried not to do too often– it was downright treacherous what they were doing to each other. All of this had to mean something, right? Two people don’t just touch each other on purpose, hold each other's heavy gazes in crowded rooms, for no reason, right?

“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Mor demanded, plopping down beside her where Azriel had just sat. The tequila sloshed over the lip of her glass with the heavy landing. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied with little conviction. As much as it was the truth, it felt ridiculous to say it. 

“Everyone sees the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. He can hardly breathe right if you aren’t in the room. It’s not a secret, if you both are keeping it one,” she took a sip of her drink, repainting the bright red lipstick mark on the rim that became her signature. Sometimes she envied Mor’s effortless femininity, her languid sensuality, that poised her at the receiving end of many amorous advances and escapades. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t be as casual as Mor was. She needed commitment, stability, and unconditionality from the one person she would give her everything to. 

Which is why, as much as she loved Azriel, he bothered her. It was more than obvious they were more than friends– the way they touched each other, the things they told each other, the time they spent together– there was no logical way to deny it. But they’d never talked about putting a name to whatever this was or committing themselves to each other. She was lucky enough to find herself in that god-awful middle ground, the foggy, gray, no-man’s-land that every non-committal male sought refuge in when things got even mildly serious. She couldn’t understand why it was so hard to move past this purgatory when it was clear enough to her that she wanted no male more deeply, more dangerously, than she wanted Azriel. 

“We haven’t talked about it,” was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She loved Azriel, but it would destroy her if all this was to him was a “good time.” There was nothing inherently wrong with one night stands or friends with benefits, but there was when her heart was a part of it too. Suddenly, the thought that his might not be stirred the alcohol in her stomach. 

“But you are having sex?” Mor asked, a little louder than necessary. She was no longer lounging into the couch– she was fully sat up, legs tucked under her body, and spine rod-straight with attention. 

“Mor!”

“Okay, you’re right I didn’t need to ask that. For such a big, beautiful house, the walls are quite thin,” she chuckled to herself. 

“What, do you think he’s using me?” She couldn’t be bothered to feign mortification at the revelation that apparently the entire house could hear the two of them sharing beds. 

Mor’s face softened immediately, sobering slightly at the sight of her friend in visible distress. “Oh, darling. Azriel is a good man–”

“He’s very kind.”

“The kindest,” Mor pursed her lips, pausing for a beat, before setting her glass down on the floor beside the couch. She took both of her friends’ hands in her own, forcing their gazes to align. “But he is a male, at the end of the day. And they often think with their dicks first, brains second.”

“Azriel is sensible…” she reasoned, not sure where Mor was going with this. 

That was a terrible lie, though. She knew exactly what Mor was insinuating because she thought about it every day too. Every time he left her bed, every time he touched her, every time he said something that just-friends don’t say to each other, she wondered what his intentions were. 

In her reckless need for him, she’d abandoned all expectations, all reservations, and given herself to Azriel wholly. She’d closed her eyes and leaped. When it came to Azriel, there was no thinking, no calculating, and she hadn’t registered how foolish that might be until now. 

—-

Speaking of foolishness. 

That train of thought crashed and burned, a smoking pile of faraway fears, when his hot lips bit at the soft spot behind her ear.

“Azriel,” his name was a breathless sigh on her tongue. 

“Tell me to leave, and I will,” he murmured, his voice a deep husk of what it usually was, the pitch reaching so deep into her that it pulled and twisted her gut into a tangle of nerves, raw and fervent, like matchsticks ready to light from the mere breath of fire alone. 

This was so bad. She should’ve been embarrassed how easy it was to get here. Azriel brought her back a drink but she couldn’t finish it when the conversation with Mor suddenly left her sick to her stomach (but no less sober). She tried to get away– tried to remove herself from his proximity for the night by feigning exhaustion– but of course she couldn’t deny him when he offered to walk her upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Of course she couldn’t deny him when he followed her into the room, sat next to her on the bed, then looked at her with those deep, conversational eyes that said so much more than he ever did, a man of few words that he was. 

“Stay.” she heard herself say before her mind could even understand what her heart had demanded first.

And it was all he needed to hear before pushing his body on hers and slanting his perfect lips over her own. The way they came together, the way their bodies fit, was otherworldly. Each time their bodies meshed it was so good it almost felt instinctual, like they’d done this in a previous lifetime. 

He savored the feeling of their chests pressed against each other and his heart palpitated like uneven footsteps, frantically searching for hers to match. Sobered from the alcohol and now drunk off her taste, there wasn’t one part of him that would not give anything to have her like this forever.

She could have floated between worlds with how weightless she felt as Azriel’s plush lips moved against hers, tasting her and taking his time. It was sweet, and admiring, and a little desperate, the way they exchanged breaths and looked for each other through touch and taste alone. 

Azriel clutched the back of her neck to support her as he slowly pushed her down into the mattress, never once coming up for a breath. She was the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs, what else did he need?

He anchored himself above her with a knee between her legs and a strong hand at her hips. One of her hands flew to the nape of his neck and tangled in his mess of curls there while the other hooked onto the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but popping open a few more buttons instead. 

She sighed as he shifted peppering kisses from the corner of her mouth to the soft skin behind her ear again, arching into his body against her better judgment, feeling his strong thigh against her. Like a wave in the ocean curling up towards the moon, she sought to be swept up into his gravity. Governed solely by the intoxicating scent of the crook of his neck, she lifted her hips to feel his strong thigh again, to touch her chest to his. She needed more friction and he groaned with the knowledge of it, shifting one hand under her hips to prop her up against the thigh he moved closer. 

Any inhibitions that reappeared between her sobering up after the conversation with Mor and Azriel kissing her tonight were discarded like dirty laundry somewhere far, far away. 

This is right, she told herself over and over again, the mantra chiming like worship bells in her mind. Nothing wrong could feel this good. 

“I can never get enough of you,” he murmured against her flushed skin, taking in her scent as if he’d run out of breath without it. 

“Are you saying–” she pushed the words out between breaths of hot air, too afraid to waste time talking and miss even a second of this. “– you think of me? Even when we aren’t in the same room?” It was a teasing tone, but she meant every word. She needed to know. 

“All the fucking time. I thought that was obvious.”

It was as if the confession ignited a second fire within him. Azriel carried the kiss from behind her ear, down the side of her neck, to her exposed shoulder and collarbone, daring to bite, as if to test her willingness. 

She sighed as she felt his low groan against her skin, the vibration piercing down to her very bones, searching for his lips until they found each other again. His thumb found the strip of bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. The feeling of his skin there sent a jolt through her system. Azriel slowly pushed his hand upwards, bunching her shirt between his thumb and forefinger as he went. As his hands slid her shirt up her torso, he kissed the skin as it revealed itself to him, warm and soft like the petals of a summer flower. 

With feverish need, Azriel brought his lips back to hers as his hand slipped completely under her shirt, softly grabbing her, wanting to feel her moan into his mouth as she always did when he touched her there. He held her like no one else could ever manage.

A brush of his thumb sent a jolt of awareness through her, like a splash of ice cold water to the face. 

“Wait,” she breathed out, as if it took every ounce of willpower to stop him. It did. She didn’t want him to stop, but she knew he should. 

Azriel’s hand slid out of her shirt immediately, and he lifted his head just enough to read her eyes. They were darkened with something he couldn’t place, and her eyebrows knitted so low on her forehead, it took everything in him not to reach out and smooth the crease between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I just–” 

“Don’t,” he shook his head, fixing the strap of her right shoulder as he smiled ever so softly. “Don’t apologize.”

“What is this?” She blurted out.

Azriel paused, unable to follow. “What is…this?”

“I mean,” she sighed, frustrated at her sudden inability to source words and form coherent thoughts. She was doing this now, it seemed. “What do you want from this? You and I?”

“I want you.” Azriel replied incredulously, as if it was painfully obvious. He dipped his head to place a kiss on the edge of her lips and his hand slid up the plane of her exposed belly. Methodically, he pressed his thigh between her legs again, as if to remind her. As if she could forget, underneath him like this. 

The sigh that escaped her lips was involuntary, but as quickly as she felt her need overtake, she tamped it back down.

Impatiently, she swatted his hand off and pushed her blouse down. “Azriel, listen to me. I mean, where do you see this going?” After some initial hesitation- “What do you see us becoming?”

Azriel shouldn’t have laughed. He knew that as soon as it escaped his lips and her eyebrows furrowed in response, but it was too late. He didn’t even mean to, his body only reacted to the panic it felt when she asked such a question, and Mother above, was he incredibly dense for that. 

“Get off of me.” She deadpanned, pushing her hand against his chest. 

She’d never felt more vulnerable. Underneath this man she loved like she hadn’t loved anyone else, to have him laugh in her face when she tried to bear her heart to him was like a terrible dream come true. One she’d convinced herself many times impossible of materializing.

“I didn’t mean to laugh–“

“Azriel, get off of me.”

She pushed against his chest again and he sat up immediately. He flexed his hands, suddenly cold from the loss of her skin against his. 

She sat up as well, adjusting her top. “Azriel, I need to know if you’re serious about me. I feel like we always tiptoe around whatever this is between us, but I can’t keep doing it if this isn’t serious to you.” 

She needed to know that he felt the same, or everything had to stop. Even if she could never love another male the same ever again. That’s the price she had to pay, she supposed, for loving so wholly, so stupidly, before she even knew if he was ready to do the same. 

It was everything he’d been waiting to hear. Dreaming of, praying for, almost convincing himself that her loving him was only a fairy tale that existed for his indulgence, and nothing more. But fear was taking over him as well. 

“Of course I enjoy being with you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Azriel ran a hand through his disheveled curls, shaking his head. Say the right thing. Say the right thing. Say what you’ve been waiting to say. But no.  “Where is this coming from?”

“Why can’t you answer my question?”

“Because I don’t understand what’s changed for you, all of a sudden. You know how I feel about you, isn’t that enough?” He didn’t mean it- the question or the accusatory tone it carried. It was a valid question– he was wondering when she’d put an end to this. She needed more than just a physical connection to be truly fulfilled- she needed him to be the emotionally available male she deserved. 

“I–,” she bit her tongue before the word love could follow. “I just need to know if you’re serious about me because Azriel– fuck I just can’t ever seem to stop thinking of you. The thought that I just might be a ‘good time’ and nothing more to you makes me fucking sick, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. So I need to be sure… I need to be sure you’re not fucking around with me before I let you have me. All of me.”

