Welcome to the mismatch Fandoms in my head.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," you rushed, your voice as shaky as your hands. "I should have been faster. I'm so sorry, Azriel."

He was pale and sweating when you returned to his side. You felt the blood leave your own face as you dabbed at his faebane-wrought wound, attempting to soothe the ache as Madja had taught you. Magic could not do anything against faebane, so it was a waiting game.

He gritted his teeth and attempted a shake of his head. "Don't—don't apologize. Thank you. It's helping."

"Right, okay," you mumbled to yourself. You hovered your palms over the now-covered wound. "You're okay. It's okay."

Your skin felt like it was vibrating, your breathing becoming harsh and out of time. There wasn't much of a wound left on Azriel's side after all of your attempts at healing, but the lingering scent of blood and his stained leathers remained. You stared at the mishapened crimson until the image became distorted in your mind. The ringing began then, sounding at a distance until it was practically thrumming at your ear.

This was panic. You were familiar with it. But there was no time to panic, no place when Azriel needed you.

You spun on your heel and pressed a hand to your chest, trying and failing to gulp in any air you could. Tears sprang to your eyes when the attempts began to hurt, when you started to feel lightheaded, and the world was crumbling down on you.

He was hurt. Azriel was hurt, and all you could do was wait. He was going to die one day, and you would never see him again and—

A face in front of yours, beaded in sweat, pallid in the low faelight you'd cast, but a face so familiar you would know it blind. Azriel's hazel eyes bore into yours, and his lips were moving to form slow, measured words that you could not hear. You felt him first, the careful rhythm of his thumbs drawing circles on your shoulders, both grounding and shocking your senses. When you began to blink harder, he ran a hand over your hair and pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his.

"You're okay," he murmured into the sliver of space between you. "I'm okay, and you're okay. You'll always be okay with me. Deep breaths, angel. One at a time."

You tracked his exaggerated inhales and matched the steady exhales. He offered you an encouraging nod when you finally caught your breath, and then pulled back enough to press his lips to your forehead. He held you there for a long moment. Your fingers found purchase in the material at his chest.

"Back with me?" Azriel lowly asked.

"Yes," you stuttered out, feeling strange and airy, but more present than you had before.

"Good," Azriel breathed. "Good—can you... Don't panic, angel, but I need your help lying down again. Can you do that for me?"

You jolted, tore back from him, and slammed back to the moment in totality. You opened your mouth to apologize, to yell at him, to panic, when Azriel gently shook his head. He faltered where he stood, and you gripped his arms to steady him.

Climbing up the stairs to his apartment, Eris let out a weary sigh. After a long-ass day at the office full of infuriatingly stupid people, he just wanted to relax at home with his partners. Glancing at his watch, a tiny bit of joy soared inside him; it was only 8:30, by far the earliest he’d gotten home in over two weeks. 

This time of year was always busy, despite the fact that he finally made partner and should have had more time to breathe. But there was seemingly always some crisis that only he could handle, which had him heading to work every day at the ass crack of dawn and returning near midnight every single night for the past few weeks.

Fishing through his pocket for his keys, he finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it behind him. Almost immediately, the calming scent of rosemary and mint from the oil diffuser you constantly kept running washed over him. Kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat by the door, Eris dodged various pets from the horde the three of you had amassed over the years as they weaved through his legs. He knew damn well that they’d already been fed tonight, but he still moved into the kitchen to give them some treats from the top of the fridge.

As the hounds and cats and the odd rabbit crunched on their snacks, Eris practically stopped in his tracks when he found two half-eaten plates on the dining table, candles lit and music still playing. That was…unusual to say the least. Az had a thing about making sure every room of the house was tidy and in order. Considering that both you and Eris functioned on a base level of organized chaos, it was something that took time to get used to, but both of you had come to appreciate it.

Suddenly, he heard your unmistakable giggle and Azriel’s low, breathy laugh coming from the adjoining living room. Creeping forward on silent feet, a pure product of growing up in the Vanserra household, Eris moved towards the hallway and the closed-over door to the living room. Peaking his head in, Eris barely stopped a raspy groan from crawling up his throat as he found the two of you, half-dressed, fucking on the couch.

He knew that he should let the two of you know that he was there, but it wouldn’t hurt to watch for a few minutes. He’d been so fucking pent up over the last few weeks, only having time to find a rushed release with his hand in the shower every few days. Almost immediately, his hand moved to palm at his growing cock through his pants.

Eris first locked onto your face; your eyes rolled back in pleasure, and your plush, pink lip worried between your teeth. Az had his own face buried in your neck, his muffled groans barely reaching Eris’ spot in the doorway. Travelling down your bodies, your sweater was thrown somewhere within the living room, and your skirt was hiked up to your waist, leaving your bottom half completely bare. Azriel still had his shirt on, but his jeans lay in a pile near the side of the couch.

Barely muffling a moan with the palm of his hand, Eris stared between your thighs, where Az’s pretty, thick cock was rapidly plunging in and out of your wet pussy. The low light of the lamps strewn around the room gave Eris the perfect view of just how soaked you were.

Your gorgeous moans were like a siren song, pulling Eris from his position against the wall and further into the room. He was halfway to the couch when you finally noticed him. Your body momentarily tensed before easing, and your lips curved into a smile, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Hi, baby. I did-didn’t know you’d be home so early.”

Eris smiled down at you, at the way your voice wavered from the force of Azriel still thrusting inside you, not daring to stop. Eris came up to stand by your side, fingers curling through your hair while his other hand slipped under Az’s shirt, rubbing up and down his lower back. “No, I suppose you didn’t. At least that makes me feel better that both of you weren’t just ignoring my texts.”

He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your lips, before turning to Az and kissing him too. This one was far more forceful than the kiss he gave you, Eris’ tongue slipping past his boyfriend’s lips and delving into his mouth, still tasting the deep cherry and pomegranate notes of the wine sitting on the table. 

Pulling back, Eris looked down into his hazel eyes and saw the thinly veiled tension on his face. He was already close and he was never able to hide it well. “What, did the two of you get horny during dinner and decide to fuck instead? So desperate to get inside her that you couldn’t even make it to the bed?”

The little whine that Azriel let out at Eris’ mocking tone was fucking gorgeous. Eris always somehow managed to perfectly tow the line between praise and degradation to make Az completely lose his mind. His shaky breaths flowed out of those beautiful lips as he stared up at Eris. “Just…taking a break. We’ll go back and clean up later.”

Eris knew it was a pretty lie, but he was too distracted by the hand slowly crawling up the outside of his thigh towards his raging hard-on to give the lie enough attention. Tearing his gaze from those lovely hazel eyes, he looked back down at you. Still biting your lip, you started to rub his cock and fiddle with the buttons on his pants. Eris’ hand moved from your hair down to wrap around your jaw, two long fingers slipping past her lips, and he didn’t even have to ask to start licking and sucking on them. “So needy tonight, my love.”

Easily tugging his pants down with one hand, Eris let them fall to his feet and your soft hand immediately went to work at stroking him. Eris looked back over at Az, the hand on his back moving up to tug at his short curls, making him release another adorable moan. 

“Since you’re fucking our girl so well, I’m not going to punish you tonight. But, you don’t get to finish until she makes me come, and don’t you dare slow down.”

Az bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut as he held back his impending orgasm. “Please, Eris. She feels too fucking good, I’m already so close.”

Eris just smirked down at him while he drew his fingers out of your mouth, tapping your jaw. You immediately opened your mouth for him, your tongue resting outstretched along your bottom lip. “Relax, darling. You know how good her pretty mouth is; it won’t take long.”

He then looked back towards you as he shuffled forward, thrusting half of his cock down your throat in one go. Eris let out a low, drawn-out moan as your tongue wrapped around the tip of his cock and your soft lips skillfully moved up and down his length. He wasn’t exaggerating; he would likely only last a few more minutes with how amazing your warm mouth felt around him.

The sound of Azriel groaning in pleasure as he sank back and forth into your wet cunt only helped bring Eris closer and closer to finishing. Az’s thrusts got more and more desperate, pulling delicious moans out of you that rattled around his cock perfectly. His hand moved to the back of your head, guiding your mouth as it slid along his cock.

“That’s it, baby, just like that. Taking my cock so good, just like you always do. Want me to fill up this slutty mouth with my cum while Az comes deep inside your needy pussy?”

Your eyes locked onto his, and he saw all of the desperation swimming there. You nodded your head and hummed your assent around him. It didn’t take more than a dozen more thrusts past your pretty lips before Eris was shooting his cum onto your tongue and down your throat.

With a simple tap on the back of Azriel’s neck, he was moaning and coming inside you. His thrusts slowed as your tight pussy drained his cock. Withdrawing his slightly softening cock from your mouth, Eris turned to press a gentle kiss against Az’s temple as his chest heaved. “Good boy, take a minute to catch your breath and carry her to bed. I want both of you to relax for a bit while I clean up. Then we can play some more.”

Pulling his pants up and around his hips, Eris moved to grab the excess clothing strewn about the room. When he went to go back into the hallway to clean up the kitchen, he barely noticed as Azriel pulled you into his arms and moved you to the bedroom. After taking a few minutes to move the leftover food and wine into the fridge, blowing out the candles, and drawing the curtains around the apartment, Eris finally walked towards the bedroom.

He found the two of you sitting in bed next to each other, the rest of your clothes at least making it in the hamper this time. Eris stripped down to nothing, throwing his own clothes with yours before moving to lay down on his chest between your legs. He gently ran his hands up and down your thighs before spreading them apart. You instinctually shifted down the bed, making room for his face as he kissed up the inside of your thighs towards your messy pussy, leaking with both your release and Azriel’s.

Eris slowly started to lick at your sensitive clit while plunging two fingers into your cunt. The little, slightly overstimulated whimpers coming from your mouth had him already hard for you against, barely stopping himself from grinding into the mattress. While he licked and sucked at your clit, he coated his fingers with your combined releases before moving his hand down and slowly swirling the pads of his fingers around your puckered asshole. 

Gently, he started to press one of his fingers into your hole, feeling the tense muscles clench around him. Eris’ other hand made sure to roam around your hips and lower stomach, coaxing you into relaxing for him. Soon enough, he was able to slip another finger inside you, stretching out your ass. The dual sensation of his lips on your pussy and his fingers in your ass was enough to have you coming again, despite the fact that Az had certainly made you come multiple times earlier.

“Fuck, Eris, feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

You only needed a few more minutes of him playing with your sensitive holes to have you spasming around his fingers, more of your release gushing out of your cunt. Pulling his fingers out of you, Eris got up onto his knees between your legs. He looked over at Azriel, who was licking his lips at the sight of you and Eris, and practically sitting on his hands so he wasn’t touching his rock hard cock.

Eris moved his hand to cup your cheek, pulling your gaze up to look at him. “Now, I want you to sit on his cock and let Az stretch out your pretty ass. Then when you’re ready, I’ll fuck your tight little pussy. Sound good, sweetheart?”

You immediately nodded for him and started scooting back between Azriel’s legs and against his chest. Eris sat back on his heels, cock in hand, as he watched you kneel above his cock. Az placed a steadying hand on your waist as you slowly lowered yourself down onto his cock, twin moans coming out of both of you. Watching his thick cock slowly slide into your ass was fucking heavenly and had his cock twitching in his hand.

Once you were sat down with Azriel’s cock fully inside your tight heat, you relaxed against his chest and he started slowly thrusting up inside you, one arm wrapped around your waist holding you against his chest, and the other massaging your breasts. After a few minutes of watching you get used to the heady sensation of Az’s cock inside your ass, you stretched out a hand towards Eris, who took the signal and moved to kneel with his legs around your hips.

The head of his cock ran through your wet lips and he looked up at you, then Azriel, making sure both of you were ready to continue. Slowly, he started to push inside your tight cunt, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of Az’s cock moving in and out of your ass. One of your arms wrapped around his waist and the other having a death grip around his bicep. Eris watched as your jaw dropped open and your eyes went slightly hazy. Once he was fully seated inside you, both he and Azriel stilled, giving you a minute to adjust to the stretch. He knew that you likely felt impossibly full and didn’t want to push you too far, too fast.

Eventually, your brain came back to you, and you blinked up at him, nodding at him. Eris glanced back at Azriel, the two men not even really needing to communicate their plan. Slowly, they both started to move inside you in tandem. 

It felt so fucking amazing that Eris almost thought that he’d ascended to another plane of existence. The tight, wet squeeze of your pussy around him and the feel of Azriel’s cock pushing against his as he moved within your ass might as well have been an otherworldly experience. The three of you were pretty much beyond words as the men fucked you into oblivion, moans and groans being the only sounds in the room besides the wet slap of skin on skin.

All of you were strung so high that when you fell off the edge and squeezed both of them simultaneously, you had both of them coming inside you, filling up your tight channels with their warm cum. Eris and Azriel both rested their heads on your shoulders as their thrusts slowed, fucking all three of you through your entwined orgasms.

Considering that Eris had the most brain power left of the three of you, he was the first to gently pull out. He swiftly moved to the attached restroom and grabbed warm washcloths and a few pairs of clean clothes for all of you. He didn’t need to say a word as he cleaned up and dressed the three of you, turning the lights off. 

With you warmly tucked under the covers between the two of them, it was only a matter of seconds before you were asleep and softly snoring. After a few minutes, Azriel moved an arm to tuck a section of wavy, ginger hair behind Eris’ ear. The two males looked at each other for a few minutes in the dark before Azriel whispered over to him.

“While this was quite enjoyable, I’ve missed you, we both have. Next time you get home at a decent time, I think I’d like it if was can just cuddle on the couch after dinner?”

Eris’ heart melted a bit as his face crumpled. “Of course, my love. I’ve missed you too, Azzy. I’ll try to get off earlier.”

The worst part was your bond not entirely understanding the differences. It called to this past Azriel, unsure why there was no response. He would enter rooms, and the thread would glow, eager after so much isolation, but that warmth would deplete when Azriel had no flicker of the feeling cross his face. 

You were alone, but your body was tricking you. 

Three days after you’d lost him, Azriel sat with you on one of the porches of the Riverhouse. You’d had trouble in the House of Wind recently—too many reminders and wrong turns. Rhys and Feyre had been kind enough to let you stay with them despite your many objections. They thought some distance would be good, but Azriel clearly did not understand your reason for staying away. 

He stared incessantly. He focused and furrowed his brows and asked you questions as if you would elicit some memory that would prove he was right, that he was meant to be in this time and the answer was just lost in his mind. But you looked at him and knew that wasn’t true. You looked at him, and the bond chaffed. 

You couldn’t understand it. All of the effort he was putting into this did not make sense. 

After an entire day’s worth of questions, you voiced your confusion. “Why are you doing this?” you softly whispered, gaze out at the Sidra. You tucked the blanket Feyre had draped over you an hour ago closer to your body. “What purpose could this possibly serve?” 

“I want to remember,” Azriel responded, voice low and intense, arms resting on his thighs as he tried to engage you. 

You shook your head at nothing. “It’s not there, Azriel. You heard Rhys—your memories are not locked away, they don’t exist.” 

“They could.” 

“No, they couldn’t,” you finalized. You turned to look at him, finally. It hurt. “A few days ago, I was nothing more than Mor’s friend to you. Nothing has changed.” 

“Everything has changed,” Azriel refuted, expression pinched. “You are my mate. Everything has changed.” 

“I do not become your mate for another year, Azriel. We—we grow to know each other. We loved each other before the bond, and it took time. This sense of obligation you feel for me has only been brought on by the promise of a bond you don’t even feel.” 

“It is not a sense of obligation.” 

“Is it not? What else could it be? That first night, you wanted nothing to do with me. Now I’m suddenly the only important thing in this time. But that isn’t even true, is it?” 

Azriel’s face morphed into confusion. You weren’t being fair again. None of this was fair. You turned back to the Sidra, blanket falling into your lap. 

“We will find a way to get you back to your time,” you offered, softer. “This will all settle. It will all make sense again.” 

“And I’m just supposed to go back to a time before you?” 

“What?” 

“How am I meant to go back and pretend I don’t know about you? Pretend I don’t know that we are destined for this grand future together—where you would throw yourself into the mouth of the unknown just to ensure that I am safe? Where you look at me like—” 

You felt yourself fracture, clutching the blanket on your knees. The wool was in large, chunky knots, and it gave you something to press into. Tears were burning your eyes again. You were tired of crying. He sounded like your Azriel. 