Azriel was stunned into silence. Completely mute. Words failed him. Grammar failed him. He could barely get a syllable out and he’d never felt more foolish in his life. The sight of her vulnerability dried his throat and shallowed his breathing. An absolutely terrible time to go completely dumb, he recognized that, but she had this effect on him– made him lose touch with himself, lose his grasp on reality. 

Everything he’d ever dreamed of– really, it was only her he dreamed of– flashed before his eyes like a moving picture. The love of his life, the very same one he’d convinced himself would never love him back just confessed that she did. That she wants for no other male but him. All those years he’d spent dreaming of her, awake or asleep, of sharing a life were not so self-indulgent after all. Even with this revelation that filled him with such a happiness it made him nauseous, he felt it all wrong. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

She was wrong. There was no way someone like her– as intelligent, independent, and kind-hearted as her– could truly desire someone like him. 

Perhaps it was only a phase. They shared every single thought, and occasionally beds, with each other- she could easily confuse those feelings with something else. It was the only thing that made sense to Azriel, for the man could not fathom someone loving him of their own volition, with their own sound mind. He felt the need to protect her from the evil in the world, and in his mind, that included him. He would not ruin her, would not deprive her of the things he couldn’t give her. The Mother knew there was nothing in this world she wouldn’t have if she asked Azriel for it, but he just couldn’t give her this one thing. 

But even that thought filled him with a newer rage. The thought of another male holding her, touching her, listening to her thoughts and secrets, another man protecting her, providing for her, loving her and waking up everyday with the privilege of getting to share this life with her. It made him want to crush the mountains that surrounded this house with his bare hands until they were nothing but powder on the ground. 

Azriel couldn’t think about that right now, though. She could be much happier without his burdens, and he resolved a long time ago that this was the way he would love her. From afar. Even if it hurt him, that’s what you do for the people you love, he told himself. 

He knew what he had to do. 

So he shook his head, slowly stretching one leg at a time over the edge of her bed until he was standing next to it, leaving her sitting there with her shoulders slouched forward, eyes never leaving his. They pleaded for him to say something she wanted to hear, to confirm that everything they’d been doing these past years meant something. That he hadn’t led her on. It never came. 

“You don’t mean that.” was all he said. It tore him in two to say it, serrated his irregular heart into messy, darkened halves. 

She deserved better than what he had to offer. If it meant that he had to hurt her to protect her, he would do it. Azriel never claimed to be a hero or a villain, something in between better suited him, but he would gladly become the villain in her story to protect her. To make hating him easier. He saw the way she looked at him, noted how she told him things she never told anyone else. The details of her childhood, her day, asking for his opinion on things even though they had different tastes. He saw it now– she really was in love. 

“I don’t know if she’s just being kind,” Azriel shrugged one day a few months ago, lounging in the chair opposite from Rhys’ desk. 

“When a woman like that loves someone, she can’t hide it,” It was all Rhys had to say to confirm what Azriel already knew. Rhys knew as much as any of their friends did how she felt. Azriel did too. But his self-loathing was a cruel thing. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Of course I do, Az. I wouldn’t make that up.” She reached her arm out, intending to take his hand in her own, but he pulled back and she too yanked her arm back in response, as if burned at the fingertips by his sudden aversion. 

“It’s understandable to want more when we’ve already bared so much ourselves to each other,” He stepped backward. “But I see now that we aren’t on the same page.” 

She saw the lie in his eyes like she could see stars in the sky. A bright, blinking lie. Of course she could, she knew him like she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She just didn’t understand why he was pushing her away. But more than that, his rejection burned like acid in her gut, eating her from the inside out. The pit in her stomach grew deeper, hotter, as he backed up. 

If she asked for the moon, Azriel wouldn’t think twice to grab it with his bare hands and pull it down to earth. If she asked for the stars he’d spend centuries collecting each of them one by one. But if she asked for him, all of him, his pain, his joy, his trauma, his hopes, he couldn’t promise it to her. He would not allow her to shoulder his burdens, to feel the pain he did. Because she would truly feel all of it. That’s the person she was and he could not let her put herself through that.

There was no easy way to break her heart, but perhaps making her hate him would be one last kindness he could afford her. This disappointment would just be one of many if he allowed her to love him, and she’d be unhappy soon enough. 

“Azriel,” her voice cracked and she bunched up the fabric of the duvet in her fist to ease the burning in her throat. A telltale precursor of a breakdown, he knew. “I don’t understand. You said–”

“We both said a lot of things,” Azriel said simply, unable to meet her eyes. “But at the end of the day, they’re all just words, are they not?”

“Just words?” She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing the tears to her waterline as she did. “I pour my heart out to you every day for years, and they’re just words to you?”

“That’s not what I meant–” Fuck. It was coming out all wrong. Or maybe it was coming out perfectly– the more Azriel could fuck this up, the easier it would be for her to forget him. 

“You are my best friend. But we’ve done things and told each other things best friends don’t. Why are you denying all these years of our relationship, Azriel? What are you running from?” She pleaded. Her voice was raw, throat hoarse. Azriel had kept her closer than the rest but still struggled with shutting her out when she got too close. In hindsight, knowing this about him, she didn’t understand how she could’ve thought this conversation could’ve gone any differently than this. “Just talk to me.”

Those four words were a last ditch effort, a final rap of her knuckles against his tightly shut doors, to be let in. They could just talk about this. 

He couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even if she asked for it. So he resorted to hurt once again. 

“I care about you very much, but … we are not on the same fucking page.”

Azriel watched her face crumple and she turned her head away, unable to keep the single tear at her waterline from trickling over. Angrily, she wiped it away. 

“You’re an asshole for lying to yourself. To me.” The words were gritty and edged with grief. No one’s dead, but something that was once very much alive here is gone. 

So maybe he did love her. But his decision, the resolve in his eyes, to live and make peace with the cowardice that told him to walk away from something so beautiful, she realized, he did not love her enough. 

The conclusion hit her as if she’d flown straight into the side of Ramiel, ramming into the rock and tumbling down the face of the mountain uselessly until she was a pile of heartbreak at the bottom. 

“I just need some time.”

“Get out.”

Azriel was silent, but made no move to leave. Suddenly he was rethinking everything, wondering if he made a grave mistake. In an instant, she was changed. The light in her eyes was gone, the glow in her skin had dulled, and she looked so very tired. When her gaze held his, there was no warmth, no recognition, no love. He felt like a stranger under her watch, and he suddenly had the feeling that he was intruding. 

Azriel told himself that he was doing it out of love. That these are things you do, sacrifices you make, when you love as hard as he loved her. 

“Get out!”

Azriel stayed for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to memorize her as much as he could. The sight of her hair slightly disheveled, looking absolutely flushed from his doing, with eyes and skin so unbelievably soft only inches away from his reach, would haunt him asleep or awake, dead or alive. 

Then he was gone, closing her door softly behind him. The click of the latch solidified the finality of his actions. His regret would live within him– a living, breathing, hideous thing– forever. 

If he couldn't have her, he could never love anyone else again.

She wanted nothing else in this world more than she wanted him to stay, to say he had made a stupid mistake and meant none of what he said, to get under her blankets, and hold her until the sun stopped rising, the moon stopped setting, and the rest of the world fell away. 

If she couldn't have Azriel, she could never love anyone else again.

——- 

Breakfast was quiet. Everyone was hungover and exhausted. Rhys sat at his chair, quietly making conversation with Feyre who kept going for another cup of coffee. Cassian slumped over his plate of eggs, but still made the most conversation. Whether anyone was actually listening was another story. Mor pretended to nod but she couldn’t care less. 

Elain sat beside Feyre quietly, breaking apart a piece of toast. She spent the night in her room reading so she was far from hungover, but she refused to make eye contact with anyone at the table. It was strange, considering how much progress she was making with everyone, but bad dreams happened and the Mother knew she was probably having her fair share of them recently.

Amren was the only one sitting rod-straight, a book in her hands, sipping her special little drink from her cup. Rhys was more than kind to let her drink it at breakfast when there were more than one queasy stomachs at the table. Not that she needed his permission anyway. 

The only person missing was Azriel. She felt his absence heavy in her chest. Not just from the table, but from her life, now, it seemed. She didn’t even realize Feyre was calling her name until the fourth time she said it.

“Hmm?” She forced herself back into the present, eyes darting to Feyre’s.

“Are you okay?” Feyre asked, holding her gaze.

Azriel’s husky voice asking the same question filled her head without warning, invading her memories and her reality once again. 

She was not fine. She felt the ghost of his touch and breath, his familiar warmth, wash over her body. The way he looked at her as if she was the first time he saw anything in color.  

She remembered his rejection, too.

Feyre called her name again and she snapped to attention, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

“Some night you must have had,” Feyre chuckled.

“I told you Winter Court wine will fuck you up. You don’t know it’s working until it’s too late,” Rhys laughed, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her from across the table. “Drink up everyone, we’re due at the Day Court by sundown.”

“Kallias has a very acquired taste, I’ll give him that,” she sighed, gratefully accepting the cold glass and downing half of it in a second. 

“They need to stay warm up there somehow,” Cassian chimed in, ever the selective academic he was. 

As the water cooled her nerves slightly, Azriel appeared in the doorway to the dining room and she was damned to hell all over again.

Everyone greeted him and even though he replied to them all, his eyes only sat on hers. The only open spot at the table was the one directly across from her and he sat, rigid and unflinching, unable to meet her gaze anymore from such a close proximity.

“Good morning,” his voice was low and aimed only at her. If she had any more energy, she would’ve laughed that that’s the first thing he chose to say after their conversation last night. She broke apart her toast with no acknowledgement of his attempt to break their stalemate.  

“What the fuck is that?” Cassian’s loud voice broke her from her trance.

Rhys winced, holding his head. “Not so loud, we talked about this.” 

“Az, you cheeky bastard, what did you crazy kids get up to last night?” Cassian’s eyes darted between her and Azriel, pointing out the dark mark on his neck.

“What are you on about?”  

Azriel started, as if remembering it was there all of a sudden, pulling his shirt collar tighter around his neck and clearing his throat.

Rhys whistled upon realization and Feyre and Mor’s eyes darted to hers in silent awe. 

She squinted at the mark, assessing. Did she do that? It was a dark, angry little spot that sat at the base of his neck, fresh enough that it was obvious it was made only a few hours ago. 