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered, braving a look directly into his eyes. You found glassy hazel. 

“I want to.” 

“It doesn’t happen like this. You love me without knowing. You love me because you want to, not because of a bond.” 

Azriel hesitated, looking to the Sidra before hanging his head. His scarred hands interlaced between his knees, and you traced the patterns on his skin with your eyes. The sound of the water lapping against a far shore echoed against the slats of wood on your High Lady’s home. There was nothing Azriel could say to that. He knew about the bond. He knew that was irreversible. 

You spoke again. “It will be better for you to go back. You have things there that you love. It would make more sense for you.” 

“Right,” Azriel gruffly replied.

You sighed, the sound getting lost in the gentle lapping of water. You opened your mouth to speak again, maybe to offer another reassurance, another hard truth, but the door to the patio opened, and your attention was drawn away from your rambling. 

“Y/n? I was hoping to get your opinion on—” 

Azriel rose from his seat in an instant, his expression becoming open, his mouth parting. You looked over your shoulder at the change, both devastated and unsurprised to see Elain in the doorway with a bowl resting on her hip. Azriel stepped forward and reached out a hand, instinct driving him to do… something. You bit into your cheek, hard, and turned your chin down. 

“Oh,” Elain flushed. You saw her edge the bowl away in your peripheral. “Hello. I thought y/n was alone out here. I wanted her to—y/n, would you like to join me in the kitchen, maybe?” 

“Do you need help?” Azriel inquired, gaze still fixed on Elain. 

You tasted blood on your tongue and tried to relax your jaw. Pain felt better than crying. Your cheek continued to bleed.

“Well, no,” Elain edged out, speaking slowly. If you looked, you would have seen her tilting her head toward you in a meaningful way. “I was just wanting her opinion. We often bake together. I was making a tart.”

Azriel nodded, opening his stance until he was between you and Elain. You looked back when your name was called once more, this time falling from Elain’s lips with a hint of anguished sympathy. It was a mistake to look at Azriel, you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. A quick pass over his face found him analyzing every inch of Elain’s, lost in the sight of her. His hands twitched, and you wished you had missed that, too. 

“Come to the kitchen with me,” Elain prompted, tilting her head to catch your attention. “It’s getting too cold out here.” 

You swallowed and righted yourself, nodding jerkily before rising from the chair. You’d been sitting for too long, and your legs protested, but Azriel was still staring at Elain, and so you moved past the pain. Elain gave you a kind smile as the blanket bunched up in your seat; you focused on that as you tried to walk past Azriel. As his fingers circled your wrist and gave a gentle tug. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, but he tugged you again, and you had no choice but to turn and look at him. Conflict raged on his face. His fingers spasmed around your wrist and he looked angry and sad and rife with uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—” 

He couldn’t finish. He kept opening his mouth, his shadows pulsing out and then returning to a cling around his shoulders, but no more sound came out. You reached for his hand, unwinding his fingers until your wrist was bare. 

“There are things you love—people. None of them are me.” 

Azriel’s shoulders heaved as he took in your words. “I could love you.” 

And you believed he wanted to so badly. But not for the right reasons. He had jumped up when Elain entered, completely forgotten about you or how he had just begged you to give him a chance to stay. Azriel—this Azriel of the past—wanted a mate. He wanted sure love. What he’d had with Elain had always been rocky and uncertain, but that was something you both had come to terms with. Over time. Over months. 

“Our love has never worked that way.” 

Elain was waiting for you when you turned around. 

~~

“She isn’t going to like that.” 

“She isn’t exactly at liberty to make decisions about this right now.” 

“And we are just going to trust that she won’t follow you?” 

“She won’t know. We won’t tell her until after.” 

“Rhys, that isn’t entirely fair.” 

“Would you rather she be in danger?” 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, pushing open the door to the High Lord’s study. The three people in the room stood frozen, staring at your entrance with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Done talking about me?” you accused, brow raised. “Or shall I leave while you discuss my mental state a little more?” 

Feyre was the first to break the silence. “It wasn’t like that,” she shook her head. “We were discussing possibilities.” 

“And realities,” Rhysand offered. “Like the one where you will put yourself in unnecessary danger to get Azriel back.” 

“Unnecessary,” you quipped back, stomping past Cassian to stand at the High Lord’s desk. “This is Azriel. How can—how can you call anything to do with this unnecessary?” 

“Hey, not what he meant,” Cassian calmed. He moved forward and set a placating hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. He looked over your head. “Just tell her the plan. Easier that way.” 

Rhysand sighed, itching his jaw. “I want to bring Az to the rift again, just him and me. There was nothing in his memory about the switch—only a bright light before he woke up on the border. I think if I were to get close enough, I might be able to feel Azriel—our Azriel’s—mind and reach out to him. Helion doesn’t have any information on what this could be. There’s no literature, and Amren is stumped, too. Proximity may be our only solution.” 

“Okay, fine,” you nodded, waving a hand in the air. “Let’s go then. I would be useful. If the bond started to feel closer, we would know it was really him.” 

Rhysand was already shaking his head. “Bring you to the thing you’ve said you want to jump into?” 

“Yes. Yes, Rhys. If this were Feyre, you would have already gone in. But you don’t have any restrictions, do you? You’re the High Lord, so you don’t have to listen to anyone but yourself. Other people are in danger, and it’s still your word—”

Cassain said your name gently, softly, shaking your shoulder and bringing you to reason. You knew, again, that you weren’t being fair. The second you caught even a glimpse of the bond, you would nosedive into that rift, and your family wanted you safe. But you didn’t care about safe. You didn’t care about precautions. 

“Let them go alone first,” Feyre spoke from the other side of the room. “Let them feel around. Once they have a better understanding, you can go. I promise you that as High Lady. I won’t let anyone stop you if you promise not to go alone.” 

You weighed your options, suddenly very aware of the several tactics your family could implement to keep you grounded. There was a very real possibility that they would lock you away to keep you from becoming a flight risk, and although you knew how to winnow, your magic was thready on bad days. And every day was a bad day recently. 

You caught Rhysand’s eyes. “You will tell me everything you find?” you probed. “Even if it’s not good news.”

A hint of surprise flickered on Rhysand’s face. He quickly glanced at Feyre before nodding. “Yes. Everything.” 

“And… if you reach him—you’ll tell him I love him?” 

Rhysand’s shoulders fell from their defensive posture. Cassian squeezed your shoulder once more. “Yes,” the High Lord nodded. “Of course I will.” 

“And tell him that I wanted to come, but you wouldn’t let me.” 

“Azriel would be irate with me if you were there, you know that.” 

You felt your mouth twitch into a fleeting smile, remembering the times Azriel had been irate with Rhysand. Several involved you in places you shouldn’t be, doing things that the Shadowsinger was yanking you away from in an instant. Your smile vanished as you remembered that the Azriel you had now had moved just as fast upon Elain entering a room. 

“Just… make sure he knows I’m here. Waiting for him.” 

“I’m sure he’s already painfully aware.” 

You moved quickly, whipping your head around to find Azriel now in the room. His expression was placated by the kind of calm he used after long missions, and you’d only seen that expression a few times. It usually dissolved the moment he saw you, his body melting into your greeting. But now, this Azriel was using it around you. Because of you. 

“Azriel,” Feyre called. “You—” 

“I was listening, yes.” The Shadowsinger finally tore his eyes from you. “When are we going?” 

You felt your body tense, fingers curling into your palms. 

“In a few hours, if you’re up for it. I need to inform Helion that we’ll be on the border, but that shouldn’t take long.”

“Anyone else going?” 

Something kept you glued to Azriel, taking in every twitch of his muscle, every blink. He looked younger, you thought. You hadn’t noticed before. There was more sleep pressed into the crevices of his face, less sun along his cheeks. Maybe you were imagining things; six years were nothing to fae. 

“No,” Rhysand responded, shuffling things around his desk. “Better for just us to go. Less noise and less worry.” 

Azriel swallowed. “Okay. Come get me when it’s time.” 

He turned, left the room, and you were following him out before you could stop yourself. You got to the hall, unsure where you were going or how long you would trail after him, but Azriel decided that for you. He stopped mid-way down the hall, his shoulders lowering just a fraction, his head shaking imperceptibly. 

“Do not ask me again. I don’t know if I can say no.” 

Your hand, which had been outstretched without your knowing, lowered to your side. “I wasn’t going to ask anything.” 

Your mate—soon-to-be-mate—turned his head just far enough to see you. “You think I do not know you, but I knew you were going to ask to come—for him. I know you enough in my bones to hear you ask even when you did not.” 

Your lashes fluttered, a feeling working up your spine and caving in your chest. You pressed your lips together and rolled your eyes up to the ceiling in a desperate attempt to quell the pressure. It did not work. 

“Azriel.” You addressed him with finality, sure that after this conversation, you would need to lock yourself in a room until you heard of their return. There was no other way to stop yourself from following them. 

Hazel eyes met yours then, head on and searching. 

“Be careful,” you urged. “Please. I can’t—” 

“Don’t worry.” A sad upturn of his mouth. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this future.” 

"This is your first time in the Autumn Court?" Azriel asked.

You hadn't realized you'd closed your eyes while breathing in the air around you. Upon opening them, you noticed Azriel watching you curiously. You nodded. "I've always wanted to visit. Something about the colorful trees, the creeks, the animals..."

He only hummed, continuing to walk forward into the planned clearing. "All things we have in the Night Court."

The two weren't comparable; Azriel knew that. But you also knew being here made him on edge, and it wasn't just about the most recent situation in Illyria. He could never forget all Eris had done, even if a similar goal between Rhys and Eris allowed for a temporay alliance.

Stepping into the designated meeting space, you fidgeted with your hands. Nerves buzzed under your skin, and you tried to calm them. You felt silly -- like a young girl with a very naive and unrealistic crush.

You met Eris years ago. Despite being familiar with one another due to attending the same events, meetings, and Court proceedings, the two of you had never had the opportunity to truly get to know one another. The entirety of the Inner Circle warned of his ability to get under skin, of his mastery of charm, words, and manipulation. So at first you had just watched him, observing the way he held himself with such a belief of self-importance, the confidence and arrogance with which he spoke. And in watching him, you also saw the cracks in his facade. You observed the tenderness he held for his mother, the hatred for his father, the deflection of hurt and frustration through humor.

Eris had caught you watching. He had seen your curiosity and returned it tenfold, eyes narrowed and expression cold. You never seemed to fulfill whatever questions or expectations he had when he looked at you, but he continued anyway. And it had been like that for awhile. Curious eyes, unasked questions, and witty quips.

Until you had asked for him in that moment of vulnerability without even thinking about it. The night a voice awakened deep in your soul and spoke no other language but his name.

You rubbed at the spot under your ribcage absently.

"Are you ever going to tell me why you absolutely needed to tag along?" You attempted to distract yourself. These meetings were not uncommon as Beron's assassination loomed closer, but this was the first one you had traveled for.

Azriel moved to stand closer, his elbow just barely grazing your shoulder as he crossed his arms, surveying the trees and waiting. "No."

"That's it?" You nearly scoff. "No?"

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened that day in the kitchen?"

That day in the kitchen. The reminder caused your heart to anxiously skip a beat. Reminders of his smirk, his hands, his taste, his deep voice raspy and begging...

"No."

He sighed.

You weren't sure how Azriel knew of that night in the House of Wind. But this was Azriel: a spy master, a shadowsinger, and nothing if not protective. He would have found out somehow.

Silence consumed the two of you as you waited. You felt conflicted; half of your soul filled with anticipation for the Autumn male to appear, the other half calmed by the wind and scent wrapping around you.

Azriel did not move, did not falter. Ever the patient and still male. You did, though. As soon as a harsh bark broke through the wavering trees, you whipped around, arms already raising in defense.

The leaves shook as a hound half the size of you, sleek and gray, darted into the opening, its big paws digging into the dirt as it aimed straight toward you. You instinctually took a step back, but before it could touch you, it halted and sat perfectly still, as if it hadn't just sprinted out of the woods at breakneck speed. Breathing heavily and heart racing, you glanced at Azriel only to see him perfectly calm. In fact, he looked almost annoyed.

"It's not going to hurt you," a deep voice spoke from behind.

Lips parting in surprise, you turned to see Eris standing a short distance away, watching the interaction blankly. He had approached so silently that you understood the association between the Autumn Court and fox, both sly and quick. He stood tall and confident, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at you. Well, you and his smokehound.

You hesitated putting your back to the hound, standing in a way that allowed sight of both Eris and his animal equivalent.

Before you could respond or make some unintelligent decision, Azriel spoke, tone cold. "You're late."

"I had some things to take care of," Eris immediately responded, voice nonchalant but eyes never leaving your face. Then he tipped his head at you, those same amber eyes narrowing. "Is there a reason I see her injured more times than I do not?"

Your "injury" -- if you could even call it that -- was barely visible; the smooth skin of your cheek toward your undereye shone with slight bruising. It had faded since a training accident with Cassian the day prior, but apparently not enough to skate the Autumn heir's notice.

The corner of Azriel's lip turned up in amusement, his head tilting just barely as he observed Eris. Then the shadowsinger moved even closer to you, his palm coming to rest at the small of your back. Eris's eyes left yours to track the movement, and the muscle in his jaw clenched.

"You know how she is. Loves to wrestle with us 'brutes,' as you like to call us."

Eris's chest expanded in a deep breath as he reined himself in. Despite his attempt to do so, his voice still dripped with poison. "Right, the Illyrian brutes. Tell me, does your entire kind drug unwilling females for sexual satisfaction?"

You felt ill at the reminder of your previous predicament. Eris, as if he could sense the change in your thoughts, glanced at you briefly. Just a slight crack in his facade, a momentary glimpse of concern, before he hardened once again. His dark honey-colored eyes drifted back to the shadowsinger.

Azriel, for all his credit, did not reveal his rising anger to Eris. His face showed no offense at Eris's words, and you knew Azriel would never defend the Illyrians. But to be associated with them was worse, and you could feel the tightening in his muscles with his hand still on your back.

"I would enjoy nothing more than to discuss brutality with you, but that is a conversation better suited for the dinner table, wouldn't you say? Maybe even over a homemade meal." Azriel brought you into his side so suddenly, you nearly tripped. "This one makes an incredible fall bisque."

You felt your self-control waning, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their bickering and nonsensical back-and-forth.

Eris didn't respond to the odd comment or whatever hidden jab was within, either because he didn't have words for a response or because he had too many. His silence was abnormal, though, and for a brief moment you surprisingly saw what looked like sadness, maybe even some form of grief, cross his features.

The male swallowed, shifting his weight as the muscles in his forearm flexed. His fists must have been clenched in his pockets.

You removed Azriel's grip on you and gave yourself some space. "Alright-" you start, unsure what they were even bickering about at this point, but not liking that look of anguish on Eris. Only the male apparently decided to find his voice as soon as you spoke.

"I told you not to come here."

His angry tone hurt that spot in your chest, the sting sharp and barbed. The smokehound circled around you then to sit beside his master, and it felt as if you were their prey somehow.

"I don't take orders from you, Eris. I take orders from Rhysand."

Your voice had been calm, but it seemed to only make him angrier. "Rhysand and I had an agreement."

"Rhysand does not see this as a risk," Azriel cut in. "For once, you and I agree. Which is why I'm here."

Eris gave Azriel a look of pure hatred. "As if I trust an Illyrian to-"

"Stop!" Raising your arms in exasperation, you let out a condescending laugh. "What are we doing? Are we not here to discuss something much more important than whatever this is?"

Eris looked to the ground, his body tense in annoyance and thought before his head rose again to meet Azriel's gaze. "This does not happen again."

Then he was backing away, the beautiful smokehound sprinting into the woods behind him. "Leave my court. Now."

The pit in your stomach grew at his words, at his lack of acknowledgement as he spoke, at the power in that last sentence. The ribbon of pain in your chest pulsed.

As he disappeared after his pet, you felt Azriel take hold of your elbow, dragging your hand away from that spreading ache. You didn't know why, but as his shadows enveloped the two of you, obscuring your vision and transporting you home, your mind could only focus on one thing:

Beneath his composed -- albeit angry -- facade, since the moment he had arrived, Eris had been shaking.