With frigid realization, she knew she hadn’t done that. He’d kissed her neck last night, but she hadn’t kissed his. 

She slowly looked up at Azriel for the first time that morning. His eyes were downcast as he poured his cup of tea. If she blinked, she would’ve missed his fleeting glance in Elain’s direction. But she didn’t miss it, and she quickly looked to Elain, who was red as a beet and hiding behind a curtain of her unbound, chestnut hair. 

Cassian didn’t miss a beat either– he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing. “No way,” he whispered.

“What?” Feyre demanded.

Her eyes focused on the mark on his neck again. Maybe she did do it. She had a lot to drink. But no. They never left marks where others could see them. The angry little thing on his skin was amateur at best. 

Small giggles sprouted from different ends of the table, but it was all a blur to her. 

“No fucking way.” Cassian repeated himself, louder. 

“Spit it out.” Amren demanded, but Amren’s eyes were on her, clocking the silent horror that molded her features rather than the surprise or amusement that defined everyone else’s 

“Nothing. Mind your own business,” Azriel’s voice was thick and stern and nowhere as warm as it was last night.

“You and Elain??” Cassian cried in disbelief. 

Forks clattered clumsily on their plates. The laughter stopped like someone sucked the air clean out of the room. No one moved, but she couldn’t even breathe. Elain? 

Feyre snapped her head toward her sister, eyes wide. “What?”

“What?” Rhys echoed through bitten teeth, clenching his jaw, his gaze burning holes in the side of Azriel’s face who suddenly did not have the balls to return the look. 

Elain shrugged sheepishly in her seat, gripping her teacup hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “When you feel that attraction, you can’t deny it. You understand that.” She watched as Elain finally lifted her head, staring doe-eyed at Azriel. A small smile graced her lips, shy and soft. 

“Attraction?” She whispered in disbelief. 

“Oh my god.” Cassian breathed.

“Cassian, shut the fuck up.” Azriel snarled. 

She felt her heart stutter before it burst, like a glass vessel under pressure. Delicate, fragile, irreparable. Nothing could calm the wave of nausea that rose and fell in her stomach- if she was going to throw up, it would be straight bile and vodka, and it would be all over this breakfast table. 

Breathe. She pleaded with herself to get a grip but she just couldn’t do it. Azriel sat in front of her, shoulders wound up tight, this time staring directly at her. His eyes were pleading as he tried to lock their gazes but she wouldn’t meet his. 

Him and Elain was a mistake, one he made when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all, and one he regretted as he started and ended the night in her bed. But most of all, one he never meant for her to know of. He wanted to make their break as clean as possible, but this was more than he bargained for. This was just plain cruel. 

He spoke her name once, desperately, but she barely registered it. The room fell away for both of them. He just wanted to get through to her, and she just needed to get out of there. 

The flashbacks from all of their days and night that gave her butterflies at one point suddenly turned into moths– unwelcome, fluttering pests that tainted her memories of the years they spent so close, years building something so entirely untrue that it hurt her heart to reminisce for too long. 

For him to open up to her and get her to open up to him, to then push her away, throw away everything she thought they had, to finally fuck another female right after, she decided she probably never knew him. Disgust flooded her and she felt like she needed to shower his touch from last night off of her instantly. She’d never felt so used in her life. 

“Fuck.” Cassian muttered. Nesta and Feyre would not take their eyes off Elain, and Rhys’ eyes bore holes in the side of Azriel’s head. Cassian was the only one who looked at her. He watched her face fall, her mind turn, as the events unfolded. The regret that gripped his heart was crushing. He reached out a hand to her knee in a show of support but she flinched involuntarily at the contact and he quickly retracted his hand to a fist against his chest.

It was embarrassing. Mor was right, everyone knew how Azriel and her had felt about each other, otherwise this wouldn’t be so tense. And as much as she knew it wasn't pity that her friends felt for her, it was something pretty damn close because how could they not feel bad for her in such a fucked up situation? That sickened her more. 

“Excuse me,” she muttered, standing up from the table and leaving the room as quickly as she could. The eyes of everyone at the table followed her out and she felt the familiar yanking in her throat before the tears pushed against her waterline. Last night already left her feeling so raw. To know Azriel had kissed her like a male deprived then gone off and fucked another woman– not just any woman, but Elain– made it hard to breathe. 

The loud screech of a skidding chair came from the dining room and heavy footsteps caught up with her in the hallway. In a moment of desperation, Azriel grabbed her arm to stop her but she whirled around, yanking her arm out of the hands that had sent her to heaven and then straight to hell all in one night. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she churned the words out through gritted teeth. 

“I can explain,” Azriel replied lamely, immediately feeling as dense and useless as he sounded. 

“I don’t care, Azriel. You’re a grown man, you’re free to kiss and fuck as many women in the same night as you want,” She didn’t mean it though, not after she laid her heart bare to him just a few hours ago. 

“It didn’t mean anything, I– I don’t know why–” 

“You don’t know why you went and fucked another woman after I told you you are all I can think of last night?” 

“That’s not- I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t mean to fuck her?” She laughed, but there was no humor or joy to be found in her eyes.  “Did you not mean to fuck me the countless times you did, then? Did you not mean to get so close to me, allow you to see me at my worst and my best? Did you not mean to just tell me those things you haven't even told Rhys and Cas? It was all a happy accident?”

“That’s not-”

“No! It’s not, you’re right, you did just say last night, more or less, all of those years we spent together, it was all just a good time to you. Right? Well, I guess you got everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She couldn’t be further from the truth. This was so much worse than what Azriel bargained for when he’d decided her hatred was easier to swallow than her disappointment. But now, regarding her sleepless face, beautiful as ever of course because it was her, he faced both her hatred and her disappointment. And now he’d hurt her in a way he never ever meant to. 

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. 

“Not just any woman, Azriel. Elain.” She cried incredulously. She didn’t even realize the tears were coming until her voice gave out on the sister’s name. “Three sisters for three brothers, right? You never did let that go.”

“It would’ve been easier if you told me you didn’t love me and left it at that.”

“It’s not my responsibility to make this easy for you when it hasn’t been easy for me all this time. I’ve loved you for so long and I continued to even when I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Because that’s what you do for the people you love, you’re there for them and you continue to love them especially when it isn’t easy.”

“I never meant to hurt you, I just thought I… I wanted to believe I-” he carded his hands through his thick black hair in frustration, searching her eyes for anything other than hurt and anger, but that’s all he could find. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“You were being a coward. You are a coward.” She spat. “You may not have meant to, but you used me, and you of all people know how I feel about that.”

He nodded. He’d turned himself into an amalgamation of everything that had ever hurt her before, landing his blow square into her chest when she’d come so far.

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me.”

“That was never for you to decide, Azriel. These years should have been proof to you that I’d loved you exactly as you were, and it’s not your job to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protection from. I can handle it. I can handle you.”

“You can. I know you can. I’ve fucked up, truly and honestly, I don’t know how to make it up to you. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.” 

He made a step toward her out of instinct when the tears rolled down her cheeks but she stepped back as if he’d shoved a torch in her face.

“Just leave me be. You said it yourself, we aren’t on the same page. We never were, it seems.”

He took her name gently, pleadingly. She dared to look up at him once more, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze head on. It was no use talking to him when he couldn’t even look at her.

With the new wave of tears she felt coming on, she turned in her heels and took the stairs two at a time to her room before he could see anything more.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s what she’s known all along. It’s exactly as she’d told herself all these years. It was never going to be you. 

That did not make it any easier though. If anything, it was a worse pain to be proven right. 

Anyway, there was no time to self-pity. 

The pain was neither kind nor forgiving in the way it permeated her dreamworld before she even had the chance to wake.

It slowly pulled her from her slumber until she found herself no longer under the duvet beside her furnace of a mate, but clutching the cold bathroom tile for an ounce of relief instead. The torment was relentless, spasm after spasm seized her lower belly until she couldn’t help but moan into the toilet.

Her elbows rested on either side of the porcelain bowl, a weak hand propping her head up as she rode out the last wave of torture. In an effort to take her mind to some place far away from the misery, she tried to recall what she had been dreaming about.

She was somewhere pleasantly warm with endless golden light bathing every surface. Lucien was there. Near a lake, perhaps, as the sound of gentle water lapping over itself felt right. Feyre was around too, with Nesta and Azriel– a holiday? She tried harder to recall more details, paint a picture vivid enough to distract her, but the effort was fruitless. There was nothing she could do and the knowledge of it left her so helpless, so irritated. Suddenly, the fact she was crouched at the toilet bowl repulsed her, the light in the washroom was far too bright on her eyes this late in the night, and all she fucking wanted was a damn second to breathe.

“Love?” His deep, sleep-leadened voice pulled her from her thoughts. She slowly opened her eyes to find Lucien standing at the threshold of the washroom, eyebrows furrowed disquietingly.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she meant to sound calm– totally cool, totally collected, like she totally had it all under control. But it was hard to put up a front with Lucien when her body so naturally relaxed in his presence, so it really was unavoidable that her voice instead came out depleted and small.

“Oh baby, do you need the toilet?” He didn’t waste a second in crouching beside her, placing a large hand on her back. When she took a moment to reply, he slowly ran his hand up and down the length of her spine, trying to soothe her in any way he could. He knew he was utterly useless in this situation. Lucien hated seeing his mate in this pain. When she was otherwise injured, at least he could see what was wrong and fix it. Physically mend a cut, salve a burn. He could hardly reach into her and soothe her from the inside, though she knew he would if he could.

He did not even want to think about what he would do if he had to go through this every six months. To be honest, Lucien didn’t think he, nor any male for that matter, could handle it, at least with as much grace as she does. He made sure to tell her this each time she was on her cycle because it always earned a small smile from her when nothing else could.

“Can you please get me a cloth?” Without hesitation, he went into the cabinets for find one for her.

“Do you need help?” Lucien asked, handing her a thick pad.

She quickly shook her head. “I can do it, can you just put my hair up? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Lucien quickly took the hair tie around his wrist and gently twisted the hair curtained around her face into a loose bun at the back of her head.

“Better?” He asked, kissing the back of her shoulder. She let her head drop slightly when the cool air kissed the back of her neck, whispering a breathless, barely-there thanks.

“Can you get up?”

She nodded, but she lifted her arms anyway. Lucien took the cue, sliding his arms underneath her to slowly help her up from the ground, heart breaking at her groan. She felt the flood as soon as her legs straightened, along with a fresh cramp tearing through her muscles, and grabbed onto Lucien as hard as she could. He didn’t even flinch, only waited with her until she was ready to move.

“I can carry you if you need me to,” He offered.

“No, I can walk,” he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that even at her most vulnerable she could be so stubborn. He’d be lying to himself if he said her bullishness wasn’t what drew him to her in the first place. “Just, don’t let go of me.”

“I’m not letting go, love.”

Slowly, he helped guide her to the bed, where she collapsed into the covers. He climbed in next to her, pulling her body gently into his. Lucien knew when another wave of pain would come over her with the way her body tensed under him, and he gently squeezed her hip where his hand rested to remind her he was right there.

“How bad is it right now?” He murmured into the top of her head into her hair.

“Lucien I can’t even think of anything else right now,” Her voice was so small, so unlike her. “Every time feels worse than the last.”

He felt an anger that almost wasn’t his ripen in his chest at her anguish, but he quickly subdued it, reminding himself it was not about him at this moment– he would let himself feel it, alone, after she finds some peace.

“I’m sorry,” He cradled her head in his chest, feeling her erratic breathing against his torso as she fought to maintain her composure against the relentless cramping. “You’re doing so good.”

Her hand softly held his wrist as the pain subsided slightly. “Luc, can you do the thing?

She was so exhausted, so out of it, she couldn’t even describe what she needed, but with Lucien, she never needed too. He always knew.

“Of course, love. Get on your back for me.”

She did as he said and guided his hand to her lower belly, right where the cramps would come and go as they pleased.

“Here,” she lightly instructed him, the weight of his heavy hand a welcome pressure. “I’m sorry, you must be so tired too.”

He shifted on his side and propped himself up on one below so he could look at her face as he said to her, “You don’t need to worry about me love.”

She smiled at him, finding comfort in how safe he always made her feel. She did worry about him. All the time. She worried when he went over the wall where the humans were. She worried when he returned to the Spring Court to check on Tamlin. She worried when he went into town, when he worked on their house, and even when he laid asleep beside her. But however much she worried for him, Lucien worried for her an unfathomable amount more. Becoming Lucien’s lover was like becoming a celestial body of the universe, for she’d never known what it felt like to be someone’s world until she became his. Lucien never let her forget it, not in the words he spoke to her or the things he did for her.

Like now, as he gently pulled up her night shirt and laid his large hand over her lower belly, she felt his palm heat up over her, bringing almost immediate relief to the pain. Her hand rested on top of his, absentmindedly running her fingertips over his calloused knuckles. It wasn’t lost on her, the way her cycles were much easier on her, with him. There was only so much that could be done to ease an inescapable pain, but Lucien had still found a way for her.

“Too hot?” He checked in after a few minutes of her silence.

“No,” she mumbled. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He watched her melt into the covers, the features of pain recede from her face. He’d never been called perfect before he met her. Not with his long red hair, his whirring eye, his scar. The girls wanted a Rhysand or a Cassian, even a Tamlin at some point. Never had he felt perfect, it was never even a word in his vernacular, but things were different now. He’d started to believe he could achieve something close to perfect, if only for his mate who deserved nothing less.

He’d helped so many people, done so much good, with his fire magic. Still, nothing felt as meaningful and important as when he was able to use it to help his mate. Even the times where he’d used his powers to hurt and destroy, she always gave him a way to remember he is not these things at his core. This– using his fire magic to warm the pain he could not physically reach– is who he was. She knew that, and so really, who gives a fuck if no one else did?

“I love you,” he spoke softly, knowing she probably didn’t hear it. From the open window, a breeze sighed into the room, carrying his words into the sky for the stars to hear instead, but they already knew.

Lucien did not sleep until she did. He didn’t mind the lack of sleep at all, though. On nights like these, he took the opportunity to reflect. In the very beginning he struggled to sit with his thoughts, plagued by so many created against his will. Now, it came easier to him with much more to be thankful for, to live for, than before.

Today was rubbish. Probably one of her worst days yet. 

It had been exactly two months since Hybern captured her from Azriel’s post and took her to their war camp deep in the Spring Court’s woods. Exactly two months since she’d been tortured for information she’d die before giving up. Exactly two months since she’d made peace with her death. Rhys couldn’t track her immediately, Mor and Feyre’s searches came up empty each time, and even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up a clue. Azriel had driven himself mad, downright insane, trying to find her. Each day he spent every waking hour looking for clues, scouring the forests for her scent, and each day he returned to bed with nothing to show for it. It took Amren and Nesta a month to finally locate her. In that month she laid cut and bruised, chained to a wooden post like an animal, struck, cut, and burnt for every question she refused to answer. They left her in the middle of that camp, exposed to the heat of the day, the cold of the night, the rain, the wind, and the thunder. They made her into a spectacle. 

She only thought of her family, her Azriel, the entire time. My Azriel, she’d think each time they brutalized her. My Azriel, my Azriel, my Azriel. Rhys collapsed when she allowed him into her mind after they brought her home. He would never forgive himself for sending her on that mission, nor would he ever show his brother what she’d shown him, for Azriel very well would have sent Prythian to immediate war. 

And while the cuts, bruises, burns, and broken bones would heal completely, the skin of her back would forever be changed, marred with angry, raised scars from a heavy leather whip. She could barely walk. 

The first time Azriel saw the lashes on her back, he was helping her undress the night she returned home. Each movement caused her to cry out in pain. She tried to bite her lip, clench her fist, grip Azriel’s arm, tried anything to keep from crying, but nothing helped– the pain was too much. It would’ve been a mercy from the Mother to fall apart, limb by limb, bone by bone, instead. 

Azriel had seen all the other scars when Madja was working on her; those alone made him sick and wild with a hideous rage, potent enough to crumble the mountains surrounding the city into nothing more than powder on the ground. The lashes on her back– the thought of some wretched male stripping her and lashing a whip over her soft, warm skin in the mud and rocks– filled him with a fury so intense, so horrid, he could’ve wrapped his bare arms around the sun and pulled it down to earth. Set everything on fire. 

That very night, with names in his ear courtesy of the shadows and Cassian and Rhys positioned at her door, Azriel made each of those names pay. He was back by sunrise, tucked into bed beside her, wing draped over her restless body, and she was none the wiser. 

“You’re killing it,” Madja’s appointed physical therapist, Jarrah, encouraged as he watched her do her exercises. He was tall and muscled with glittering, golden-brown skin, looking ever the Summer Court high fae that he was. 

“It’s killing me,” she ground the words out, mincing each syllable as they passed through her teeth. Pain gripped her legs, lower back, and upper arms like a vise as she fought to complete a rep, the movements squeezing every last bit of energy out of her and collecting on the mat below in puddles of sweat. “I can’t do it, Jarrah.” 

“You can and you will,” he squared his shoulders at her, smile fading as he willed her to find her strength again. In recovery, he’d taught her, there were good days and there bad days– healing was not a linear process. 

Some days she did well in physical therapy and pushed herself– the pain only meant she was getting stronger. Azriel would be absolutely beside himself with pride and their friends echoed as much. 

Other days, her body seemed to give out in protest, the pain too unbearable, and she’d wonder if she’d ever be the same again. Azriel would encourage her– she knew it wasn’t pity– but she couldn’t stand it all the same. She’d collapse onto the floor against her will during physical therapy, shoving Jarrah away with shame when he’d tried to help her up each time. Sometimes, she’d wake up in the dead of night, clammy, and nauseous from a nightmare that felt more and more real each time she had one. Azriel held her to his body whenever she’d jostle awake, heaving and shaking, stroking his warm hands up and down her arms. Other nights he held her hair back as she retched her dinner into the toilet, panting and crying silent tears. 

“To expect linearity is to set yourself up for failure,” Jarrah lectured during their very first session when all she wanted to do was get to the hard stuff, to prove that she was alright– that she was still whole. Jarrah did not mind her bad days, but something died within her every time she left training without making any notable progress– every time her body failed her when her mind seemed to be giving its all. 

From the moment they started their session this morning, Jarrah noted her body was fatigued and her mind was somewhere else. Oh dear.

“We can take a break–” 

“No!” She buckled down and held her position, determined to prove to herself that even on her worst days she could succeed. It was the most enthusiastic response Jarrah had gotten all session from her so he allowed it. He watched her body tremble from the strain, the sweat bead at her temples, the fatigue in her eyes as she fought the pain in her spine. 

Her body could not bear it anymore. She felt her traitorous legs give out beneath her and the ground came up faster than she could register, faster than Jarrah could react. A strangled cry crawled from her throat as she collapsed and her body trembled in a pain her mind could barely process. 

“Fuck,” a familiar voice rang out from the gym’s entrance and Azriel ran in. Just great. What was he even doing here? After the first training appointment in which Azriel could barely keep himself from choking out Jarrah and coddling her, he agreed to not interrupt her sessions thereafter. His disregard for their agreement made her feel so small. 

“Fuck,” Jarrah echoed. He was at her side in two steps, arms outstretched to help her up, but she scooted away as fast as her leadened arms would allow, turning her face away in shame. 

“Don’t touch me!” She croaked. 

Jarrah stopped himself by the time Azriel was at her side, crouching beside her and taking up what felt like all of the oxygen in her space. Breathe, she tried to remind herself but with Azriel hovering and Jarrah a foot away, both watching her crumpled pathetically on the mats, she couldn’t. 

“Are you alright?”

“Get her some water!”

“That’s enough for today, let’s get you some food.”

“... My love?”

Azriel’s soft voice pierced through her terrible thoughts. She felt his strong hands reach under her armpits to help her up but she pushed against his biceps, swatting him off in a desperate attempt to move away. But the pain made her so dizzy, it was difficult to create any real distance. 

“Don’t!” she cried out, for it was all she could do, and Azriel dropped his hands immediately. “I can get up on my own.”

Azriel didn’t move. Jarrah placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We should give her some space.”

Azriel clenched his jaw but it didn’t stop the twitching of his upper lip. He stood abruptly, swiveling on his heels so his face was only mere inches from Jarrah’s, who’d since quickly retracted his hand to himself. To his credit, he kept his shoulders square, but even he wasn’t immune to the pure threat in the Shadowsinger’s glare. 

“My mate is in pain, she can’t even stand up, and you want to leave her like this?” He growled. 

Anger grappled her lungs, stealing whatever air she’d managed to collect. That was the problem. “I can stand up, Azriel. I’m not made of glass.” 