The Autumn Court heir, whose power absolutely radiated from him despite not yet inheriting his father's throne, had seemed almost frightened. The concept was completely foreign.

It was a thought you couldn't get out of your head.

Even nights later, you stayed awake, tossing and turning in your sheets to the memory of Eris's anxiety. To the memory of sorrow flashing over his face.

He had never been anything but composed and snarky. At meetings with his father, staring down Rhysand, even in your bed while you took your own control. Seeing him so disheveled and shaken unnerved you.

You had tried to talk to Rhysand to figure out what exactly occurred that day in the Autumn Court. Azriel and Eris had seemingly bitten each other's heads off while speaking in some code, which wasn't necessarily uncommon, but to be left in the dark both before and during the meeting was irritating.

What was the agreement between Eris and Rhysand, outside of the alliance already known to you? Why was it known to Azriel, and not to you? What did any of this have to do with a stupid fall bisque?

While you knew there was confidential information and plans you were not privy to, you couldn't help but feel frustrated at the idea of not knowing something involving Eris specifically. It felt wrong not to be included when it came to him. A chaotic sense of ownership, of claiming, stirred in your gut at the idea. You had the male pinned by the throat in your bed only weeks ago, and now you were being kept in the shadows about him.

It made you angry. And it made that gods-damned ache in your chest scream.

You hated it. And you hated that Rhys would not tell you anything when asked. All he had told you was that it was not his information to give.

Which led you back to Eris.

Lately, it felt like everything led you back to Eris. Your late-night thoughts, the cool air whipping through your hair, a phantom touch, the smell of pine, of clove, a hint of smoke, the honey in your tea, the amber color in the sky.

And that ache, that pull, that tug, literally guiding you back to his court.

You felt on edge. Body humming with anxiety and discomfort. The peace you felt standing in the woods was nowhere to be found, and you just wanted him.

You were embarrassed. Embarrassed and scared. The inner circle didn’t trust Eris much. Maybe enough to ally with him for the sake of killing Beron, but anything beyond that was minimal. How much could you actually trust him?

You didn't even know what you wanted to trust him with. What did you want from him? Companionship? Sex? Information? Something unknown?

Your body wanted him near. But your brain moved a mile a minute attempting to comprehend what any of this newfound draw to him meant.

Shame, guilt, and naivety swirled in your gut as your limbs moved automatically. It had been days, and you were still in the dark, still aching, still lost. And it seemed like this pull to the Autumn Court may be the compass you needed to find what you were looking for.

So you moved quickly and quietly, changing into appropriate gear before leaving the House of Wind. The air outside of the property felt like friends, and family, and comfort. But it didn't ease that ache. Not like the Autumn Court did.

It didn't hold scents of clove and smoke and pine and a freshness so cool it revitalized you. It didn't twist itself around your body to dance through your hair like you once imagined Azriel's shadows doing. It didn't seem to lift you and your worries, lessening the weight of just existing.

You shook with uncertainty. Fingers trembling and heart racing, you breathed deeply and took a chance; you winnowed to the wooded entrance you remembered.

As you landed, you exhaled and somehow felt both empty and whole at once. Tears of relief immediately gathered in your eyes at your surroundings: the crisp breeze, the leaves dancing, the chitters of woodland critters, the slight smell of chestnuts, and the dirt compacting beneath your boots. It all settled deep within that hole in your chest, and you could finally really breathe.

The ache lessened. Not completely gone, but enough to control the trembling of your body. You oriented yourself, taking in the ground beneath your feet, the moon high in the wooded night sky. And then you just sat, knees pulled to your chest, and waited.

Despite your thoughts worrying of the opposite, there was a confidence deep inside you that said you knew Eris, and you decided to trust it. It would not be long for him to find you here, and if he didn't, then you knew you were wrong. That these feelings were wrong.

If they were, you would return home to Velaris. You would fall to your knees in front of Rhys and beg him for help. Beg him or Madja or someone to help with this ache in your chest, to help find where it is leading you or to quiet it.

In the meantime, you relaxed. Your constant discomfort lately had led to trouble resting, and the ground beneath you felt like a hug as you sinked into it without any tension. Your eyes fluttered and your fingers weaved through blades of fading grass.

Then a wet nose sniffed your cheek.

It made you smile, eyes still closed and fingers still feeling at the soil. The smokehound huffed through its nose, warm breath skating across your cheek before the cool Autumn air chilled it once again, and then it sat. Still as a soldier, it looked toward the trees and guarded, watching the surrounding woods and not giving you another glance.

It did not so much as blink when Eris stormed through the trees, his eyes wild and chest heaving. You did though; you couldn't help it. Legs moving automatically, you stood as he approached.

But the fire in his eyes had you taking a hesitant step back.

The smokehound's guard dropped, allowing Eris to burn a path directly to you. But with the chaos flaming in his gaze, you almost expected the hound to move in front of you in defense. You tried to prepare yourself as Eris's large form loomed over you, strong hands immediately coming up to grasp your forearms tightly, but you couldn't. He dragged you to him with a desperation that left you gripping his shirt for balance. His fire scorched your skin, traveling deep into your muscles, your veins, and warming your entire body.

Eris shook, and it brought back the memory of a few days prior, his hands trembling as he removed them from his pockets and kicked you out of this very spot. His night attire looked rumpled and his breaths came out staggered as he ducked his head to meet your gaze. The fire there held anger, but it held more too; fear and helplessness swirled in the depths of his irises, stoking the flames higher and higher and higher.

"Why are you here?" He choked out, and it sounded almost like a sob to your ears.

His grip was tight, fingers digging into the tendons of your arm, as he looked over you briefly. You finally found your voice as his haunted gaze met your own again. "I needed to talk to you."

His humorless laugh was quiet but impactful. His head hang low between his shoulders in exasperation, before he forced you to look at him. "You are tempting a fate you do not deserve. You need to leave now, do you hear me?"

"Eris, I don't understand any-"

"Please," his face crumpled for a moment, his hands leaving your forearms to grasp your cheeks and jaw. "I'm begging you."

If you thought Eris had unraveled that night in the House of Wind, this was his destruction. Previously, you had watched as he let his control go; now, you watched as he had it taken from him unwillingly. By you. And you didn't even know how.

His amber eyes shone, a wetness building in the corners that he gritted his teeth to hold back. Eris Vanserra was near tears, panic and frustration and fear flowing out of him in powerful waves.

A flame of worry rose up inside you, right next to that all-too familiar ache. It moved you forward, just like that night in the kitchen when you threw yourself into his kiss. Only tonight, you threw yourself into his entire body. An inexplicable need to be close and comfort one another overpowered anything else. That rope inside you took you there, acting as a rubber band to bury your head into his chest and wrap your arms around his torso so tightly your muscles hurt.

You breathed him in, and for the first time in weeks, the ache was completely gone.

Eris froze, hands still hovering in the air where they previously gripped your face. Then you felt him give in. His entire body collapsed into you, his weight both comforting and searching. He held you so tight. One arm wrapped completely around your shoulders to force you into him as close as he could while the other cradled your head, fingers tangling and gripping the hair there like a lifeline.

Those same earlier tears of exhaustion and anxiety welled in your eyes again. "I'm so confused, Eris."

"I know."

"I don't know what is going on."

"I know."

"I don't even know if I can trust you."

His voice cracked. "I know."

You buried into him for what felt like hours but was no longer than a couple minutes. It wasn't enough. You could have stayed there forever. Breathing him in, protected by the feeling of him, surrounded by his warmth.

Despite everything in your body telling you not to, you pulled back, keeping his shirt bunched up in your fist. The moon highlighted half of his face and his dark auburn hair looked nearly black in the night. It fell messily, just as frantic and unsure as the rest of him.

His thumb brushing a tear from your cheek disrupted your admiration of him.

You didn't understand anything. You didn't even really know him. But something in you did. Some part of you knew him just like some part of him knew you.

You had known when you came here that he would find you. And he did. Something was there.

You wanted to kiss him, to be so close to him that you combined into one. The thought of him not even being by your side soon had anxiety sparking low in your stomach.

"It's not just you." He spoke so close to you that his lips brushed against yours. The wetness from your tears transferred from your own lips to his, and they glistened, not mocking your emotion but sharing it between you somehow. You almost leaned forward to take the tears from him too. To share his with you and yours with him again and again and again.

Eris was looking at you so intensely. He was so beautiful. The moonlight, the spark in his amber eyes as if the stars were glinting off the gemstone just right, and the wetness on his full lips all mesmerized you.

You burned and burned and burned. Completely overwhelmed and flooding with a blazing longing. You had never experienced this before. It was foreign, all-consuming, almost sacred.

Sacred.

The word echoed in your mind.

Sacred.

Sacred.

Sacred.

Sacred.

The reverence. The possibilities. What it could mean.

Your voice was small, filled with vulnerability when you spoke, hesitantly searching those smoldering tear-filled eyes. "Eris..."

Lashes low, gaze attentive, he waited.

"Are we...?"

Then he kissed you.

Completely different from the times before with no expectation of sex nor guarantee of safety. With a passion you felt in your veins, his mouth claimed yours, completely swallowing your words. His long lashes fluttered against your cheek as his hands caressed your jaw. He moved into you with a sensual but powerful grace, and you could do nothing but melt back into him helplessly.

He consumed you, and you let him. You let him pull you in closer, one palm moving to your hip and gripping with a claim and a promise. You let him groan against your lips, tongue tangled in your own, wanting more and more and more. You let him take whatever he needed and you took in return. You bit his lip and ran your fingers up his sleep shirt. You dug your nails into his soft skin and hard abs, whimpering at his strength.

You didn’t want to ever let go. The ache was gone. That roaring pain in your chest finally silenced, and you felt warm, and happy, and safe.

But the tears falling from his cheek onto yours were cooling that wonderful burn, and you didn't want them to smother the flame. They melted into the soft skin and your body greedily absorbed them, feeding your lonely soul with his anguish, because you would take anything he was offering.

Eris let you go.

Slowly, he pulled his lips from yours, but he moved in to meet you once more momentarily -- as if some magnetized force worked between you two, as if he absolutely could not help it -- before pulling away completely.

The wetness in his lashes glinted in the moonlight as his eyes opened to meet your own.

He took a moment to just look at you. His amber eyes, brighter and more red than orange or yellow from his tears, swept over your face with a look of heartbreaking adoration. That look alone convinced you that what he said was true: whatever was happening here wasn't just you.

You could only imagine you looked the same as you watched him. His brows furrowed, lips trembling from either emotion or tightly held self-control. Then he lifted his hand and you watched it shake as he dragged a knuckle across your tear-stained cheek, just feeling you, worshipping your skin and your very existence in front of him.

He swallowed harshly before clenching his teeth in a moment of resolve, his jaw muscle jumping in response. The words looked like they pained him. “I need you to leave.”

It was a plea. A desperate, heart-wrenching plea. And you had never heard Eris Vanserra truly plea or beg.

Your body raged as you stepped back. Because even if you wanted to stay with him, that same voice deep down that said you knew him also told you to listen and trust him. Heart beating painfully, tears refilling, you lifted your chin to meet his gaze.

Just one more moment. One more moment of looking, just like before this all started. One more moment of peace.

A bark sounded in the distance. Eris hardened further at the noise, fists clenching at his sides as he took a step back of his own.

“Go.”

A command from the heir to the throne. The power it held was undeniable, but it softened as it reached you. He didn’t look away even as the barking grew in volume and lessened in distance. It was almost as if he couldn’t.

So you nodded. Another step back. You gritted your teeth, forcing your tears down. Looked at Eris's beauty, at his devastated expression, and held it. Then you tried to be strong, closing your eyes, and breathing in that cool air, allowing it fill your lungs and that empty space inside you. As you let it go, you winnowed back to Velaris.

"Madja." A strong, very male voice broke through the haze.

Rhys. He was here, and he would make sure you survived. He always did.

But it was silent. You could barely see the way his eyebrows knitted together in concern and concentration as he spoke mind to mind with Madja. You reached trembling fingers out toward him, but he stood completely still, not faltering at your rasping breaths or pleas.

"Rhys..." you breathed out.

He swallowed harshly, and then he was breaking his conversation with Madja and turning his piercing violet eyes to you. They cut through the haze around your mind and vision, wrapping your attention entirely around him.

Still, he said nothing. Only nodded slightly in that graceful way of his before backing out of the room swiftly.

A whimper left your throat at his absence, a foreign feeling of betrayal burying deep in your chest at his loss of safety and protection. And then you were twisting with pain once again. Madja was quick to step back to your side. She delicately dabbed at your sweat-soaked skin, and you put whatever energy you had into focusing on your breathing.

"It is a breeding tonic."

The ringing in your ears quieted at her explanation, and you listened to your heart beat faster and faster as you waited for her to explain. Your skin tingled with discomfort and a need to do something.

"Illyrians often use it on unwilling females. It seems one may have wanted revenge. Or an immoral night of pleasure. Possibly both."

You swallowed, trying to soothe your dry throat to no avail. "Why does it hurt?"

A sigh, and then she was rewetting the fabric. Her attention cast downward, but you still felt her voice wash over you as she spoke. "Your only antidote is in what they would take from you. The pain makes it more likely for the females to give in."

The only sound in the room came from the water in the bucket by your bedside and your raspy breaths.

Who did this to you? Who would do this to you? Wretched, disgusting, fucking animals, all of them.

"Rhysand had put you under, and I have kept you unconscious with sleep aids until this point but your body is burning through them too quickly. Is there anyone we can ask to treat you?" Madja asked, the damp fabric dabbing at the beaded sweat on your skin.

Treat you. As if they would be feeding you medicine, monitoring your symptoms and heart rate. No. Madja wasn't asking if there was someone who could check your temperature and put you to bed. She was asking if there was someone who could appease your body and take you to bed.

There wasn't. Even if you felt comfortable enough asking one of your best friends, they were all happily mated or in relationships. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, and Azriel... he had Elain.

Your mind drifted to the strong shadowsinger, picturing the moment you had seen him last. In the training circle, his leathers had long been stripped and the muscles rippling under tan skin had been addictive to watch. His chest heaved with each controlled breath, sweat dripping down his chest, lower, lower, lower, until the small beads dip under his waistband, led by the small trail of hair and contracting muscles pointing directly downward toward his--

A cramp ravaged your abdomen so suddenly and viciously that you audibly cried out, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and sliding down your temples.

Azriel. The male who had proved you wrong when you had trusted no one. The one who came to your rescue when the priestess temple was invaded. The one who trained you to be lethal and vicious and better than you proved yourself to be on your latest mission.

You would always want him. But he always seemed to want someone else.

Muffled sounds in the hall distracted you briefly, but the cramps, nausea, dizziness, fever, lethargy, it all left you feeling dreadful and delirious, your mind far away from the present moment.

You pushed the damp cloth away with little energy, gritting out through clenched teeth, "There is no one."

Madja sighed, her facial expression stern in your blurry gaze.

When she stood, she dumped the towel into the bowl of water, patting her hands dry on her clothing. "Would you like me to ask for someone to be chosen for you--"

"A stranger? No."

This wasn't just a one-night-stand. You felt small and weak and vulnerable. You didn't know what you were going to say or do. There was no way you wanted to be in this situation with someone you didn't trust. Good male or not, you would feel uncomfortable and exposed with no ability to defend yourself.

"Without treatment, your temperature will rise to dangerous levels. The pain will increase. You will be left to suffer overnight until your body burns away the drug. You will be delirious and will beg for it to end. I have seen the effects of such a drug; it is not pretty."

You would not endure the unpredictable touch of a stranger and you would not force your friends into a difficult position. One they, and their mates, were unlikely to forgive you for.

You licked your dry lips, voice catching as you asked, "Autumn... Eris or Lucien?"

Madja showed no judgement as she nodded. "I will have Rhys send a letter."

Then her hand dropped from your body, the sound of her footsteps fading away as the ringing in your ears increased. Burning, burning, burning. You needed an ice bath, to jump in the Sidra, to peel the skin from your bones, reach inside of yourself and quell the ache.

Small sobs left your mouth.

You heard shouting. An outraged "Eris?" and shuffling of feet. You weren't sure if your hearing was going in and out or if the voices were fluctuating.

It was not difficult to recognize Rhysand's stern voice echoing through the house and disrupting your muddled state, his position as High Lord a declaration in his tone. "This is not up to you."

"He will take advantage-"

"She is asking for him."

"Let me talk to her." The voice was quieter. Muffled and hard to make out. "If she still wishes for him after, then that will be her choice."

Quiet. Only the ringing. Your pulse as it beat, beat, beat in your head. The sweat and tears slowly dripping from your skin. The tremble in your limbs.

And then a knock.

You did not answer, you could not answer. But it was as if this was known, because the door inched open slowly anyway, revealing deep hazel eyes and the broad frame of Azriel.

A whimper escaped at the sight of him, your body reacting to his presence. It was not abnormal for you to preen in his presence, to admire his beauty and long for something more. But this was heightened. Your abdomen knotted up at his concerned expression and strong hands reaching out to you hesitantly.

He sat slowly next to you, fingers just barely brushing the sheets of the bed you laid upon. You whined, only inches away from his touch.

"Sweetheart..." Azriel mumbled under his breath, looking you over with worry.

The sound of his deep voice nearly made your eyes roll back, shivers trailing down your already trembling form. You wanted that voice to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning along your neck and cheek as he claimed you.

"Azriel," you gasped. In any other moment, if you were coherent, you would have been embarrassed at the need in your own voice. You sounded absolutely debauched.

"I'm here." His fingers moved quicker than your blurry vision could track, and suddenly they were on your skin. A breath whooshed from your chest as strong capable hands caressed your face, thumbs stroking at the heated skin with reverence and fear.

"Gods, you're burning up."

You focused on his eyes, dizziness making all other surroundings blend into the background. You wanted him so desperately. You wanted him to move those hands down, gliding across your neck down to your sweat-slicked chest, grasping at your breasts and your hips and your ass...

His hands were gone as he spoke sternly. "You need water. You're dehydrated and feverish."

As he poured water into a glass, you could have sworn you heard him mumble something about a "stubborn female," but your mind was already spinning and you felt on the brink of delirium. You were half convinced Azriel wasn't even really there.

"Drink."

Cold water poured slowly into your mouth and down your throat. You greedily swallowed it, trying to reach up with your hands to grasp the glass and send more flowing down. Azriel shushed you instead, stroking the skin of your arm with his free hand as a way of telling you he's got you.

When the glass was empty and the internal fire ravaging your body dimmed only slightly, Azriel skimmed your form, fingers fidgeting with inaction.

"Who drugged you?"

His voice was lethal, and it sent a pang of pleasure to your core. You held back a whine. "I don't know."

"I'll kill them for what they were planning to do. For what they did."

You couldn't respond. It felt like you were being stabbed, skinned alive, split open. Your skin burned and your abdomen ached. Each limb weighed a thousand pounds and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

And the anger in his tone only amplified your agony. His fury was palpable and as easily as you imagined him taking you gently and lovingly, you pictured his harshness and ragged edges as he instead pinned you down and ravished you. Your body suddenly ached for bruises and bites and possession.

It was getting worse. This was so much worse than when you first woke.

Tears flooded your eyes as your head swiveled to the side, noticing the darkness still shadowing the sky. There would be hours more of this. Hours of torture and pain.

"You need to go," you breathed out. "You're making it worse."

"Let me help you."

His words were short but confident. Both a demand and plea, although you knew deep down it was a question. He would do nothing without your consent.

Frustration built inside your chest. You so badly wanted to say yes, your lungs ached to scream it. But there in the back of your mind was Elain. Bright and beautiful and holding the desire of the male beside you.

You could not withstand having him for one night only to be thrown away after. Eris or Lucien would be preferred.

"I can't," you choked out, a tormented cry catching in your throat as you spoke the words you so badly didn't want to.

Instead of taking the chair next to your bed once again, Azriel crouched by your side, trying to be eye-level with you. He swallowed harshly, eyes moving across your face and studying you with a pained look that rivaled your own.

His mouth opened then closed, as if trying to hold down his arguments. Finally, he said, "I will not hurt you. I will be respectful and gentle and thorough--"

"It is Elain!"

The words flew from your chest with a desperation. A release you needed to let go, a way to get him to stop talking, a plea to stop making your pain worse.

Azriel only shook his head, though. "I do not understand."

"I will not--" you took a breath trying to stay focused. "I will not lie with a male who wishes me to be someone else."

"Someone else," he repeated.

At the silence permeating the room, the only sound coming from your labored breaths, Azriel mumbled, "You stubborn, stubborn female."

Hands cupped your face again and your own gained enough strength to hold onto his wrists. Despite your words, you could not bear for his touch to leave your skin again. He looked desperate and hungry as he brought your face toward his own and looked into your eyes.

"There is no one and there will never be anyone I wish to be with who is not you."

Nails dug into the skin of his wrists. Thighs clenched and eyelashes fluttered.

"I have been in love with you for ages. You are courageous and perfect and exasperatingly maddening."

His lips inched closer.

"When I heard you were injured in Illyria, I nearly tore this house apart to get to you... And when I heard the issue, I wanted to kill all of the soldiers and any other males near you."

You shivered, mesmerized.

"Don't make me keep watching you in pain."

Then quietly, a temptation. "Just say the word, and I will make it all stop."

Lips brushing against your own, just barely. Enough to make you whimper without satiating any of the fire beneath your skin. "I will give you anything."

"Please," you begged.

Azriel only continued to tease and hold back. Thumb stroking your cheek and lips still hovering, touching and fleeting along your own. "Not that word."

But you couldn't think. Your mind felt like it was in a blender, spinning and spinning with nothing to focus on but those hazel eyes and those words. His shocking words of admiration. You did not know anything but him -- his touch and his eyes and his voice...

"Azriel..."

His large hand stroked your sweaty hair back from your face. "Yes, sweet girl?"

Yes. His word echoed in your head. Yes, yes, yes, you wanted him so badly.

"Yes," you whispered against his lips, feeling hypnotized by his presence.

Just that one word. As the last syllable left your lips, his own were pressing down. You immediately trembled against him, into him, moaning into his mouth. You were completely drawn in, a spell overtaking your mind and body. The feel of him was addicting.

Powering through the weight of your limbs, you dragged your hands into his hair, gripping and tugging, greedily trying to take all that you could. You needed help, you needed more.

Azriel pushed your shoulders back at your insistence. The panicked noise that left you had him immediately leaning back in, standing to hover over you and move closer into the bed. You wanted him in the bed, in you, absolutely everywhere. Fingers clasped into the hem of his pants, but he did not let you get far, stopping your fumbling hands.

"Patience," he spoke against you, moving his lips to your neck and soothing the sting under your skin there. "I'll make you feel better."

The feeling of his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck had you moaning in relief. "I need more."

Azriel’s fingers slid from your face to your chest, and you arched into him. They explored and teased, moving down your side and underneath you until his hand rested firmly beneath your shirt, palm flat against your warm skin. You used the hand as a platform, arching against it and toward his body. He accepted you greedily, leaning down to trail his lips further down your neck and to your chest, the fabric lifted to give him access. You could feel the arousal pooling in your underwear, soaking you, and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped your throat as his teeth bit down on your right breast lightly.

Tilting your head, you watched the veins in his hand as he grasped you, the muscles in his back tensing with his movements.

Your hands snuck between the both of you, fingers still shaking, and found their way to his abs, pressing into his sculpted skin and moving downward. Before you could reach the waistband of his sweatpants again, his scarred hands engulfed your own, pinning them above your head.

"What did I say, sweetheart?"

You whined, arching into him both seeking his touch and begging to be released.

"You're torturing me."

“What do you need? I want you to say it."

The pang of annoyance that made an appearance at his teasing was overtaken by need, a cramp stabbing through you.

"You, you, I've always -- I need you-" you rushed out.

You wanted to yell at him to hurry and do something, because you swore you would internally combust if he didn’t give you more. But your voice was exhausted, and your words caught in your throat, as his strong hands released your wrists and moved underneath your pants to finger the elastic of your underwear. You lifted your hips eagerly to help him pull them both down, your own fingers now gripping the pillow beneath you.

“Such a pretty girl,” Azriel breathed out as he moved lower, lips beginning to tease the inside of your thighs. Your hips bucked at the feeling, tears of frustration nearly spilling over.

His hands caressed the remaining untouched skin, moving up and down your legs before one strong hand rested on your stomach and another began to explore your center. His thumb brought the slickness from your core up to your clit and back down again, spreading your lips for his view as if he were there solely to admire you. His hazel eyes were heavy with lust as he watched his own fingers explore your body. A protest was on your tongue when his middle finger slowly prodded and breached your entrance, filling you swiftly.

You nearly jumped at the intrusion, reaching down with limited strength to grip the strong forearm resting on your abdomen. Azriel briefly glanced up to make sure you were okay before continuing with his movements, slowly thrusting his finger in and out of you.

His lips retraced their previous pattern on your thighs, only this time edging closer to your core. Distracted by the movement of his mouth, you let out a yelp of surprise as Azriel added a second finger.

“You okay?” He asked against your thigh, voice husky. His lust-filled eyes met yours through his dark eyelashes and you nearly moaned at the sight of him laying between your legs, cunt tightening and pulsing at the view.

You nodded desperately, head falling back as his large fingers stretched you out, rhythmically curling against the spot inside you that made you see stars. Your vision swam even more than before, and you thought you might pass out.

You were gushing around him, your wetness coating the inside of your thighs. The pleasure he was bringing you was going straight to your head, and you felt like you were on cloud nine. You were unsure how he was making you feel this good with only his fingers, unable to question if it was due to his own skill or because of the drug in your veins. You stopped caring immediately when he suddenly licked lightly over your clit, placing a gentle kiss there before sucking lightly.

You gasped at the feeling and out of nowhere your walls were clamping down on his fingers, pulsing around them sporadically, and you were gripping his arm tight enough to bruise, the muscles underneath your fingertips flexing.

Vision gone black, you came down heavily, feet kicking at Azriel weakly in an attempt to gift you some relief. His tongue lapped at you like he was begging for more time to savor your taste, but with your insistence, he acquiesced.

Azriel had barely pulled away before he was placing the two fingers that had been inside of you into his mouth, trying to appease his need to get more of your taste.

You nearly came again at the sight.

The fabric of your clothes was suffocating, and at your attempts to pull at them, Azriel immediately moved to free you from the restrictions.

His hands replaced the clothing immediately, once again feeling the bare area that had been sanctioned off to him for so long. Large hands groped your breasts, tongue tasting your sweat-salty skin.

“Az, please.”

He released you, although it looked like it took an effort. “I’ve got you.”

Leaving one last kiss on your sternum in between your breasts, he sat back, hooking his thumbs under the band of his pants. Your anxiety steadily rose at the action, your current state making you wary. Were his words spoken under pressure? Will he still want you tomorrow?

He immediately sensed the change in your body language, eyes meeting your own. “I can keep-”

“No,” you blurted out, desperate to have more of him. “I’m okay.” You tried to push his lengthy history out of your mind, the history that included both Mor and Elain, before it created more of an ache in your chest.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want. I stop when you say.”

“Okay,” you breathed out.

He gave you a small smile, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently. While he was distracting you with the feel of his mouth on your own, his tongue beginning to explore yours, he slowly reached with one hand and pulled his sweatpants down and off, leaving you both completely nude in the bed.

His hand returned to stroke up your burning skin, following a path to your breast and back down to your core, feeling to ensure you were still soaked before moving any further. At the assurance, he grabbed ahold of his cock, guiding it to your cunt and dragging it through your folds. The wetness made him groan, and you released a gasp into his mouth at the feeling of him. Your fingers gripped his biceps and he moved his forearms up to cage your head, grabbing your own hands along the way, leaning over you and covering you fully with his body as his fingers intertwined with your own.

His bright eyes questioned you one last time, giving you an out, no questions asked.

“Please, I need you. I want you,” is all you said, barely a whisper, but he heard it. Then, he was pushing forward.

The head of his cock breached your entrance, and you whimpered at the intrusion. You didn’t get a good look at it, but now you wished you would have because he was big. You figured he would be from his heightened power, strength, and overall large stature, but he felt even bigger than you imagined. Your fingers gripped his own harshly, holding onto him both to ground your anxieties and in hopes he’d keep going.

Azriel entered you slowly, his thickness stretching and stretching you until you felt only a deep sting, your breath catching in your throat. He was quick to soothe you, whispering quiet praises into your ear, telling you that you were being so good, that you were taking his cock better than anyone ever had, that you felt so good wrapped around him.

It felt as if it took forever for him to fully enter you, but at last he hit your cervix, sending a pained squeak out of you. You weren't even sure if he had fit all of himself into you.

“So good, sweetheart. Doing so good for me.”

He pulled out nearly all the way before slowly re-entering you, the drag of his cock against your walls sending fireworks flying across your vision.

“Oh my gods.”

The burning under your skin cooled with each movement, the cramping in your abdomen turning into pleasure. His hips moved freely into you, his pelvis grazing your clit with each surge forward.

"That good? My sweet girl feeling better on my cock?"

Your eyes rolled back at the words, pain ebbing into pleasure, the sting of the stretch and the trembling in your bones fading away in favor of a heavenly feeling spreading through you.

"You're huge, Az-"

"I'm yours, sweetheart."

His lips hovered over your own, your noses brushing against each other's as he moved into you. The feeling was so overwhelming, the fluidity in which you became one, and you found yourself removing your hands from his, wrapping your arms around him and instead clutching his back, mindful of the wings hovering around the two of you.

You clung to him, and you could hear the whimper that escaped you as he began to move faster, his muscles moving underneath your fingertips.

“Cauldron, you feel like heaven.”

You couldn’t even respond. Your nerves tingled with pleasure, your mind still hazy from the drugs, and tears blurred your vision from how good you felt. You gasped, listening to his own groans, the sounds you made as you connected, and the movement of your bodies against the sheets. Your brain was gone, replaced by complete bliss as he entered you over and over and over again.

Azriel recognized the glossed over eyes, the incoherent whimpers and moans, the way you couldn’t seem to get out a thought. Your fingers drew him in closer, massaging his back and arms while his own hands explored your body, trailing from your calves to your face. His palm cupped your jaw, his hand moving until his fingers were tangled in your hair.

“Gorgeous girl. Want you to let go and take what I give you. Let me make you feel better." His gaze faltered from your own as he moved his thumb from where he was stroking your cheek to move down against your clit, bringing some of your wetness up toward it before moving at a deliberately gentle and teasing pace.

Your toes pointed, body tensing to the point of pain, and hips attempting to raise off the bed. Azriel only held your hip down, forcing you to absorb what he offered. “That’s it, come on. Want to feel you around me. Want to watch you come undone.”

His thumb brought you higher and higher, his giant cock moving through your walls like he was made solely to pleasure you. Tears finally fell over and down the sides of your face, dripping onto the sheets below as you nearly let out a scream.

Then you unraveled. Legs shaking, fingers grabbing onto anything, cunt clamping down onto his cock as if he was going to leave you, fluttering and pulsating until you only saw white behind your eyes and felt the burning hot waves of an orgasm shoot through your veins, traveling up your back and straight to your brain.

Then it suddenly felt like you had been shoved underwater, the embrace of the cool liquid soothing your skin, your heartbeat, any pain that had been coursing through you.

You were floating, completely at peace as your high dwindled back down.

When the feeling passed, you could hear Azriel faintly grunting but your hearing was still submerged, ears ringing from your high.

The warm feeling of his spend filling you up soothed whatever was left of the ache in your body, like a primal medication with immediate effects. Then your vision was back, and Azriel's head was hanging forward, hair dangling into your face as he watched himself pull out of you.

You let out a noise of discontent as he removed himself, but he was quick to try to appease you with a kiss to your lips, his fingers busy pulling his pants back on.

When he pulled back, you were breathless. The effects of the drug were gone only to be replaced by the addictive male in front of you.

"Better?"

Nodding, you reached for his fingers. "I don't know what to say or where to start. Thank you."

The love in his eyes was obvious, and you wondered how you had missed his eyes on you this whole time. How long had he looked at you like this?

"You don't have to thank me."

You brought him back down to you, ready to finally rest under his strong and protective arms. A conversation long in the making ready to be had in the morning.

He kissed you once, twice, before pulling back.

Azriel had waited his whole life for the mating bond to snap, and now, as he watched her from across the room, it was nothing like he had imagined.