It took her a few minutes, but she did it. She first rotated her hips so she was on her hands and knees. With one foot underneath her, she pushed herself up, trembling, sighing, moaning as her body resisted the upward movement, but she finally stood. 

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides to anchor himself back, to resist from helping her. He knew she was capable of doing anything, that she didn’t really need him. Part of the reason he was so hesitant to pursue her all those years ago was because she was so independent that it intimidated him. Azriel wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, what he could do better that she already did for herself, how he would fit into the life she’d built for herself. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he would still do anything for her. It didn’t take away that primal need to protect her. He tried his best not to suffocate her but sometimes he couldn’t help his instincts when his love for her outweighed everything else.  

She allowed Azriel to link his arm with hers as she waved goodbye to Jarrah, silently apologizing for Azriel’s outburst. 

“Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?” His voice was soft as he led her out of the gym and to the townhouse’s sunlit sitting room. “You did so good today, love.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was all she replied. She couldn’t stomach anything after such a rubbish session. Fear that she would never be the same ever again set in, but nobody would understand. No one could even fathom what it would do to her if she couldn’t keep doing her job, going on these missions, protecting this city. If she was relegated to a desk for the rest of her life, she’d have lost everything she’s ever worked for.

“Sure you are. At least something small to keep the medicine down.” 

Madja had her on a cocktail of herbs and elixirs– something for the pain, something for the scars, probably something for how fucked her mind had become– she couldn’t keep track. Azriel kept track for her. She swallowed the pills and the bitters he gave her and allowed him to rub the salve into her scars before bed. Whatever. This was life now– being shoddily held together by some combination of antibiotics, gauze, and ointments. 

She shook her head in defiance and Azriel sighed, stopping her just before the doorway to the living room where the rest of their friends sat. She was so stubborn– if she didn’t want to do something, no one could get her to do it. It was a quality he admired but also a quality that drove him downright mad at times like this.

“What’s bothering you?” 

“You mean besides healing at a snail’s pace and sitting on my ass all day in this house while everyone else goes to work– fulfills some sort of purpose? I’m doing just great.” The smile did not reach her eyes. 

Azriel tilted his head as if to say No, really. I know there’s something else. He could read her like a damn book– it had always been that way. 

She hesitated for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know if I’ll be the same ever again.”

Azriel’s face softened at the anxiety that weighed on her shoulders so heavily they sagged. 

“Of course you will, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s been two months and I can’t even climb the stairs without needing a break. My body hurts by the time I go to bed. I can still feel my back– the scars–” the words caught in her throat and she quickly cut herself off before she choked on them, unable to talk too much about it without feeling her body and mind repulse. 

“Come here,” Azriel wrapped his strong arms around her frame and pulled her into his body so close their hearts beat in sync before each other as if in private conversation. “The physical training, the medicines, the therapist, you’ve got it all going on. No one here is working harder than you right now.”

“But what if it isn’t enough,” she mumbled into his chest, a single hot tear catching on the fabric of his sweater. She turned her face into his chest to wipe the tear away completely and Azriel’s heart broke for her. He wished he could reach into her chest and pull out the pain with his bare hands, fly with it to Ramiel and drop it at the peaks where it could never find its way back to her ever again. “You know better than anyone, you could do everything right and it still wouldn’t matter. I just need to get better. Be myself again.”

“I will love you no matter what happens. Even if you are never the same, I will still love you. This changes nothing.”

She pushed him away abruptly, hastily wiping away tears as if Azriel couldn’t see them. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t about him, about him loving her. This was her life. If she couldn’t get back to who she was, fill the roles she’d spent her whole life caring about, where would she stand among her family? Where would she stand in this life? In this world? 

“But it changes everything for me,” her eyebrows furrowed incredulously. “I want my body back, my mind back. Thanks for letting me know you’d still love me if I were to be this fucked up forever, but that’s literally the last thing on my mind right now, Azriel. I don’t want to be fucked up forever, I want to get better, and I need you to want that for me too.”

Azriel tried to find the right words, stuttering in his search to say the right thing. He didn’t mean it like that. He only ever wanted the best for her– would kill for her to have what’s best for her. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She huffed, storming past him into the sitting room. Instant guilt flooded her as soon as she left him. Azriel helped however he could. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t put himself in her shoes in this very situation, but he’d gone through something traumatic too, and Azriel definitely knew a thing or two about helplessness. Still, she felt so alone. Azriel tried, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a woman tortured in a camp full of males. What that took from her. She wouldn’t explain it. 

Azriel watched her storm off, feeling as if he was failing her all over again. Every night, he watched the dullness in her eyes grow as he handed her the medicines. When she laid down in their bed with practiced monotony so he could rub the salve into the scars stretched across her back, he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying. They were nasty things, raised and swollen with blood and she flinched every time he touched them, as if he were delivering the lashings all over again. She was hurting and he felt so helpless. He vowed to always protect her and take away her pains but he could do neither of those things and the thought of it ate him alive everyday. Only the Mother knew the true lengths he’d go to for her. That man would do anything. 

In the sitting room, Azriel brought her a sandwich that he put together in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that would make it, but he politely refused. He wanted to be the one to do it. 

“Az, I told you I’m not hungry,” She murmured as he handed her the plate. 

“You need to eat something if you want to keep the medicines down,” He reasoned again. 

“I know what Madja said, I was there,” She snarked, crossing her arms. She was so tired of people telling her what to do. Jarrah telling her what exercises to do, Madja telling her what medicines to take, Rhys telling her that she shouldn’t try to work again so soon, Feyre telling her she should take more walks, Cassian telling her to drink less wine, Azriel forcing her to eat more food. 

“Okay, darling,” He placed the plate on the table when she wouldn’t take it from him. 

“Turkey and swiss, okay!” Cassian peeked at the sandwich, nudging her arm. “And he cut it in half too.”

“Just the way she likes it. In half though, not diagonal– too much crust in one bite if it's cut diagonal,” Azriel smiled from where he sat across the table from them. She could have cried at the sight of him, at the love in his eyes, in his voice. Words were never his strong suit but Azriel more than made up for it in acts of service. This was how he showed his love. This was him reaching his hand out, begging for her to take it, to let him in. To let him help. 

And she didn’t know why she had such a hard time letting him in. She didn’t want to seem incapable of anything, and letting herself fall apart the way Azriel would allow her to terrified her. She’d never fallen apart before. She didn’t know how she could do it without completely tearing herself and every past wound open again. It broke her heart to watch his smile falter when she didn’t reach for the plate. 

“I’m going to bed,” she stood up as quickly as her body would allow and left the room. It was too much. Azriel’s disappointment, everyone’s expectations, watching her, studying her, readying themselves to be there for her if she did explode. She never needed this much attention in the past– to receive so much of it all of a sudden made her feel like she was made of porcelain and everyone was expecting her to shatter at any moment. She could hardly breathe in that room and needed to get out before something within her cracked further. 

The stairs loomed before her, mocking with how many there were. Grabbing the bannister until her knuckles paled, she hoisted herself up one step at a time, maneuvering her body so that her entire weight wouldn’t be on one leg for too long. 

Nesta appeared behind her, climbing the steps she’d taken over the course of minutes in just mere seconds, with a stack of books in one arm and a handful of her gown in the other. Nesta stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around and looking down at her through long eyelashes. 

“Well this is pathetic,” Nesta snorted. 

“Fuck off,” she meant to sneer, but it came out in a breathless huff instead. Pathetic indeed.

 Nesta let her skirts fall from her right arm as she extended it toward her. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“You definitely do.”

“Don’t you have those smutty little novels to get back to?”

“Shut the fuck up and take my arm, or bust your ass on these stairs, I don’t care.” 

Begrudgingly, she took Nesta’s arm. Neither of them spoke, but Nesta patiently guided her up the stairs, supporting her where she needed it. Out of the entire Inner Circle, she got along the most with Nesta. Their conversations usually followed a very similar pattern as this one did, but only because they each saw a little piece of themselves in the other, even if they never mentioned it. 

“Heard you being a bitch downstairs,” Nesta finally spoke when they cleared the last stair and stood at the landing so she could catch her breath. 

She couldn’t find it within herself to take offense. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I don’t know why I do this,” she confessed. She didn’t need to explain further. Nesta automatically understood. When they locked eyes, that silent comprehension flowed between them again and for the first time since arriving back home from the war camp, she felt relief. The kind of relief that made your heart beat out of your chest and go a little dizzy. The kind of relief that came from being completely understood without having to spend the energy trying to put the thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words. 

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The words fell softly from Nesta’s lips. It was the last thing she said before she led her to the library. They sat in arm chairs across the fireplace and read for hours in each others’ company. No one came looking for her. No one tried to force a plate of food down her throat. No one wanted her to do those stupid mobility stretches. Nobody was asking her if she was okay. It was everything she needed. So why did she still feel restless, like something was missing?

Azriel.

She left the library after she’d calmed down. In the quiet, amongst the books, when she thought that was all she needed, she felt misery instead. She needed Azriel. She wanted to lay in bed with him forever, feel his skin on hers forever, stay in his warmth forever, feel their heartbeats sing side by side forever. Azriel forever. Nothing else would compare. 

When she reached their room, it was empty. Disappointment flooded her chest, but she knew Azriel was giving her space. As she moved closer to the bed, she found a new plate of food waiting beside a note. A remade sandwich, cut down the middle as always. 

Your favorite. Was all the note said. 

Indeed it was. She polished off the sandwich in a matter of minutes, as ravenous as she was. Actually, she was hungry when Azriel first offered one to her in the sitting room, but she was too stubborn to take it then. 

The bath towel beside the note on the bed was warm to the touch. From the soft sound of trickling water in the bathing room, she knew he’d run her a bath. The air above the tub smelled of sandalwood– his scent. As she stripped off her clothes and lowered herself into the warm water, the scent encompassed her as if he was in the room with her right then, waiting to join her. 

Surely, an hour or two must have passed. Her eyes pried open, the water and soap around her body in the tub still warm and feathery like a winter duvet. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, only that it was the best sleep she’d gotten these past two months. For the first time since coming home, she slept with no nightmares and no nausea to rouse her from rest. She didn’t even dream. She simply passed out.

When she finally left the bathroom, her body wrapped in the towel he’d warmed for her, she found Azriel sitting on the bed with a book nestled in his large hands. As she stepped through the doorway of the bathing room, he looked up, smiling softly. Pure love shone in his eyes like a beacon, flashing and blinking in the darkness that war camp left her in. 