It snapped like sunlight searing through every shadow in his soul, filling the darkness with burning light.

His mate stood surrounded by a circle of heirs, nobles, and High Fae who made his skin crawl. Her laughter echoed through the ballroom as her hand rested against a High Fae’s chest.

Azriel’s world narrowed to her, his breath ragged and uneven.

A hand clapped his shoulder, dragging him out of the haze of her.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Cassian’s voice said.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave her.

“Rhys calls her the Day Court’s princess,” Cassian chuckled. “Apparently, Eris has been trying to wed her for nearly a century.”

Azriel said nothing. 

He couldn’t. 

The word princess didn’t begin to describe what she was.

She was life itself.

Her gaze found his then, and her smile faltered, just slightly, as her hand tightened on another man’s chest.

Azriel felt a pull deep within him, demanding and undeniable, dragging him forward. 

Cassian’s eyes flickered between the princess, whose smile had now vanished completely, and Azriel, whose shadows were now restless, nearly engulfing him whole.

She felt it too.

She knew.

The princess’s hand fell from the man’s chest. Her eyes locked on Azriel as she crossed the ballroom toward them.

“Az,” Cassian hissed in disbelief as the most eligible bachelorette in all of Prythian rushed straight toward them.

She stopped a few feet away, the soft shimmer of her golden gown catching the light.

Up close, she was even more devastatingly beautiful. Every inch of her was warmth, gold, sun, and life.

Suddenly, Azriel felt like his shadows were strangling him.

“You must be from the Night Court,” she said softly, a smile on her lips. “I’m Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She didn’t seem to notice the way every pair of eyes in the room turned towards her, towards them.

Maybe she just didn’t care. She was used to being the centre of attention.

Azriel, however, felt every gaze.

He wasn’t made for the spotlight.

Still, Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t.

He just stared at her as she stood before him.

Cassian bumped his shoulder against his, but still, Azriel couldn’t force a word out.

His shadows curled instinctively around her, as if trying to dull her light. 

Instead of flinching like he expected, she laughed softly, a sound that made his mouth go dry, and for a moment, he thought he might faint.

She tilted her head, studying him. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Azriel,” Cassian said, grinning. “And I’m Cassian, General of the Night Court.”

Before Azriel could even react, Cassian stepped and took her hand. He bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

Jealousy burned in Azriel’s chest, his shadows thickening at her ankles. Cassian glanced at him with a smirk before releasing her hand.

“Cassian, the Night Court’s War General,” she said with a smile. “And Azriel, what’s your title?”

The way his name rolled off her tongue made his chest ache.

“Spymaster,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Her smile deepened into something that could have brought kings to their knees.

“Spymaster? That sounds… dangerous.”

Cassian laughed as Azriel’s jaw clenched.

“Most people call him the Shadowsinger,” Cassian added, lifting his glass of amber liquor to his lips.

The bond pulsed in Azriel’s chest, sharp, constant, and it took everything in him to remain still.

Her eyes filled with amusement. 

“Well, Shadowsinger, your shadows seem to like me,” she giggled, hands gliding through the wisps of darkness that danced around her.

The sight made something twist inside him, equal parts awe and dread.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

His mate wasn’t supposed to be someone like her.

Not someone who shone so brightly it hurt to look at her.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “Tell me, Shadowsinger, do you dance?”

Azriel’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly breathe.

“I don’t dance,” he said finally.

“A drink, then?” she asked, her smile softening.

Cassian’s smirk turned into a grin, glancing between them, but Azriel was already shaking his head.

“You should enjoy your night,” he said, forcing a polite nod and avoiding her gaze.

“Oh.” Her smile faltered, confusion flickering across her beautiful face.

“I’m on duty tonight,” Azriel added.

He could feel her hurt and rejection through the bond.

“Right,” she said softly.

A practised smile formed on her lips, but her eyes betrayed her, looking at him with hurt, as if she had never been denied a dance or a drink before.

He doubted she ever had.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice bright again. “I’ll let you get back to your duties, shadowsinger. I’ll save you a dance.”

His heart twisted as he watched her take a step back, then another. 

The crowd swallowed her whole, courtiers and suitors, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Even as she smiled and laughed, her gaze didn’t leave Azriel’s.

He turned on his heel and pushed through the crowd, away from her, away from the sight of those men leaning too close, offering her company, drinks and dances that should have been his.

Jealousy flared hot, curling low in his stomach. The bond twisted painfully as he forced himself further and further from her. 

“Az!” Cassian called, trying to catch up.

Azriel didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the ballroom. His hands were shaking, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Cassian caught up to him. 

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen just walked up to you, asked you to dance and have a drink, and you said no.”

Azriel dragged a hand down his face, shadows curling around him as if shielding him from reality.

“She’s…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, the word catching in his throat.

Cassian exhaled sharply. “She’s what?”

“She’s my mate,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking on the word.

Silence fell for a moment. 

Cassian froze, eyes widening. “Does she know?”

Azriel’s gaze flicked back toward the crowd surrounding her. Men leaned closer, trying to catch her attention.

“She knows,” he said finally, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s eyes. “I think she’s waiting for me to go to her.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed, confusion written across his face. “Then go to her. Have your dance, have a drink with your mate, speak to her.”

Her laughter echoed in his ears; the bond between them was relentless and aching, a constant pull beneath his ribs.

“She deserves more,” he whispered. “So much more than me.”

Cassian’s expression softened, but Azriel didn’t look at him. He just stood there, shadows curling around his shoulders as her laughter faded into the music.

After that, he kept to the edge of the room, shadows cloaking him in darkness.

She was never alone, always surrounded by admirers, their laughter too loud, their touch too familiar and no matter how deeply he hid in the shadows, her eyes always found him.

Through the crowd.

Through the noise.

Through the dark.

Each time their eyes met, his breath caught, and each time, he was the one to look away first.

He could handle watching her from afar.

Until he saw him.

A flash of red hair, glowing like flames. A sharp smile. Amber eyes locked on one target.

Her.

Azriel’s stomach dropped, his fingers twitched at his sides, and his shadows coiled around his boots.

Eris Vanserra was heading toward his mate.

The heir of the Autumn Court bowed before her, taking her hand and gently kissing her knuckles. She laughed softly as Eris pulled her into a tight embrace, but her gaze slipped past him to where Azriel stood hidden in the shadows.

In that moment, Azriel’s control fractured.

Eris whispered something that made her laugh, a loud, unrestrained sound that twisted like a knife in Azriel’s chest. His wings flared slightly, and his hands clenched into fists.

“Dance with me,” Eris murmured, already tugging her toward the floor.

She hesitated. Her gaze fixed on the shadows where Azriel stood, almost invisible.

Please don’t, Azriel thought, heart pounding. Don’t.

She nodded once as the music began to swell.

Azriel’s chest tightened painfully as he watched them step onto the dance floor. Her gown shimmered with every turn, golden fabric catching the light.

Eris held her as though she belonged to him, his hand resting far too low at the small of her back.

Every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to pull her from Eris’s grasp and into his own arms where she belonged.

Maybe she did belong here, in the centre of the room, with the heir of a court.

Maybe the Cauldron had made a mistake.

He stood there, cloaked in shadow, and watched his mate dance with another man.

Finally, her eyes found his.

Across the room. 

In the arms of another. 

Azriel’s fragile control finally shattered.

He turned on his heel and left the ballroom, through the winding halls of the Night Court palace. 

The air was too bright, too heavy. 

He needed darkness. 

He needed distance. 

He needed to breathe.

Azriel pushed open the heavy doors of the balcony, the night air cool against his burning skin. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. 

The bond pulled at him relentlessly, a constant, searing ache beneath his ribs. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt, as if he were being burned from the inside out.

His eyes stung.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to feel so much, but now, standing alone, he was seconds away from breaking completely.

He tried to smother it, the bond, the ache, her.

Tried to build the walls back up. 

To breathe through the pain.

His wings flared in frustration. His shadows writhed and coiled around him, whispering her name.

“Stop,” he hissed to them. “Stop.”

The bond tightened in response, strangling him.

He didn’t hear the door open at first, only the sound of heels on stone.

He turned, tears drying instantly as his face settled into its usual mask.

He’d expected Cassian. Maybe Rhys. 

Anyone but her.

“Is there a threat out here?” she teased, her gown glowing in the darkness.

“I’m sorry?” Azriel said, carefully.

She tilted her head. “You said you couldn’t have a drink because you were on duty, but from what I can see—” she glanced around the empty balcony, “—there don’t appear to be any threats.”

He inhaled sharply as she stepped closer.

“You followed me,” he said, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I did.” 

She took another slow step forward. The closer she came, the more his shadows retreated.

“You were hiding,” she continued. “Watching me, watching Eris, and acting as if it didn’t bother you.”

Azriel’s shadows went still.

“You could feel that?” he whispered.

She was so close that he could feel her warmth against his chest.

“I can feel everything you feel, Shadowsinger,” she murmured, her eyes flicking from his to his mouth. “And you, my mate, are jealous. I’m here to tell you that I will always choose my mate, stranger or not.”

Azriel’s voice broke as he said, “You deserve someone like Eris.”

A quiet laugh left her lips as she shook her head.

“If I wanted Eris, I would have chosen him long ago. He knows that, it’s just a game to him, a chase he’ll never win.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I don’t want Eris. I want the man the Mother gifted me. My equal. My mate.”

He couldn’t breathe. The bond burned between them, a living thing.

“I’m not here to rush you,” she whispered. “And I’ll never force the bond, but I couldn’t leave the Night Court knowing my mate thought I’d chosen someone else.”

“You’re leaving,” Azriel said, voice cracking.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

He shouldn’t have looked at her, because when he did, his heart raced.

All sense, all restraint, left him.

“Stay,” he whispered.

Her breath caught, and then a smile formed on her lips. “As you wish, Shadowsinger.”

She stepped even closer, her gown brushing against his boots. The bond ached between them.

“Eris means nothing,” Azriel murmured, voice low and rough.

“Eris means nothing,” she repeated softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Tell me,” she said, her tone teasing. “Do you truly not dance, or were you avoiding me?”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you teach me?”

Her smile widened, and the look on her face nearly brought him to his knees. 

“Yes,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I’d love to teach you to dance.”

Her hands slipped into his, and the world tilted. The bond flared in response, and his chest tightened.

“Follow my lead,” she murmured, placing his hands on her waist, while hers rested on his shoulders.

She guided him, the Spymaster, the Shadowsinger, her mate, through the steps of a waltz.

He stumbled, stepped on her toes, tripped her, apologised too much, and his cheeks flushed for the first time in years. She scolded him, louder and fiercer than Cassian ever had during training, but every word, every correction, made his heart ache in growing affection.

After that night, everything changed.

For six months, they practised every evening. 

He learned how to spin her without stumbling, when she wanted to be dipped or lifted, when to turn, and when to pull her close.  

He learned her.

After that night, she never left his side.

She left the Day Court without a second thought. She moved into his home and filled every dark corner with light, colour, and life.

She was loud, spoiled, and everything he never knew he needed. 

She kept every gift he gave her, every letter, every ribbon. 

Every reminder of him.

On the night of their mating ceremony, they danced until their feet ached.

They danced with friends, with family, beneath the glow of the moonlight. He twirled her beneath the stars, her gown shimmering, her laughter echoing through the courtyard.

She glowed, a light so blinding, so pure, that he couldn’t look away.

She was the sun, and he was the shadows.

His princess. 

His mate. 

His everything.

Masterlist

General Taglist:

Also, I am notorious for switching back and forth between present and past tense in my writing for some reason. I tried to clear it up as much as possible, but if you do see it… pretend you don't 😁

Word Count: a little less than 6K

Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species 😊), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, angst (my fav!), minor descriptions of blood but nothing too bad.

Possibility of one or two more parts, but can be read as a one-shot

————

Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe through the deep ache emanating from your bones, seeping into your muscles, washing over your body. A pain that has followed you your whole life. Glancing up at the clock in Madja's small waiting room, you urged the time to go faster.

Madja had been the one to diagnose you when you were a child with an exceedingly rare chronic illness that effects your spine and muscles in your back. Manageable, mostly, but the constant pain from your condition was unavoidable, with only a few tonics having been proven effective at easing the pain… slightly. Your parents, who owned a small farm outside of Velaris, left in the middle of the night after receiving the news. Madja tried for weeks to return you to them, but was unsuccessful and eventually brought you to an orphanage on the outskirts of the city. The healer still saw you and continued to treat your condition at no cost, at least until you got a job, but felt she was in no place to raise a child.

Even now, decades later, you were still dependent on the healer and her tonics to allow you to function. Five more minutes, according to the clock, then you can get your medicine, go home, lay in bed and not move for a few hours.

A loud crash echoes outside, making you jump in your seat. The door burst open, shadows spilling into the building and a deep male voice shouts for Madja, the sound sending chills down your spine.

Two males appear out of the newfound darkness, one with huge dark wings protruding from his back, dark blue gems glowing on his chest, knees, shoulders, and wrists. The other male you recognize from your time orphanage; the High Lord used to visit the small building each year before donating money to the owners. If only he knew where the money had truly gone.

The High Lord shouts for the healer and your eyes fell to the limp form slung between the two males, similar dark wings hung limply behind him, the red stones adorning his leathers dull. You had heard enough stories of the High Lord's Inner Circle to recognize the Spymaster and General, although it was the first time you have seen either of them. Your eyes were drawn to the spymaster, Azriel, as the shadows dance frantically around his form.

Emerging through the doorway, Madja's eyes widen at the sight of the lifeless Illyrian, wasting no time ushering them into the back. You remain frozen, eager to stay out of the way. Something pulls in your chest as the Shadowsinger moved to drag his friend forward, following the healer. It pulls and tightens until it glows in your chest.

A small gasp left your lips, the sound lost in the chaos. He disappears behind the door you crumple forward, pain radiating through your back from the pull of the bond. The mating bond. A gift so rare it might as well be legend, but none of the stories you heard described the bond as painful. A hot of tear rolls down your cheek, body shaking to fight back a sob.

There is no way he would want you, bond or no. He's the spymaster for the High Lord, some say the two, along with the General, are as close as brothers. He's the Shadowsinger, one of the most powerful Illyrians in history. And you… you were a broken, weak, uneducated orphan whose own parents abandoned you as soon as they found out. The Mother must be cruel to think he could even want you. That you were his equal.

Focusing on your breathing, you refuse to let your emotions overwhelm you, at least not in public. It takes a few minutes, but you regain control of your breathing and slowly uncurl yourself to sit up.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, your gaze catches on a swarm of black shadows emerging from the door to the back, followed closely by the Shadowsinger himself, running a gloved hand over his face with a sigh. Your breath catches, studying him for a moment. He's beautiful, even covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, your heart leaps at the sight of him. His golden skin glows in the evening light flooding through the window, dark hair drenched in sweat clung to his forehead. His massive wings tucked in tightly to his muscular body. The world seemed to go silent around him, his shadows calmer than before, swirl throughout the room.

Opening his hazel eyes, they lock on yours, widening slightly. Heat rose from your neck and onto your checks, and you quickly advert your eyes. Slowly, he looks back through the door, still partially propped open, almost ... sheepishly.

"Sorry we took over your appointment," he says softly, moving further into the waiting area, closer to you, his size seemed to take over the room.

Hesitantly, you glance up, cheeks flaring as your eyes caught once again. "No need," you respond quietly, barely above a whisper, just as a low groan echoed from the back followed by Madja's calm voice ordering people around. "Looks like your friend needs it more than I do." Your spine flared with pain as you spoke, but you hold back the grimace that threatened to emerge with practiced ease.

Still, the Shadowsinger shifts closer, offering a small smile. "May I sit here?" he asks, gesturing to the seat across from you.

Glancing up, you nod, the movement more of a jerk, sending sharp pain shooting down your neck. Letting out along breath he collapses into the chair that was too small for him and definitely not built for wings.

Hands clutched in your lap, you manage to keep your eyes on him this time. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind, an easy smile lighting up is face. "What's your name?"

Your voice caught in your throat for a moment, mouth opening silently. "Uh… Y/N."

He hums quietly, studying your face. "I'm Azriel."

"I know," You say. His eyebrows rose slightly and you swore your face couldn't get any warmer. "The, uh, shadows gave it away," you admit, voice barely a whisper, gaze dropping once again.

Azriel chuckles softly, leaning back into the too small chair. "They tend to do that," he mutters, glaring at the swirling darkness playfully. Your lips tug upward, and he leans his head against the wall behind him closing his eyes.

You allow yourself a second to admire him, now that no one was around and he wasn't looking. This male, your mate. You had heard stories, of course, about the fearsome Shadowsinger, the High Lord's ruthless Spymaster. Even in Velars, where it's common knowledge these stories are exaggerated and that he would only my act like that with the Night Court's enemies, they persist. But sitting in that too small chair, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, he didn't seem like the same person as the stories, the male whose very presence can scare people into spilling their darkest secrets. He just seemed... like a male; a beautiful male beyond compare who could use a good night's rest, but still a male.

The corners of his mouth twitch up, and you knew that he, somehow, knew you were looking. Probably thanks to the shadows now swirling against your legs. But he didn't stop you, only shifted, spreading his wings slightly wider behind him in a way that was definitely more uncomfortable, almost like he was showing off.

"Y/N!" a shrill voice called out, drawing your attention to the short tree nymph in healers garb standing in the doorway, bag in hand. Azriel's eyes snap open, body stiffening as he takes in the healer, Melina. She stalks over and you stand slowly, barely making it to your feet before she shoved the bag into your chest. "Here," she spits out. You stumble back, the ache in your bores becoming sharp, shooting down your spine and legs.

Clutching the bag, you fall back into your chair, closing your eyes to contain a wince. Melina has been one of Madja's assistants for a few decades. You had met her during her first week of her working for the older healer and have put up with her temperament ever since. It was about what you deserve, you had concluded long ago, since you tended to make everyone's lives harder. Madja sitting back and doing nothing about it only further nailed the point home.

Opening your eyes, you peered into the bag. Melina already stomping away. Scanning the vials inside your eyebrows furrowed. "Where are the-"

"Oh, for Caudron's sake," Melina curses, stopping in the doorway, head tilted to the sky. "It's all can give you without interrupting Madja," she explains slowly, turning backs to face you.

Your cheeks heat as she speaks to you like a child, looking down on you as if you are an idiot. Tears bristle in your eyes. "But this isn't enough for-"

"Well it's all you're going to get," she hisses.

"If I need to wait for Madja, I can -"

"We're busy, Y/N," Melina snaps. "Mother are you really so stupid? The General is dying and you're taking up my time when I should be helping," she growls, slamming the door behind her.

A hot tear burns your cheek as you clutch the bag to your chest. Gods, Melina was right, as she tended to be. You had seen the General's limp form, his blood still stained the floor and Azriel's leathers, the stench of death hung in the air.

You glance at your mate, face burning with shame. This is now you introduce yourself? His first impression of you? Taking away resources from his dying friend, his brother. At some point, Azriel had sat up straight and he now stares at the closed door, shadows eerily still around him, face carefully blank. What does he think of you now?

"I'm sorry," you whisper, arms tightening around the bag of medicine serving as your shield.

Azriel's eyes snap to you, head turning so fast you wonder how it didn't hurt. "What?" he barely breathed the word. You expected malice, anger, disgust, not the disbelief that floods his tone, the shock breaking through his mask.

A sharp hot pain twists in your gut, one not from your condition, but still one you know all too well. "Your friend is hurt," you explain weakly, eyes dropping to the floor, missing how his widen, "and I-"

"She shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he mutters, shadows beginning to dance around him once again, their movements choppier than before. A fierceness enters his eyes, his face, sending painful shivers down your spine.

Exhaustion seeps into your muscles, settling next to the constant ache that only seemed to be getting worse. You tried to shrug, but your muscles refuse to cooperate. "She's right," you sigh.

His gaze softens and out of the corner of your eye you could almost see him force himself to release the tension in his shoulders. "No, she's not," he insists, voice soft. You tense; it has been a long time since someone spoke to you so softly, and the last person who did... you suppress a shudder at the thought. "You have every right to see a healer when you need to. It's on us for barging in," he continues.

"Your friend was hurt," you reason, voice barely a whisper. "I'll live." He sucks in a breath, a few of his shadows resuming their dance around your legs.

"That doesn't make it okay," he counters. "And it certainly doesn't justify the way she spoke to you."

Twin streaks make their way down your checks you force yourself to stand. "It's fine," you whisper, turning to leave. "Good evening."

"Wait," he calls standing up so quickly the chair almost fell over. You tense as he approaches and he stops immediately, slowly opening his gloved hands. Pain rolled through your tense muscles while you turned your head to him. "Let me make it up to you."

Eyebrows furrowing, you half turn back to face him. "What?"

A soft blush graces his cheeks, but he didn't faulter. "Let me buy you a drink. It's the least I can do."

Your gaze flickers to the window, the sun having just disappeared behind the buildings moments ago. "N-now?" you ask, staring at him with wide eyes.

Azriel glances down at his leathers, still covered in blood and dirt, and gives you a sheepish grin. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Your month opens, prepared to turn him down, but you hesitate. He was asking you for a drink. Your mate was asking you out for a drink. A part of you knew a relationship between you would never work, not with you being as you are. But you would be foolish to turn him down, to forfeit the chance to get to know him before he found out about your condition and left, like all of your previous romances, like everyone else in your life. Your spine throbbed as if to remind you. Even though you don't drink alcohol, you could suffer through one night if it meant being with your mate.

"Okay," you hear yourself whisper.

A dazzling smile broke out on his face. "Okay," he confirms, nodding once. "There's a cafe in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, The Ever Brew. Have you heard of it?" You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escapes you as you nodded. A cafe, not a bar. "Good, I'll meet you there at three?"

Shifting the bag in your hands, the weak muscles in your arms already protesting carrying it, you nod, a smile forming on your lips. "Three o'clock. I'll, uh, see you then."

——

Cassian was dying and that was all Az could think about as Rhys winnowed them to Velaris. He couldn't focus on anything else as they burst into Madja's clinic shouting for the healer, unable to see the female watching the scene, eyes wide. At Madja's direction they brought Cassian into an examination room, laying him on the table. Blood poured from the gashes in his abdomen, his skin becoming grey, broken wings dragging on the floor. Az and Rhys were pushed aside the moment Cass was laying down.

Neither of them knew what had happened. Az knew Rhys and Cass had an argument over Nesta and that Rhys sent him on a mission to Spring alone out of spite. Az was in the middle of chewing Rhys out when his face went pale and the two winnowed to spring immediately, finding Cassian's broken body on the forest floor.

No less than 3 healers were coming in and out of the room, each bringing supplies. Rhys, face ashen, winnowed away with a word about retrieving Nesta. Az remained, watching for a few moments, constantly moving out of the way of the healers until he slipped out of the room.

Trudging into the waiting room. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. It was only then that his shadows mentioned the female. His gaze landed on you immediately when he opened his eyes. His breath caught, eyes widening. You were eautiful, not in the striking way like Mor or Nesta, or in the powerful way like Fayre, or even with the gentle confidence of Elain. No, your beauty was softer, more understated, but just as present and undeniable. When the blush graced your neck and cheeks, he forgot everything else for a brief moment.

He didn't even realize he had approached as he was speaking. Your soft voice was music to his ears and he needed to be near you, to hear your voice again. Az had to stop himself from preening when he sat, barely noticing the chair digging in to his wings and sides. You looked scared, ready to run at the first opening, so Az kept quiet, kept his distance since that was the last thing he wanted. When you told him your name it just felt right, fitting into place like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Exhaustion had crept over him then and he leaned his head back against the wall closing his eyes. Azriel had remained keenly nearly aware of your eyes on him, studying him. The shadows whispering every more you made, they seemed just as enamored by you as he was. He couldn't stop the grin pulling on his lips and he unconsciously shifted in the seat, only realizing moments later his wings had spread slightly behind him.

Embarrassment began to flood through him such a blatant show, but it was quickly cut off by a harsh call of your name. His body stiffened, eyes snaping open at the sound, just in time to see the nymph shove the bag into your chest sending your falling back into your seat. His brows furrowed, watching the healer stalk off we no explanation. Anger boiled in his veins when the healer snapped at you. Slowly, he sat up straight not taking his eyes off of the tree nymph. And when she insulted you and used his brother to make you feel guilty, it took every ounce of self-control to keep the shadows from lashing out and not slaughter the nymph where she stood.

Then you apologized to him, parroting the same reason as that disgrace of a healer. His heart broke when he heard you agree with the healer, voice so soft, so accepting of the nymph's words, so defeated. He tried to reassure you, to make you see how wrong the nymph was, but he could tell it didn't work.

She got up to leave and Az panicked. He didn't want you to go, especially still believing the nymph. He didn't know where the idea for the drink came from and was so relieved when you agreed despite your hesitance. And the way you relaxed when he mentioned the cafe had something in him singing.

So now, Az stands outside the cafe, desperately trying not to shift on his feet, eyes scanning the crowd around him. He doesn't know why he is so nervous. Why his heart was pounding and he can't stay still. Even his shadows seem excited, darting around the square, telling him the minutes is they passed, which only made time go slower.

He straightens when the shadows whisper that it was three o'clock, pulling his wings in tight behind him. He had been with more females than he could care to remember, had taken many of them out, either to dinner or a drink first, and yet he was nervous. His unease only getting wore as the minutes passed there was no sign of you.

At first, Az brushs it off. There were plenty of reasons you could be a few minutes late. It wasn't until 3:15 came and went that the unease began to twist into something else.

He shouldn't be surprised, Az figures. Why should you come? He was a male you didn't know who demanded you come have a drink with him. Of course you wouldn't show up, for your own safety if nothing else.

3:30 passed and Az was about ready to turn around head home. His heart sinks at the thought although he wasn't sure why. The shadows kept whispering, urging him to stay a few more minutes, insisting you had to come, but Az was quickly finding their optimism annoying.

Still, he stays. Just a few more minutes he tells himself. It's not like he can stand around all afternoon anyway. He is the Spymaster, he has reports to read, others to write, missions to plan and delegate, information to go over, a brother to check on. But he couldn't get you out of his head; last night after you left the clinic, this morning while he tried to work. Even as he attempted to sleep is shadows kept supplying whispers of your voice, your scent, this brain constantly replayed the images of your shy smile when you agreed to meet him, the blush emerging on your neck and cheeks. He could've sworn he dreamt of you, although he could only grasp the very edges of the dream; it was the best night sleep he had in... centuries.

The shadows pull him from his thoughts, urging him to turn, to look as the clock overhead ticks to 3:38. Even through the bustling crowd he can make out your shuffling footsteps and quiet "excuse me" as you slowly make your way through the crowd. Gods, you were even more beautiful than he remembered with the sun rays shining down on you. Your hair was pulled back into two braided plaits, with quite a few strands falling out and sticking to your face, beads of sweat shimmering against your skin. A simple brown dress hung off your body, a size or two too big for you and your arms were wrapped around a large bag, holding it tightly to your chest. The bag was bigger and bulkier than the one you had yesterday and Az could see your arms trembling under its weight. Just the sight of you had Az's shoulders relaxing, an easy smile pulling on his lips.

Looking up, your gaze lands on him, eyes he knows he can spend centuries happily getting lost in, and he hears your breath catch. Straightening under your gaze, Az let his smile grow, trying to be warm and inviting, two words Az was sure were never used to describe him, not wanting to scare you off. As you continue to make your way through the busy square, Az watches, body tensing a moment before someone shoves you out of their way. You stumble forward, knees hitting the ground, vials and linen skidding out of your bag and your assailant mutters some obscenities your way. Az is moving before he can think, finding himself kneeling next to you in a moment, knowing his shadows are already following your assailant.

The crowd continues to move around you and Azriel, barely stopping to look, while you kneel on the ground, on hands and knees, taking long, slow breathes. The shadows begin to gather the fallen vials, which were miraculously intact, and folding the linens into a pile next to the discarded bag. Beloved is in pain. His shadows hiss, not that he needs them to at the way your brows are furrowed, your measured breathes, and the faint smell of blood in the air.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, cautiously raising a hand to rest on your shoulder. Your eyes snap open the sound of his voice and you flinch back sharply as his hand approaches you. He stops, immediately withdrawing his hand, watching your eyes widen in what he could only describe as horror before shifting into one of shame. He opens his mouth to apologize, because of course he should've checked before he tried to touch you, and you were well within your right to say no.

"I'm sorry," you whisper before he could. His eyes widen, staring at you. He never expected those two words to be so haunting especially said in a voice as beautiful as yours. First last night and now this... a pit of dread slowly began to form in his stomach.

"For what, love?" he asks in a similar whisper, the endearment slipping out. But he didn't feel sorry, not with the way your cheeks and ears redden.

Forcing yourself to sit back on your knees, you kept your eyes low, picking up bag. Glancing down, Az sucked in a breath; the palms of your hands were scraped raw, dirt and pebbles imbedded in parts of the wounds, and he could make out the small bloodstains forming on your dress from your knees. Usually the sight of blood doesn't bother him, but for some reason, yours made his stomach twist.

Careful of your bleeding palms, you attempt to collect your fallen belongings back in the bag. "Here, let me," he offers, reaching a hand toward the bag. This time he was more cautious, stopping a distance away until you look at him and give a small nod, placing the bag in his hand. It took no time for him to carefully put the vials and cloths back into the bag. "Do you need help standing up?" he asks gently, glancing your knees once again.

Slowly, you shook your head, placing your hands back on the ground to push yourself up. Grimacing on your behalf, Az waits until you were half way up to stand himself. You sway on your feet, hesitantly accepting the arm Az offers for balance. Gently, he begin to lead you out of the center of the crowd to a secluded corner.

"I'm sorry," you mumble again.

Stopping, Az turns to you, his heart breaking seeing the tears lining your eyes. In the dark corner his shadows surround you, brushing across your skin attempting to calm you down. Az can't help himself, he put down your bag and used his now free hand to push some of your hair out of your face. "For what, sweetheart?" he whispers. You lean into his touch, the hand on his other arm tightening and Az wishes he wasn't wearing his gloves so he could feel your skin on his.

"Being late," you breath, closing your eyes. "The interview went long and by the time I left it was already twenty after and I tried to get then as fast as I-"

"You don't have to explain," Az interrupts your rambling gently, a small smile on his lips, "or apologize." His hand slides off your face and your brows furrow at the loss, opening your eyes. Carefully, Az takes the hand not grasping his arm a holds it up to examine. The bleeding had stopped and new skin was already starting to form over the dirt and pebbles. "I have an apartment not far from here. Can I take you there so we can get you cleaned up?"

Tugging your hand away from his, you turn it to look at your palm, brows furrowing and you nod. "O-okay."

Reaching down, Az easily pick up your bag once more; despite its load, the bag was surprisingly light. Even with your grip on him, you continue to sway slightly. Looking out at the busy street around them, Az takes a deep breath. "It would be faster if we fly," he says softly.

"F-fly?" you repeat. Eyes widening, they move toward the direction of the street. Your body wobbles and Az brings the hand with the bag up to lightly hold your arm. Leaning your weight into him, you look back, exhaustion coating your features. "You sure it's alright?"

Smiling softly, Az nods. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

After another moment of hesitation you nod. Gently, Az lifts you into his arms, withholding his surprise at how light you are. Closing your eyes tight, you bury your face into his neck, hands grasping his shirt. With a sigh, Az lets his wings spread behind him, reveling in the feeling of having you in his arms, how right it felt.

Barely two minutes later, Az was landing on the small balcony of an apartment he had bought shortly after Cassian and Nesta's mating ceremony. "We're here, love," he whispers, his shadows already unlocking the door.

Inhaling deeply, you allow yourself to be placed back on the ground, opening your eyes slowly. Az smils, doing everything in his power to contain his excitement. You had scented him and now you are about to enter his home. You feel comfortable enough to let him bring you here. Gods, he was a dead male, whether you knew it or not, he was yours, Az knew. From now until the end.

His shadows swirls around you once you regain your balance, sweeping over every part of your exposed skin. You didn't flinch from their touch, just stared at them with eyes wide, not in fear but in awe. Gently the shadows lead you into the apartment and you didn't protest, letting them guide you to sit on the couch. Az follows close behind, a small smile pulling on his lips at the sight, although he was acutely aware of your stiff knees and stumbling steps.