At the sight of his soft smile, the gentleness of his features, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, she felt something break. 

Sensing a shift in her demeanor, he lowered the book, eyebrows knitting together. 

"What's wrong?"

Those two damned words. She bit the inside of her cheek, walking weakly to Azriel's side of the bed. He placed his book on the nightstand and sat up straighter, anticipating her next move. 

She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and laid her upper body against his torso, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his body tightly, breathing him in like he was the oxygen she lived off of. Anything else, anything that was not Azriel, and she could just die right there. 

He brought his arms around her tightly, heart sinking when he felt her hot tears on his neck. She did not shake. She did not sob. He only felt the wetness on his skin and the erratic heaving of her chest against his as she fought to regulate her breathing.

He did not say anything else. He held her, unmoving except to rub her back or run his hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. His other hand held the back of one of her thighs to keep her in place as she grew increasingly limp in his arms. 

"I've been such a wretch." Her voice was heavy and filled with sorrow. "I've been such a wretch to you. I'm sorry Az."

"Oh my love," He held her as close as he could, willing her to feel the love he held for her in his chest. His love for her ran everywhere his blood did, from his toes to the top of his head, every day and every second, his astonishment of her coursed his body like an electrical current keeping him alive. Without her,  there was no pulse. 

"How do you put up with me?" He felt her wipe her nose on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"Because I love you, and I know your anger has nothing to do with me."

"But you should not have to put up with it."

"I will put up with anything when it comes to you. You don’t ever have to worry about that when it’s you and I,” He pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. “You went through something horrible. You’re going to need time to work through it all, but I will be here for every moment of it. I’m sorry if I’ve been suffocating you, darling. I only do it because I can’t help it. When I see you hurting I wish I could take all of it from you and put it in me.”

“I never want you to hurt,” she told him earnestly. The thought of him going through what she did filled her with rage so sudden and consuming she couldn’t begin to imagine what Azriel felt when they finally found her at the camp. 

“I could never when I have you looking out for me,” He smiled that cheeky, boyish smile that came out so rarely. 

“I’ve just been having so many bad days. I should be happy that I’m back home, that I’m safe now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, and it comes out at the wrong times in the wrong ways. But I don’t know what I’d do without you, Az.” 

“Even on your worst days, you’re the best of us. So do your worst. I can handle it." 

The disbelief in her eyes melted away when he cradled her head, smiling earnestly– and gods, she wished she could commission Feyre to paint him like this– a man smitten. With all the tonics and creams Madja had forced on her, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of them would truly heal her. They helped the symptoms, but never the cause. She’d accepted that it would take a damn miracle to heal the cause. And here Azriel was, pleading and lovely, looking like her damn miracle. 

“It’s my pleasure,” Helion smirked, addressing the crowd with his words yet focusing his eyes on her. His brown skin reflected golden in the sun, the white cloth of his draped garment seeming to glow with it.

“Ever the generous host you are, Helion,” She played along for fun, the nature– and limits– of their flirty yet friendly relationship barely a secret.

“I wouldn’t dare displease you,” Helion purred. “You shouldn’t want for anything here. Just say the words, darling, and I’ll personally take care of it.”

Azriel was not the jealous type. He knew the effect he had on her, even all this time, and knew even better the effect she still had on him. It was like no time had passed since they’d been newly mated. His skin flushed as he recalled that initial period, how love-drunk he’d been, truly sated for the first time in his life by her burning affection, having his fill of her taste, and touch, and beautiful mind yet never getting enough of it at the same time.

He was a fool when it came to her, his brothers knew it, she knew it, and Azriel himself would not deny it either.

Yet his skin tightened over his bones and his shirt collar constricted the base of his thick neck ever so slightly as he walked behind her, watching Helion’s eyes trace her form, catching at her collarbones. The thought of him, another male, trying to provide for her, meet her every need, giving her anything… Azriel’s blood boiled. That was his place. He watched as his mate laughed dismissively, unobservant of Helion’s intense gaze.

She was beautiful, charming, and witty. No one could deny it. Rhys did not make her his foreign advisor for no reason. Azriel was quite used to people staring and trying to win her affections, but usually it never bothered him. Because at the end of the day, it was his ears that heard her thoughts and secrets, his eyes that watched her take on the world with grace and strength, and it was his bed they shared every night. He felt secure in their bond and she only had eyes for him, despite the entire world trying to court her at any given moment.

Mor and Feyre shared an amused, knowing glance at each other, studying the three as Rhys took over the conversation.

Helion led the group to his private lake just behind his palace. He was gracious in allowing the Inner Circle to have their summer holiday at his place in the Day Court, granting them access to his entire estate and anything on it for as long as they wished. “There are no such things as debts or favors when it comes to friends,” he said when he offered the location to Rhys in the first place.

The lake was downright gorgeous. Velaris was beautiful, but the Sidra could not compare to the Day Court’s waters even on its best day, a truth Azriel had kept to himself and Cassian had no problem voicing to Rhys. Its turquoise waters stretched for miles and miles, the sandy floor, algae, and tiny native fish visible through the watery looking glass. The palace sat behind them, watching protectively over its best-kept secret, and a vast expanse of green mountains rose on either side, their jagged edges softened by the lush native trees and vegetation. They curved around the lake the same way the gold of a crown hugs its jewel, enclosing it tightly in its earthy palm. Flowers trailed from the balcony down to the beach, the mud and sand padding the rock where the water met the earth. Blankets and a large wicker picnic basket lay ready on the beach.

Mor grabbed her and Feyre in her either of hands and dragged them down to the beach in a giddy, childish run. Azriel’s guiding, protective hand that had been poised at the small of her back suddenly felt cold at the fingertips as she was whisked away, her warm skin no longer close enough to soothe his skin like a balm.

He watched as she shed her clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the blankets. She laughed as Mor threw her dress over the picnic basket and picked out the gold pins in her hair, one by one, letting them land where they wanted to.

Azriel’s cheeks burned and his heart hammered with desire as he watched her shimmy out of her clothing, exposing her soft skin to the touch of the sun. The two-piece swimming slip adorned her curves so perfectly, like the garment was in love with its wearer. He’d picked it out for her. Her hair caught the breeze like something out of a novel and he swore he could smell her soap on the breeze even from all the way over where he was. Everytime he looked at her he felt like he was taking her in for the first time all over again. Part of him almost wanted to turn away with how difficult he suddenly found it to breathe, but he reminded himself with giddy disbelief, she’s mine.

“Easy,” Cassian muttered with a smirk, scenting him.

Azriel cleared his throat and Rhys sent him a boyish smile while continuing his conversation with Helion. Nesta and Amren joined the girls getting ready to get into the water while Elain and Varian settled on the blankets, books in each of their laps.

Mor was the first in the water, squealing at the sensation of it, cold at first, but warming to a luxurious temperature almost immediately. She laced her fingers with Feyre’s and they immediately followed Mor, throwing their heads back and laughing.

She savored the feel of the water against her skin, letting herself melt into its grasp and flow, letting it spread her hair behind her back and thread its liquid fingers through her strands. She submerged herself, gliding through the water until she was further out than anyone else. She’d waited for this holiday even before she knew they were going. She adored swimming, but there weren’t too many spots to do so in Velaris. In the water like this, enveloped in the lapping, balmy embrace of its ripples, she was at peace. Squealing, she beckoned the rest of the girls towards her, waving to Azriel from where he stood smiling like an idiot at her on the beach. He was shirtless now, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Azriel thought the sun complemented her skin, but in her eyes, it downright worshiped his. A glow even brighter than Helion’s overly-dramatic gold crown beamed from every inch of his body, tan and beautiful, broad and strong. She needed him in the water now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a splash of water to her face. She gasped and laughed at the unexpected sensation, Mor and Feyre giggling like schoolgirls at their mischief.

Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel settled back into the blankets, supporting themselves with elbows that dug divots in the sand.

“Did you ever imagine this life for us?” Cassian asked his brothers as each of them watched their mates in the water.

They rarely got a holiday, and it was even more rare that they allowed themselves to take one if they had the time. Of course, it was Rhys that encouraged this outing in the first place. When Azriel and Amren refused, he required it, as their High Lord, to take the holiday with everyone else.

That wasn’t what convinced Azriel, though. It was his mate's excited chatter about the prospect of the holiday at Helion’s lake with all of their friends, getting to spend time with each other outside of Velaris, visiting another court without the prospect of war hovering over them, being able to swim for the first time in so long. She could hardly wait to feel the water on her skin, to feel the sun on her face, and to spend time with Azriel, experience a new place together. He couldn’t say no as he sat back on their bed and watched her try on her new swimming slips for him, as she packed their bags so early in advance because she could hardly wait.

No, Azriel would not take this vacation because of Rhys’ orders as High Lord of the Night Court, but because it made his soulmate so unbelievably happy. That was all the reason he needed.

Azriel shook his head. “I never would have expected it to be this good. Every day feels like I’m waking up in a dream when she’s next to me.”

His brothers could not even ridicule him for his uncharacteristic sappiness. None of them expected to have mates, let alone be so loved by them, when they were just three boys in a war camp deep in the Illyrian mountains. They did not dare to imagine anything about their future for fear of never seeing it. An rough-and-ready lordling and two bastards. What odds.

Life wasn’t always perfect– there would always be Hybern and their human sympathizers, and probably a hundred other things, to worry about. But with their loves in their lives and talks of starting families, they supposed it was as close to perfect as the Cauldron would allow.

The women spent some time in the water, swimming, splashing, lounging, and talking with their mates watching them as they talked amongst themselves. When they decided to get out to eat, Feyre challenged them all to a race.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Feyre raised her brows at Azriel’s mate, her closest friend out of them all, with mischief in her eyes. “Just because you’ve bested me in two other races doesn’t mean you’ll have this one too.”

“I think it does,” she smirked devilishly.

Feyre broke into a swim for the shore to the dismay of the other women. Amidst shouts of protest at Feyre’s unfair start, everyone else began their dash to the shore.

She sliced through the water like a knife through butter, already ahead of Mor, Nesta, and Amren, the latter of which refused to participate. Surpassing Feyre like a born nymph, she barely had to try as her body fell into the familiar motion of cutting through the soft waves of the lake until she felt the water shallow beneath her belly and she was able to stand.