A bowl of warm water was already set out on the coffee table in front of when you sat with the shadows placing more pillows behind your back and urging you to relax. The small medical kit Az usually keeps in the bathroom lay neatly next to the bowl. Setting your bag next to the door, Az slowly approaches the couch, the shadows reluctantly parting so he can see you better.

Your eyes remain on the shadows as they continue to pamper you, brows knit in confusion. You didn't even notice Az kneeling in front of you, dipping a cloth into the water, until he gently took one of your hands out of your lap. Your eyes dart to him, widening when Az eases your hand open and softly places the wet cloth on your scraped palm.

A flush grew up your neck and cheeks and you weakly attempt to pull your hand back. "What are you doing?" your voice is barely a breath.

Az keeps a gentle grip on your hand, not letting you pull back, keeping the cloth on your skin, a small frown forming. "We need to get you cleaned up, love. To make sure they don't get infected," Az explains softly.

Shaking your head, your gaze darts between his grip on your hand and his face. "I-I can do it. You- you don't have to," you try again, and Az could see tears forming along your eyeline.

Frown deepening, Az doesn't allow himself to analyze this, not now, not when your hurt, but he tucks your words, your actions, into the back of his mind for later. "I want to," Az insists, removing the cloth from your hand. The warm water had allowed the patches of new skin to soften and loosen, allowing him to gently begin cleaning the dirt pebbles away.

Your eyes land on his face, widening even more, disbelief shining through your features and it made Az's heartbreak. Softly, Az clears his throat, satisfied that your palm is clean he begins to prepare a bandage with ointments. "How was the interview?" he asks softly, hoping to give you something else to focus on.

"W- what?" you breathe, eyes flickering between his face and where he gently began wrapping your hand.

"The interview," Az repeats, a small smile slipping on to his face as he fastens the bandage and brought the wet cloth to your other hand. "You said it went long, how did it go?" he asks again.

"Oh, n- no. It's not…" you stammer for a moment. Az smiles softly, encouragingly, as you take a deep breath. "I… uh, I'm a mid-wife," you explain softly, watching your hands carefully while Az prepares the second bandage. "They were new parents, to see if they want to hire me."

Az feels his brows furrow, wrapping your hand. "I didn't know we had mid-wives in Velaris," he admits softly, glancing up at you.

You shift on the couch, the shadows continuing to lightly swarm around you. "Not many do," you concede. "There are only two of us that live in the city full time."

Az hums softly, gently tying off the wrap. "You must keep busy then," he says keeping his voice low.

Shaking your head slightly, Az sits back on his knees for a moment. "Not as much as you would think," you admit with a sad smile. "Most fae prefer going to a healer or an apothecary. They either don't know we are an option or think they are better suited for the service."

Brows furrowing, Az slowly reaches for the hem of your skirt. "May I?" he asks, eyes catching on your reddening cheeks. "For your knees," he explains, his own face flushing.

"Oh, um… okay," you breath out, body tensing against the couch. Az saw his shadows curl around you again, trying to calm you she he slowly, carefully, raises the hem of your skirt. Only enough to see your right leg, keeping the fabric bunched right above the knee, unable to see anything else.

Reaching for the cloth again, he wet a clean corner and tenderly placed it against the healing skin. "Is it true?" he asked, again trying to shift your focus. "That healers and apothecaries are more suited than mid-wives?" 

"Uh," you hesitate, eyes drifting from your knee back up to him. "Healers and apothecaries have a lot of knowledge about a lot of different things," you answer, each word sounding carefully chosen and rehearsed. Probably a question you receive quite often in your interviews, if Az had to guess. "While mid-wives focus solely on fertility and pregnancy, meaning we have a lot of knowledge focused on one specific subject, so we are better able to handle more of the… unexpected or unique situations than can arise during pregnancies than most healers."

Brows furrowing, Az focuses on wrapping your now clean right knee. Many questions about the subject coming to mind, the image of Feyre's pregnancy and labor still somewhat fresh in his mind. But, he knew now was not the time to ask any of that, your anxiousness still permeating through the air, despite your practiced answer. Anxiousness that was almost overwhelmed by the insecurity radiating from you along with… shame; shame so strong Az could almost feel it in his own chest.

"Do you enjoy it? Being a mid-wife?" Az asks gently, lowering your skirt over your right leg and beginning to raise it to tend to your left knee.

Your breath hitches when the cloth came in contact with the torn skin. Taking controlled, measured breaths, you nod, another flush overtaking your face. "Yes," you breathe, eyes moving toward your wrapped hands in your lap. "It's… it's not simple, or easy, but… but it's beautiful, greeting a child in their first moments of life, laying them in their mother's arms." A small smile pulled on your lips as you speak, one Az echoes, taking the final bandage to wrap your knee.  "And you?" you breathe, not daring to look up from your hands. "You work for the High Lord, right?"

"Yes," Az agrees slowly, leaning back slightly as to not crowd you after gently lowering your skirt. "I… catalogue and monitor potential threats to the court, to put it simply," he explains, setting the cloth back on the table. You nod, pursing your lips, watching the shadows swirl around your hands.

One shadow sneaks away, somewhat reluctantly if Az had to guess, snaking up to his ear. She's hurting. Beloved tries to hide, but we see. The whisper seems to echo in Az's ears, looking her over once more. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks softly. You shake your head slowly, eyes closing like the action itself is uncomfortable. Pursing his lips together, Az doesn’t push, as much as something within him begs him to.

Shadows swallow the bowl of water and the bloodied cloth, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sight. Az smiles softly, head dipping to catch your eyes. "I believe I still owe you a drink."

————

An Illyrian male, older, brutal by reputation alone. A reward for loyalty. A transaction dressed up as honorary. She was told it would protect her family that this was the way of things, that fear was merely the cost of being born female in a world that prized strength above mercy.

She didn't cry when she heard.

Crying would have meant hope. And hope, she had learned, was the most dangerous thing of all.

She ran away the night before the ceremony.

No jewels. No farewell. Only a blade she barely knew how to wield and a cloak stolen from a servant's peg. The city gates were unguarded at that hour, the sentries half-asleep and drunk on routine. By the time dawn broke, she was already bleeding--hands torn raw from climbing, lungs burning from running without rest.

She did not stop until the world narrowed to survival.

It was in a nameless village near the mountains that the idea took shape. Not all at once--nothing so dramatic--but piece by piece, stolen from overheard conversations and the way soldiers moved through the streets without being questioned. Men were allowed to be angry. Men were allowed to fight. Men were allowed to leave, to do as they please. Men were allowed everything.

Men were allowed to live.

The transformation was not elegant.

She cut her hair herself, hands shaking as the strands fell into the dirt. Bound her chest until breathing hurt. Learned to walk heavier, to take up space instead of shrinking from it. She practiced lowering her voice, roughening it with disuse and hunger, until it sounded passable enough to avoid scrutiny. Every movement became deliberate. Every instinct--rewired.

She chose the name Bran because it was simple. Because it did not invite curiosity. Because it could belong to anyone.

The Illyrian camps did not ask many questions. They never did. A body willing to bleed was more valuable than a story. She arrived thin, bruised, eyes too sharp for her age, and claimed she had nowhere else to go. The male who recorded her name barely looked up.

"Bran," he repeated, scratching it down. "You'll either last or you won't."

That night, lying on a thin cot among strangers who smelled of steel and sweat, she stared at the ceiling and felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Not safety but possibility.

She did not know then who she would meet in those camps. Did not know how deeply a lie could root itself, or how dangerous it was to be seen for the wrong reasons. All she knew was that she had chosen survival over submission.

And for the first time in her life, the choice was hers.

Life as Bran was...surprisingly tolerable. Not easy, but tolerable.

The camp was brutal in the ways it had to be--cold stone or muddy floors, yelling instructors and commanders, rations barely enough to keep a body moving--but she noticed quickly that as a male, no one tried to push her around. She could exist without commentary, without the thinly veiled condescension women were trained to endure. She could sweat, bleed, curse, and no one would think twice.

Bran learned fast how to survive. He bathed in the river when he could, careful to hide himself behind a large rock or a cluster of trees. He learned to keep his hair very short and messy without it being suspicious, to mask softness in his hands with calluses, to lower his voice just enough that no one questioned it. Every meal, every manoeuvre, every training exercise was approached with the same quiet calculation: don't slip. Don't let anyone see the cracks. Don't give anyone a reason to ask too many questions.

Training itself was...merciless. Marching, running, lifting, weapons drill--all of it she could handle. But the hand-to-hand combat, the brawls, were the worst. They required too much proximity. Too much trust. Too much exposure. Every grapple, every thrown punch, made her pulse hammer in terror-not of pain but of discovery. One misstep, one too-close moment, and her secret would crumble.

And yet, she survived. Slowly, her body hardened. Her reflexes sharpened. Bran became just another soldier, at least one on the surface.

Until Cassian appeared.

He was brash, loud, and impossibly confident--exactly the sort of person she would have rolled her eyes at in any other situation. But there he was, leaning against the training wall, smirk in place as he flicked a short blade up and down in one hand.

"You," he called out, pointing at her, "yeah, you with the awkward stance. Ever consider fighting with style, or is that a full-time commitment to looking like you're about to fall over?"

Bran scowled. "I'll have you know I've almost mastered style. Just...not your style."

Cassian grinned, eyes lighting up like he'd found a new toy. "Oh, you got fire, huh? I like that. I'm Cassian. And you are?"

She hesitated, then gave the practiced name she'd chosen so carefully. "Bran."

"Bran, huh?" he circled her like a hawk inspecting prey--or maybe just a friend looking to annoy someone. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Before she could reply with a pointed remark (or shove him into a mud puddle), a voice cut through.

"And I'm Rhysand," said the newcomer, with a polite smile that carried a hint of mischief. "And if you're going to let him harass everyone, I'll be the one to call him out. Pleasure, Bran."

Bran raised an eyebrow. "You're in on this too?"

Rhys only shrugged, perfectly calm while Cassian laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.

Then there was the third. The quiet one. Shadowed at the edge of the group, observing rather than participating. His eyes were dark, sharp, and impossibly still. He spoke little, but when he did, his words cut through the noise.

"Don't encourage him too much," he said to Bran, nodding at Cassian. "He'll think he's invincible."

Bran blinked. Who...was this? He didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't look like he belonged in the same circus. He simply...existed, watching, judging, interfering only when necessary.

"Bran," Cassian said, louder this time. "don't tell me you're intimidated by him already."

Bran scowled. "Intimidated? No. Just...annoyed. Very annoyed."

Rhysand smirked faintly. "He's Azriel. Don't let his quiet fool you. He'll have the last word eventually. He always does."

Bran groaned. Great. Two loud idiots and a quiet one who somehow made you feel like a misstep would end in public humiliation. And yet… despite all of it, there was a spark of amusement she couldn’t quite hide. The days as Bran had been tense, exhausting, and terrifying. But these three idiots… these three boys would make surviving camp slightly more bearable.

At least until one of them figured out she wasn’t actually Bran.

They days settled into a rhythm--somewhere between gruelling training and stolen moments of quiet--but Bran quickly realized she wasn't alone in her misery.

Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had taken it upon themselves to stalk her, or as they called it, "watch over" her. Bran didn't appreciate it. Not at all.

“You know,” she said one afternoon after being nudged into another push-up contest, “I’m starting to think I’ve been singled out for some cosmic form of punishment. Why am I the chosen victim of your constant stalking?”

Cassian leaned back on his elbows, grinning like the world was a playground and she was his favourite toy. “Because you’re… fun to annoy?”

"Fun to annoy?" Bran repeated, incredulous. "Do I look fun to annoy?"

Rhysand, ever the calm one, smirked faintly. "You're...different. Not in a bad way. It's refreshing."

Cassian’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this gem. “Alsooo,” he said, nudging Bran again with an elbow, “we just want to be friends. You’re the only guy who actually isn’t acting like- ” He paused dramatically, “like every other soldier who thinks training is a contest of ‘who can look the toughest while being completely insufferable.’”

Bran blinked, torn between exasperation and something else she didn’t recognize. Friendship? Not that she trusted the word just yet, but… she allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.

From that day, they followed her less like predators and more like...companions.

Training sessions became collaborative rather than competitive. Bran found herself laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous claims: “I’m going to be the greatest warrior of all time, probably the king of the skies too, and maybe invent a weapon that slices through literally anything”while Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering things like, “And pigs might fly, while we’re at it.”

Rhysand, surprisingly, was the voice of reason and sarcastic commentary all in one. "Try not to die while inventing impossible weapons, Cassian. The camp would miss you...barely."

Bran began to notice small things:

Azriel’s quiet attentions, subtle but intentional--he’d nudge her back into line during drills or be there in the shadows when she had trouble keeping pace.

Rhysand’s calm patience, the way he offered advice without making her feel incompetent.

Cassian’s energy, which was exhausting but strangely comforting.

She started feeling...something she hadn't allowed herself in years: normalcy.

It came out one night, around the fire, when the three of them were sharing stories of why they were in the camp--more like Cassian and Rhysand were sharing their stories while Azriel just watched--and what they hoped to be. Bran had just survived a particularly gruelling sparring match and collapsed into the dirt, listening.

Cassian talked first, of course, puffing out his chest as he kept loudly dreaming about his new glorious visions for himself...again. "I'm going to be the greatest warrior. Maybe I'll have my own squad one day. I'll be the hero everyone talks about in songs!"

Azriel, leaning against a tree, raised an unimpressed brow. "And you'll probably get yourself killed before breakfast."

Cassian laughed. "Details, details. Heroism is never tidy."

Then came Rhysand's turn, quiet as ever, voice low and smooth. “I was sent here by my father. Not… voluntarily. To train, to survive, and to prove myself.”

Bran tilted her head. “Your father?”

“Yes,” Rhysand admitted softly. “I am… not just another soldier. My family expects more of me. One day, I’ll… rule.”

Bran blinked. Prince. She almost choked on the word. For a second, the boy who had teased and joked with her every day seemed impossibly distant. But just as quickly, he leaned back, joking again, “And yes, I am still better at archery than both of you, so quit whining.”

Neither Azriel nor Bran spoke about why they are here, about their pasts. Maybe because the words felt too heavy, too sharp to be handled without drawing blood. Or maybe because some truths, once spoken aloud, refused to stay in the past and demanded to be lived through all over again.

The banter resumed as if nothing had changed, but Bran felt the shift. She was slowly, surprisingly, allowed into their world--not just as Bran, but as someone they trusted. Someone they wanted around.

Bran noticed Azriel most in quiet moments. He was slower to speak, slower to laugh, slower to let her in--but always there, just on the edge of the group. He watched, assessed, and sometimes, in the middle of training, would offer a word or a nudge that made her heart skip without her knowing why.

Cassian and Rhysand’s friendship was loud, full of jokes and jostling, but Azriel’s was quiet, deliberate, and far more dangerous because it made her feel… seen.

And Bran didn’t trust it. Not yet.

But every day, every laugh, every sparring match, every sarcastic comment and ridiculous boasting brought her closer.

Even if she still considered them infuriating little pricks.

The day had started like any other, crisp air, the sound of swords clanging, Cassian's obnoxious laughter echoing through the training yard. Yet something felt off.

Azriel hadn't shown up. Not once.

Normally, it wasn’t alarming. He disappeared into shadows often, brooding, wandering, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t training with them. But today… he hadn’t even met them at their usual routine--the stretch by the cliffs before breakfast, the morning sparring sessions, the practice run along the ridges where Bran, Cassian, and Rhysand would inevitably fall laughing into the mud.

"Have you...seen Azriel?" Bran asked, trying to sound casual as she wiped dirt from her hands.

Cassian shrugged, twirling a blade lazily. "He probably went ghosting in the mountains again. You know him."

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Cassian, hesitated. "Yeah...he tends to disappear for long stretches sometimes. It's...normal."

Bran frowned, frustration prickling her skin. "Normal?" She pressed. "How is it normal to just vanish for an entire day without anyone knowing?"

The two boys exchanged a glance. "He'll be fine. trust us, we have known him longer than you." Cassian said finally, but Bran wasn't convinced. Her stomach twisted into anxious knots she didn't usually allow herself.

By nightfall, she could no longer stand it. Every fiber of her being demanded she find him. Wrapping her cloak tight around her, she followed the familiar trail through the woods until the camp faded behind her, and the lake came into view. Its surface was frozen, moonlight glinting off the ice, and there he was--Azriel--sitting at the edge, unmoving, as if carved from shadow himself.