The water swished at her ankles as her feet touched land once again, running up the beach. At the sight of Azriel waiting a little ways down with her towel in his hand, she all but forgot about the race. She ran toward him, blushing at his gaze. He immediately rolled the towel open and wrapped it around her as she ran into him, securing the towel with strong arms that wrapped around her body and swayed her gently with the momentum of her sprint. His strong presence was enough to halt her and she savored the feeling of his body at her back, his warmth seeping through he towel and caressing her water-frozen skin.

She was breathing deeply now, chest rising and falling under his arm. Azriel reveled in the thrum of her heart under his hold, willing it to ease.

Azriel nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and she giggled, ticklish and giddy at his proximity.

“Did you see the race, Az? I wooon,” she sang, reaching an arm out of the towel to hold his face behind her. She leaned back against his chest, craning her neck up to meet his eyes, eyes that were absolutely drunk on watching her high. She was naturally competitive, much like he was during his snowball fights with his brothers. Watching her in her element filled him with pride to an extent she would never fully know.

“I did, I’m so proud of you, honey,” he smiled, sliding one of his arms up until it was slung across her chest, connecting his lips with hers. She tasted like the water, sweet and fresh. Azriel couldn’t help himself as he grabbed her waist. It was like drinking from a fountain with an eternal thirst he couldn’t quench. More, more, more. He didn’t care who was around.

She pulled away, flustered. “You sure don’t mind putting on a show,” she turned around fully in his arms so that she was facing him now. The towel had fallen slightly, now hung loosely around the crooks of her elbows. Her wet hair fell in waves around her face and to him, she looked like a goddess of the water. He was barely religious, the furthest thing from it really, but he’d devote himself to her for nothing in return.

After the food had been brought out, the Inner Circle enjoyed the lunchtime feast of bread, wine, fruit, and meats. After everyone had eaten their fill, namely Cassian who was half passed out on his back, they lounged on the beach. Nesta nestled into Cassian’s broad side with her book, speaking to Elain quietly. Amren and Varian had rattled off somewhere right after they were done eating– insatiable those two were. Mor was laying on her back, facing the sun, catching a tan.

“I’m so happy we did this,” Feyre said softly, addressing the group. “It feels like lately our joy has come from short-lived bursts of happiness or quiet. I can’t tell you all what it means to me that we can have this time without preparing for the worst.”

Rhys rubbed a soothing thumb over her shoulder. Everyone raised their glasses to that.

Azriel leaned back into the sand, one arm folded under his head and the other extended as his mate rested her head on the inside of his bicep. Tired from swimming and full from their meal, she curled into his side, draping a leg across his.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” She murmured into the side of his chest, peppering kisses there on his warm, tan skin. Azriel brought his arm around her, pulling her closer and resting a hand over her hip, enjoying the heat of her sun-kissed skin beneath it.

He rested his mouth at the top of his forehead as she drifted in and out of sleep. He was like her sleeping drug. Whenever they sat back together to watch a movie, read their books, or on nights in with their friends for some wine and card games, she could hardly stay awake beside him.

His heart swelled. She felt so comfortable around him that her guards collapsed to dust in his presence. She gave herself fully to him, to his care, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold her any tighter at that moment.

Helion came out to check on his guests. “Like a litter of babes, the lot of you,” He chuckled as he took in his friends, exhausted and full, lazing about his private beach. His eyes floated over to her, to her dozing form beside her mate, beautiful and soft. Peaceful. Azriel was aware of his gaze– he always was aware of anyone perceiving his mate. He only opened his book and continued skimming his fingers on her hips above the waistband of her swimsuit. She was blissfully unaware, half awake, half dreaming, lulled into a world of dreams and darkness by the steadiness of Azriel’s breath and light touch.

After the group of friends were well rested, everyone made their way into the water again. Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel raced out to the middle of the lake, Azriel the obvious winner and it wasn’t even close. Cassian batted a wave of water over Az with his wing in tantrum and Rhys only laughed until his stomach throbbed. They played chicken, Nesta on Cassian’s shoulders and she on Azriel’s. Mor wanted to pretend-play mermaids and they dragged the males in on their fun. They begrudgingly played along, yet were silently more than happy to oblige them. Nesta placed a crown of algae on Cassian’s head and he fully committed to his part as King of the Plankton. They floated on their backs, swam in circles, and splashed waves at each other.

Climbing the jagged, rocky cliffs on either side of the lake, they jumped off of their ledges into the water below, in flips and turns, nosedives and backflips. The setting sun cooled the water, a pink and purple sky above their heads melting into an inky blue that lined the horizon.

A perfect day.

Everyone grew tired again. From the beach music began to play. Light and upbeat, but beautiful and soft– distinctly Day Court.

Azriel gently grabbed her hand, leading her behind one of the cliffs they had jumped off of. It was the largest cliff jutting out of the lake and provided complete privacy when they were on the other side of it.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day,” Azriel said, removing a hand from under the surface of the water and moving a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. He took in her tanned skin and sun-blushed shoulders and cheeks.

“All you had to do was ask,” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Azriel’s self control snapped like a rubber band and he pushed his body through the water against her, pinning her to the rock behind them. His hand cradled the back of her head against the jagged cuts of the cliff. He needed more, but he paced himself, letting himself savor the feel of her skin under the water. Azriel ran his hand up and down the side of her stomach, his fingertips trailing the skin as he moved. Her skin pebbled in the wake of his touch, sending a shiver down her spine. Even in his frenzy he took his time. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slanted his lips over hers, water sloshing between their bodies in whatever space was left.

She sighed into his mouth and it drove him crazy. Pressing her chest to his, she needed to be as close as could, within his very being if it was possible.

“If I could just crawl into your skin and live inside your heart I would,” She told him one drunken night when she’d gotten so trashed with Nesta and Mor that he needed to fly her back home rather than walk like they always did after a night out. Azriel never forgot those words, and everytime they kissed or hugged he was reminded of them with an intensity that made his chest squeeze.

“Az,” She whispered into his mouth. His hands lowered from her waist to her hips, thumbs skimming the waistband of her bottoms again.

She couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how much time passed, he drove her absolutely mad. They’d only stopped for air once they absolutely could not breathe anymore, and even then, Azriel didn’t pull too far away, needing to feel her breath on him.

“What has gotten into you today?” She laughed lightly, though definitely not complaining. It was not like him to be so risky, to be so passionate when they weren’t completely alone.

“I just love you,” was all he said.

Night fell over the Day Court slowly but surely. The day had gone on forever. By the time it was dark enough, some of Helion’s housekeepers started a bonfire and replenished the beach with more food and wine.

She laid down on the blankets again with Azriel beside her, propped up on his elbow and leaning on his side so he was looking directly down at her. Their legs were intertwined and they laughed and spoke softly, a bit away from the rest of the group.

Azriel’s free hand rested on the plane of her soft belly, listening more than he spoke. Of course he was a man of few words, but around her, he enjoyed letting her speak. It was one of his favorite things, learning more and more about the way her brilliant mind worked with the things she said.

With her thoughts, ideas, and opinions, he thought she was incredibly intelligent– the smartest person he knew. He learned so much from her eloquent tongue, adoration filling him from head to toe when she went on her tangents.

The first time she even went on one of her rants in front of him, even before the bond had snapped into place, she was flustered and apologized to Azriel. At the time, she didn’t know Azriel liked her back and dread filled her veins at the idea that she possibly scared him away for good. But he simply shook his head and encouraged her, asking questions and helping her carry the conversation when he felt it start to falter with her hesitation.

Azriel sat hunched over in the plush velvet chair in Rhysand’s office. His elbows dug into his strong thighs as he clasped his hands together, focusing on the slow, mindless movement of his thumb over the ball of his knuckle.

“I think the Cauldron got it wrong.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian asserted eloquently.

“The Cauldron doesn’t simply ‘get things wrong’,” Rhysand said softly from where he leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed contemplatively over his chest. Cassian, lounging in the chair across from Azriel, threw his hands in the air.

“It takes longer for some people than others, you know.”

“I knew far before Feyre did,” Rhysand supplemented.

“Anyone with eyes can tell how she feels about you. It’s beyond me you don’t see the way she looks at you, brother.”

Azriel was at a loss. Pining after the same woman for decades proved brutal on the heart. Downright treacherous, really, considering he felt the mating bond snap a long time ago and she had given almost no indication she felt anything of the like.

He knew she liked him in the way a person “likes” their best friend who knows them inside out, has been with them through every insignificant or life-altering moment, and embraces every part of them– even the messy bits. No, Azriel had no doubt in his mind that she loved him. She’d said as much multiple times, which left him feeling even more confused.

He didn’t want to push her for fear of ruining what they already had. Things were good, he’d even go so far as to say things were perfect between the two of them. He knew he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, the picture of good, and there were many things he’d done wrong to get to where he is today. Still, she was the one thing he did right. The best part about his life. Whether she knew it or not, it was his truth and he swore if it came down to it, he’d stand to do right by her before Prythian.

“She just has everything together. I don’t want to take up space in a life where she has everything figured out. We are in good places in each other's lives. I would hate to pressure her to change any of it for me.”

“You say that as if you'd be ruining her life,” Cassian’s anger simmered to a sadness. “She’d never think that.”

“And what about you?” Rhysand interjected. “You’re breaking your own heart waiting for her to feel the bond snap. Maybe you need to help her on.”

“I would never put her on the spot like that.”

“I wasn’t suggesting–”

“What if she’d rejected the bond somehow?” Azriel stood up, legs suddenly overcome with the sensation of a thousand little fire ants devouring his skin.

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Cassian huffed, returning to anger.

“How else can any of this be possible? How can she be so oblivious?”

“There is one way,” Rhys offered, suddenly solemn.

Azriel and Cassian looked to their brother expectantly. Azriel felt his heart hammer against his chest in anticipation. A reason was good. A reason was a start. A reason meant that there was a way out of this purgatory he found himself in.

“I read it in one of Amren’s books a long time ago,” Rhys locked eyes with Azriel. “When the mating bond has snapped into place for one of the fae in the pair and the other has absolutely no indication of it, usually it is a sign that they are not looking for a mating bond at all.”

“A lot of people don’t go looking for it,” Cassian reasoned. “I myself was more of the let-it-happen-when-it-will type.”

“Not looking for it in the sense that they don’t believe they deserve it. In the way that perhaps it's simply not meant for them.”

Silence fell over the three males. Azriel felt his heart shatter, pieces of it falling deep into his gut, turning it over and making him uneasy.

“If anyone doesn’t deserve this it’s me.” Azriel whispered.

“Don’t,” Cassian warned.

Rhys continued softly. “When they believe that, they inadvertently shield themselves from feeling anything… including a bond even if it does exist. A defense mechanism of sorts.”

The body protecting itself from heartbreak so painful that it registered it as a physical ailment. Azriel was going to be sick.

He couldn’t believe the love of his life felt that way. He wondered for how long she’d lived with such a belief, how long she’d been giving him her love while accepting none of his. He wanted to tear down the mountains around Velaris, move them, raise them, turn them to dust, anything he could manage to get her to believe him when he told her he loved her.

He barely felt he deserved her at all. It made him queasy with devotion and grief that she loved him enough to ever think she was the undeserving one.

Azriel was so far past worrying that she did not feel the mating bond anymore. All he cared about was making sure she knew she was loved by him in a way that brought him to his knees.

Her second favorite part of the year after Winter Solstice: Starfall.

Elaine spent most of the day in the kitchen with Nuala and Cerridwen. Mor, Feyre, Nesta sat on her bed, lounging on the expansive mattress before it was time to get ready for the party.

While everyone else had their dresses picked out, she was still between options.

“Okay, option one.” She stepped out from behind the dressing screen, twirling dramatically in a golden trumpet dress that shimmered like woven sunlight.

Mor howled and Nesta smirked in satisfaction.

She turned to look into the mirror and study her body. She felt her heart palpitate as her mind immediately dared to wonder what Azriel would think. Would he like it? She shook my head quickly to clear the thoughts. It didn’t matter what he thought anyway.

Feyre sat back, tilting her head with a look in her eyes she couldn’t quite place. “It’s not bad. I caught a glimpse of the other gown earlier…” The ends of her mouth curled upwards.

The second dress was her personal favorite too. A silk, dark navy sheath that hung from her curves elegantly. It shimmered of silver and lavender under the light like the stars had been gathered from the sky and threaded into the material, one by one.

“Yes.” All three chanted at the same time as soon as she walked out again, clad in the dress that looked like it had been made only for her. There was no room for theatrics as her best friends gazed approvingly.

She did not need to look in the mirror to know this is the dress she wanted to wear. After all, she loved the color blue.

The rest of the girls got ready before she did. She went back and forth on hairstyles and makeup multiple times. Nuala and Cerridwen were more than patient, as were her friends who all waited downstairs for her before they’d leave for the House of Wind together.

“This is as good as it will get, I suppose,” She looked in the mirror one final time before descending the stairs that led to the living room below.

As soon as she neared the middle of the stairs, a shadow slipped around her ankle and up her bare arm, sending goosebumps in its wake. It slipped back down her arms gently, like a lover’s admiring touch, and down the stairs again.

Azriel was the first to turn. His senses were always tuned to her without his knowledge or deliberate effort. Her presence was like a beacon in his darkness. A lighthouse to his boat on treacherous waters. He could sense her in a crowded room in a heartbeat just by the way his heart would pound and his skin would warm.

Their eyes locked and he felt a pull in his chest. Almost with a start, he realized it wasn’t even the mating bond, though it also hummed within him. Even despite the mating bond, tender yearning filled his chest at the sight of her standing at the bottom of the stairs now. Pure love. The Cauldron blessed him this one time, perhaps the only time it ever would, giving him the mate it did. Yet he knew, especially in that moment as he drank in the sight of her glowing skin, shy smile, and deep eyes, he would love her even if they were not bound together in this way. He knew he’d choose her over and over and over again. He’d give anything to have her look at him the way she was right now, forever.

Still, Azriel’s heart wrenched as he recalled why she couldn’t feel the mating bond– this thing that crooned and moaned, twisted and sung, wrenched and wrested to be felt by the only other person in the world who it belonged to, not understanding why it hit a wall everytime it tried to reach out to its other half. His other half.

Something like pride came over Azriel as he noticed everyone else stop and stare. Their friends welcomed her with hugs and kisses and compliments and he watched her be loved and by all of their friends. He wanted to say something as their eyes met again. What would he say first? Azriel had a waterfall of words teetering at the tip of his tongue, flowing straight from the pits of his heart, but supposed telling her she was beautiful was a good start.

But before he could say anything, Mor gathered her and Elaine into her arms before winnowing them to the House. Feyre, Nesta, and Amren followed them a second later.

Cassian clapped Azriel on the shoulder, a rare, soft smile on his lips. “Don’t waste another day, brother.”

With Varian uncomfortably nestled in Cassian arms, they were off to the House too.

The celebration was grand as usual. Food and drink flowed from every corner of the room and everyone danced without a second to rest.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She danced with her friends for the longest time; Mor swirled her around the room and Nesta challenged her to keep up.

He stayed within the chattering crowd that boxed in the dance floor, sipping mulled wine and adjusting a fine thread on his jacket every now and again.

She excused herself from Nesta’s ceaseless dancing for some air. Her face was flushed, body warm, but she was happy. Once she reached the doors to the balcony and closed them behind her, she reveled in the immediate silence that followed.

The night air was cool on her flushed skin, the wind a caressing and most welcome touch.

A few minutes later, she heard the balcony door open behind her. Of course she didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. It was the only person that would follow her anywhere, no questions asked.

“Are you quite parched, yet?”

She turned around to find Azriel standing there, tall, broad, and beautiful, with two glasses of mulled wine.

“Quite.” She affirmed with a smile. He walked toward her until they were elbow to elbow, as close as he dared, before handing her the glass. She proposed they toasted to the spirits, who would begin their migration soon, for a safe journey. He obliged.

They sipped their wine in a comfortable silence. Any minute now the show would begin and everyone would move to the main balcony to watch and continue their dancing. This smaller balcony was perfect for just the two of them.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Azriel said as he did not bother to observe the first few stars that crossed the sky in glittery streaks of silver and gold. Next to her, everything else paled in comparison.

Her heart trembled at the compliment. It wasn’t the first compliment he’d given her, far from it, but coming from him they always meant so much.

With the wine in her system, accompanied with whatever was in Cassian’s flask when it was offered to her an hour ago, she said. “I wore this dress for you.”

The choice of color was not lost on him. The next few stars that soared across the sky caused his inky blue siphons to glisten in their glittery light. A perfect match to her silk.

“It suits you.” Azriel hated that his heart was hammering like this. He felt the love in his chest hum like a magnet, the bond snap like a rubber band against his lungs, stealing their air.

She didn’t say anything, only turned to look at him and he did not back away from her eye contact. Only returned it with such intensity that they now spoke with their eyes, a conversation that could never be expressed with mere words, an exchange between soulmates that remained only between them, not even the sky and stars privy to those thoughts.

Before his mind could refuse or reason with him, he closed the gap between the two of them, taking her elbow in his large hands. She allowed him to guide her to his strong body, eager to follow his lead.

His hands dropped to her waist, a respectable distance above her hips, though she would be pleased if he dared to go lower.

“I think about you all the time.” He spoke softly as he drew her as close as she could get. Their bodies were touching, and she was sure he could feel her heart hammering like a bird trying to take flight in a locked cage.

“You don’t,” She whispered as the stars began to rain across the sky in glimmering streams of light. Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to stop before she made a fool of herself. But her body forced her to stay put, to soak in his warmth, the feeling of him against her, to allow herself to indulge in this.

“I do.” His voice was strong, tone resolute. He held her gaze. “I would never lie. Not to you. You are the one thing in my life I would spend the rest of my immortality living for. You’ve captivated me since the moment I met you and if it takes the rest of my life to prove it, I would gladly call it my life’s work. I can’t keep this from you any longer. If that makes me selfish…”

She reached her hand out to cup his jaw. He leaned into it immediately. Her touch was soft against his face and he thought about how nice it would be to stay like this forever.

Starfall was in full effect. Music and laughter from the other balcony was but a distant, muffled, chorus to him and he watched the shine of the raining stars reflect off of her eyes and skin. Like a work of art, he observed. My mate, my mate, my mate, his insides thrummed.

He couldn’t take it any longer. He understood the look in her eyes, the silent permission, the mutual yearning. In an act of mercy, blessing, and loss of control, he slanted his lips over hers, dropping his hands lower on her waist, shifting one to her lower back to support how flush to his body he held her.

She wrapped his arms around his neck, damning the voices in her head telling her none of this was real, that he’d regret it and take it all back in the morning. Deep down she knew even if other men would, Azriel would never. She gave into him, leaned into him, let him in everywhere he demanded it.

She didn’t think about how long she spent in his arms, connected to him like this. Her breath hitched as he felt her squeeze her waist and use the hand that was at the small of her back to travel upward caressingly, taking his time to feel her skin, the dips and planes of her body through the silk, to rest at the back of her neck.

Azriel was so wholly in love he didn’t even have to think about his next move or any kind of thought. Being with her was natural, like second nature.

She pulled away just long enough to breathe, caressing his swollen bottom lip with her thumb as she moved to hold his jaw. He smiled drunkenly at her, watching as she blushed and indulged herself in the feel of his face.

As the stars rained over Velaris in glittering dashes across the perfect canvas of the night sky, she stood with Azriel, holding him as he held her, suddenly keenly aware of what it felt like to be loved by him.

Azriel’s eyes softened in realization, relief, as he felt the hum of the bond break through his chest for the first time in decades. It extended outward freely, like a bird let loose, soaring like the stars in the sky to meet its other half.

She gasped softly as she felt a snap in her chest. A snap that realigned worlds, parted clouds, mended something broken, that marked a shift in time.

She understood.

“Az…” she whispered, almost wanting to not believe it.

He nodded, letting her feel his touch as she worked through the new emotions.

“How long have you known?” She brought her arms down from his neck to hold his hands. His bigger palms enveloped hers easily, warm and strong. Sure.

“Decades.” He shook his head slightly as if it was common sense he’d been in love with her for so long, refusing to break eye contact with her.

“And all this time… you waited? You never– I never thought…”

“I can’t think of anything else I’d want to spend my entire life loving.” He swept a lock of her hair behind her ear to see her better. To remind himself this wasn’t a dream, not this time.

She allowed Azriel to pull her in again, savoring the way his lips tasted, how soft they felt, the way he held her like she’d vanish if he even lifted a finger. It was a grasp that made her want for nothing anymore. Everything she wanted was right here.

“It seems,” she breathed, slightly out of breath after they pulled away again. “I’ve kept you waiting for quite some time.”