She hesitated, then stepped closer, boots crunching over frost, and sat a respectful distance beside him. Silence stretched between them, long and heavy, filled with all the words neither had yet said.

Finally, he stirred, looking at her with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her carefully constructed mask. "Why are you here?" he asked, voice low, almost startled as if waking from a dream.

"You didn't show up all day," she said, softly, unsure if she was speaking to Bran or to herself. "And...I guess I just got worried. A little."

He scoffed, turning his gaze back to the frozen lake. "No need to worry for me. I can handle myself."

Bran’s chest tightened. She got up slowly, standing behind him, voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know better than anyone what it’s like to be trapped, to have no one care if you live or die. But… there are people who do care. Who would search for you. Who won’t leave you behind. I know that.”

He was silent, taking in her words. After a moment, he finally exhaled a long, tired sigh while staring at the stars. “Today,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “is the anniversary of my escape.”

Bran's heart stuttered. Escape? "Your...escape?" she asked cautiously.

He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and let out a cold, humourless laugh. "You think I had these shadows from the moment I was born?"

"No?" she whispered, shocked, unable to hide the awe and horror in her voice.

He glanced at her briefly, expression hardening. “My father… my stepbrothers… they locked me in a cell for years. Tortured me. Separated me from my mother. Thought they could break me. Thought no one would care.”

Bran’s chest tightened so painfully it was almost physical. The parallels to her own life--her escape, her family’s sacrifice, the constant weight of survival--hit her in waves. Carefully, carefully, she recounted her own story, twisting it to fit Bran’s persona, leaving out every detail that would betray her, every softness that would make him suspect.

For a long while, they shared silence again, letting the frozen lake hold their secrets.

Then came the voices--soft but insistent.

"Azriel? You up here?" Rhysand called.

Cassian's voice soon followed, teasing and loud, "Don't hide in the shadows forever. The world's missing your broody glare!"

Azriel only gave a small nod in response, and for the first time that day, Bran saw a faint shadow of a smile tug at his lips. As they headed back to camp, Bran moved to separate from the boys, but Rhysand's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"No," he said firmly. "Come with us."

Bran raised an eyebrow, cautious. "Am I...allowed?"

Cassian laughed. "Of course you are."

Rhysand smiled. "My mother already knows about you. There's plenty of room in our house for you too."

Bran's eyes widened. "Your...mother?"

Azriel, for the first time ever, made a joke, voice low and dry: “Yes. And she makes the best meat pies in the entire world.”

Her chest twisted with unease, scepticism, and a flicker of fear. Yet the boys calmed her, insisting, guiding, and by the time she followed them, the warmth of their trust felt heavier than any weight she’d carried in years.

The house was… everything she had imagined a prince’s home would be, but somehow more understated. Stone walls and polished floors, tapestries that didn’t scream wealth but whispered it, rooms that were large yet intimate. She found herself marvelling quietly as they moved through the corridors, the firelight glinting in polished wood.

And then she met her.

Rhysand’s mother. She was luminous, serene, and powerful in a quiet, commanding way. Her smile when she saw Bran was warm, like she’d been expecting her all along.

“You must be Bran,” she said softly. “Rhys has told me so much about you.”

Bran’s throat tightened. Rhysand was the spitting image of his mother--same dark eyes, same easy charm. And yet, she could see the gentle warmth he reserved only for those he truly cared for.

And then… the youngest. Estelle. A bright, bubbly girl with a smile that immediately made Bran feel at home. She spoke freely, laughing with her mother and with Rhysand, asking questions, welcoming Bran as if she had always belonged.

Bran allowed herself to feel it--the warmth, the safety, the home. The food placed in front of her, the soft bed in a room just for her, the easy camaraderie. The friendship.

And for the first time in a very long time, she let herself think maybe… maybe she could belong somewhere, be herself, and not just survive.

But then everything changed.

It happened at dawn.

Not the slow, creeping kind that gave warning--but the violent kind, when the sky was still bruised purple and the camp lay half-asleep, weapons stacked, guards relaxed. The first scream cut through the air like a blade.

Then fire.

Spring Court colors flooded the horizon--greens too bright, magic too wild--soldiers pouring in waves, their war cries shattering the morning calm. Tents went up in flames. Steel rang. Orders were shouted and lost all at once.

Bran didn't think. She moved.

Her sword was in her hand before fear could catch her, body responding on instinct honed by months of punishment and repetition. She ducked beneath a blast of magic, rolled through mud and ash, and came up swinging. Training took over--feet grounded, strikes precise, breath controlled.

She didn't know where Rhysand and Cassian were, who they were fighting. But Azriel was there.

She didn’t remember how they ended up back-to-back, only that suddenly his presence was solid at her spine, shadows snapping and striking like living things. They moved as one--her blade flashing low and fast, his daggers ending fights before they began.

"Left," he muttered.

She pivoted, blocked, countered.

"Behind you," she warned, breathless.

He didn't look--just trusted.

The camp was chaos. Illyrians fought desperately, pressed back toward the cliffs that bordered the frozen lake. More Spring Court soldiers kept coming. Too many. Far too many.

They couldn't win this head-on.

Bran's eyes flicked upward--and then she saw it.

The ridge above the lake. Ice layered thick from weeks of cold. The magic blasts cracking the earth beneath it. One well-placed strike...

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"Azriel," she shouted, grabbing his arm mid-fight. "The ridge. If we bring it down- "

He followed her gaze, understanding flashing instantly. "You'd bury all of us."

"Not if we time it," she said, already moving. "Cover me."

He swore under his breath--but nodded.

She sprinted.

Magic scorched the ground at her heels as she climbed, fingers burning from the cold, lungs screaming. She reached the ridge and drove her blade into a fracture already spreading through the ice. Another strike. Then another.

The world held its breath. Then the ridge gave way.

Ice, rock, and frozen earth thundered down in a roaring wall, swallowing the front lines of the Spring Court soldiers whole. Screams vanished beneath the crushing weight. The lake shattered, water exploding upward in a violent surge.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then cheers.

They had done it. She had done it.

Relief flooded her--too fast, too soon.

She turned to run back...and that is when the blast hit.

Magic slammed into her side, white-hot pain tearing through her body. She was lifted off her feet, thrown hard against stone. Something cracked--maybe bone, maybe more. Her vision blurred, blood warm against the freezing air.

She tried to crawl. Tried to stand.

Another blow grazed her shoulder. Her sword slipped from numb fingers. Azriel shouted her name, but it sounded distant, warped, like she was already underwater.

Her strength gave out.

The sky spun. The noise dulled. Cold crept in where fire had been.

The last thing she felt was the ground rushing up to meet her...and then nothing at all.

Azriel had survived worse fights. That was the cruel irony of it.

The Spring Court attack had been brutal, yes, tents reduced to ash, blood frozen into the mud, bodies carried away in silence, but the fighting itself had been familiar. Manageable. Something he understood. He had moved through it like he always did, shadows striking, daggers precise, instincts honed by years of violence.

What he did not understand was the hollow ache in his chest afterward.

The camp was a ruin by nightfall. Fires smouldered where laughter had once lived. Healers moved endlessly between stretchers, hands glowing, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. The wounded were everywhere, groaning, bleeding, clinging to life.

And Bran was nowhere he could see.

He knew where he was, of course. The healers had taken him immediately, carried him away among hundreds of others. Unconscious. Broken. Still breathing, at least, that was what Azriel told himself, over and over, like a prayer he did not believe in.

They sat on a bench outside the healer tents, the three of them. Cassian restless, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Rhysand unnervingly still, hands clasped, eyes dark with thought. And Azriel--silent, staring at the ground as if it might open and swallow him whole.

“He saved us,” Cassian said hoarsely, breaking the silence. “You know that, right? If he hadn’t--if he hadn’t done that- ” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Gods. That was insane. Brilliant. Completely reckless.”

Azriel swallowed.

Reckless. Yes. That was the word.

Bran had seen what none of them had. Had acted without hesitation. Had trusted that the earth and ice would fall exactly as needed--and it had. Hundreds of Spring Court soldiers buried beneath it. The camp saved.

And Bran nearly killed for it.

“He shouldn’t have had to,” Azriel said quietly.

Cassian stopped pacing, turning toward him. “None of us should have. But he did. And now he’s lying in a healer’s tent while we’re out here breathing.”

Rhysand exhaled slowly. “We can’t pretend this didn’t change things,” he said. “The camp won’t. The commanders won’t. Someone that young pulling off something like that?” He shook his head. “They’ll take notice.”

Azriel didn’t respond.

All he could see was Bran sprinting toward the ridge, jaw set, eyes burning with purpose. Could still hear the crack of ice, the roar of destruction. Could still feel the moment afterward, the split second of relief before the blast hit him.

Before Bran fell.

His hands curled into fists. He had covered him. He was supposed to protect those beside him. That was the rule. That was always the rule.

Footsteps approached.

Azriel’s head snapped up as a healer emerged from one of the larger tents. She was pale, exhaustion etched deep into her features. When she spotted them, she stopped--and bowed deeply.

“My prince,” she said, voice low. “We need to speak.”

Something in her expression made Azriel’s shadows stir uneasily.

Rhysand rose immediately. “Of course.” He glanced back at Cassian and Azriel. “I’ll be back.”

Cassian frowned. “About Bran?”

The healer didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked back toward the tent.

Rhysand followed.

Azriel stayed seated, but every instinct screamed for him to move, to follow, to do something. Instead, he sat there, helpless, listening to the sounds of the camp around him, to the groans and murmurs and crackling fires.

Waiting.

And for the first time in a very long time, Azriel realized something terrifying.

He was afraid.

Not of war.

Not of pain.

But of what he might lose--of what he already feared he cared about far more than he should.

Cassian broke the silence first. "He's going to be fine."

He dragged a hand down his face, pacing again. "He has to be."

Azriel didn't answer. His attention was splintered--half on the healer tents, half on the memory of Bran crumpling against stone. Every second stretched too long. Every sound scraped against his nerves.

Then it happened.

Both of you. Get here. Now.

Rhysand's voice slipped into Azriel's mind without warning--tight, controlled, unmistakably urgent. Azriel's head snapped up. Cassian froze mid-step.

They exchanged a single look and that was all it took.

They were on their feet immediately, striding toward the tent Rhysand had entered minutes earlier. Azriel’s heart began to pound harder with every step, dread coiling tighter around his ribs. He prepared himself for blood. For death. For the words we did everything we could.

The worst possibilities clawed at him. The tent flap was pulled aside. Inside, the air was heavy--too still.

Rhysand stood near the foot of a cot, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face pale and unreadable. A single healer remained, her expression grave. And there--lying motionless beneath thick blankets--was Bran.

Alive. Unconscious.

Azriel's breath hitched despite himself.

Cassian glanced around, confused. "Where are the others?"

Rhysand didn't answer. He only stepped aside.

The healer moved then, hands trembling just slightly as she reached for the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it down.

Azriel's world tilted.

Bran's chest was wrapped tightly in bindings. Not bandages.

Bindings.

They were soaked through in places, darkened with blood, stretched tight enough that the shape beneath them was unmistakable. The rise of a chest that had never belonged to a male. The curve that months of illusion, posture, and discipline had hidden from them all.

From him.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Azriel couldn’t.

His thoughts scattered violently, crashing into one another--anger, disbelief, betrayal, horror, fear. His shadows recoiled, writhing, as if shocked into silence.

Female.

Bran was-

No.

She was-

Cassian’s voice broke through, sharp and incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he blurted. “You’re telling me Bran...Bran was a female this entire time?”

Azriel barely heard him.

His gaze was locked on her face, too pale, lashes dark against her skin, lips parted slightly with shallow breaths. Unconscious. Broken. Vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be while awake.

She had fought beside him.

Trusted him.

Lied to him.

Anger flared--hot and vicious--followed immediately by something worse.

Fear.

She could have died. Had nearly died. Had gone into battle bound and bleeding and hidden, carrying a secret that could have gotten her killed long before today.

Azriel couldn’t breathe.

He turned sharply, stalking out of the tent before anyone could stop him. The cold air slammed into his lungs, but it didn’t help. His heart hammered violently, thoughts spiralling out of control.

Female.

All this time.

The jokes. The camaraderie. The quiet moments by the fire. The trust. The escape, she had said. Her voice echoed back to him now, twisted and raw.

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, shadows flaring erratically around him. Fury burned--but it had nowhere to land. Not on her. Not when she lay unconscious, broken because she had saved them all.

He had been fooled.

And somehow… that hurt more than the lie itself.

She woke to pain.

Not the sharp kind--but the deep aching weight that settled into her bones, made every breath feel measured and deliberate. The air smelled of herbs and smoke, of clean linen and old blood. Canvas rustled softly overhead.

A healer sat beside her cot.

Y/N froze.

Memory rushed back all at once--the ridge, the ice, the blast, Azriel’s shout. Her breath hitched sharply as awareness snapped into place, and instinct took over. She gasped and reached for the blanket, fingers trembling as she tried to pull it higher-

A gentle hand stopped her.

“There’s no need,” the healer said softly. “I already know your secret. You’re safe here.”

Y/N's chest rose and fell too fast. Slowly, she let the blanket fall back into place, exhaustion crashing into relief so heavy it almost hurt. She swallowed.

"...Did you tell them?" she asked, voice rough.

The healer hesitated--just a fraction.

"I had to," she said quietly, "he is the prince."

Of course.

Y/N closed her eyes, a long breath slipping out between her lips. So they knew. All three of them. The boys she had fought beside. Laughed with. Lied to.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. "Does anyone else know?"

Fear edged her voice now--real, unmasked.

She knew what the Illyrian camps were like. What they did to women who broke their rules. She knew she wouldn’t survive a single night if the wrong ears heard the truth.

“No,” the healer said firmly. “No one else. I swore silence, and so did the prince. You are protected.”

Y/N nodded, relief and dread tangling together.

“I’ll call the prince and his friends when you’re ready,” the healer added gently. “But first, you should know your condition. You’ve broken two ribs, suffered internal bruising, and lost a dangerous amount of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lucky.

Y/N let out a quiet, humourless breath. “How long… how long was I out?”

“Today is day three.”

She absorbed that in silence.

Then, after a moment, she said, “Okay.” Her jaw set. “I’m ready. Please tell them to come in.”

The healer studied her carefully. “Are you sure? You could rest. Take more time.”

Y/N shook her head. “No. I just want to get this over with.” Her voice dropped. “It’ll make my exile easier.”

The healer didn't argue. She only nodded and slipped out of the tent. Alone again.

Y/N stared up at the canvas ceiling, heart pounding, mind racing. She replayed every moment, every joke, every shared meal, every quiet look. She now braced herself for fury, for disgust, for disappointment.

For losing them all.

Footsteps approached and then the tent flap opened.

Rhysand first: calm, composed, eyes sharp but not unkind. Cassian beside him, expression conflicted, worry and disbelief warring across his face. And Azriel...

Azriel didn't look at her. Not once.

His jaw was tight, posture rigid, gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Shadows clung to him unnaturally still.

Y/N exhaled slowly. "...Well," she said hoarsely. "I suppose you caught me at last." A pause. "I am female."

Silence.

"Yes," Rhysand said calmly. "I know. And I have known this whole time."

All three of them froze in shock.

Cassian whipped his head toward Rhysand. "You--what?"

Even Azriel turned then, eyes flashing in disbelief.

Rhysand sighed lightly. “When you first arrived at the camp, I checked your mind. Without your permission,” he added, glancing at Y/N. “For security reasons. My father taught me to. I saw… everything. Your life. Your escape. Why you were here.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. “Then why didn’t you tell them?” she asked quietly. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Rhysand met her gaze evenly. “Because I knew you would tell them yourself. Or circumstances would force the truth out.” A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “And because it was never my secret to reveal.”

Something in Y/N’s chest loosened, just a little.

Gratitude welled up, sharp and overwhelming. She nodded once, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.

The truth was out.

And nothing--nothing--would ever be the same again.

Y/N drew in a steadying breath.

"For the other two of you," she said quietly, gaze lifting to Cassian first, then--briefly--to Azriel, "who didn't know...let me explain."

Rhysand inclined his head once, giving her the space.

She stared at the tent wall as she began, as if the words were etched there already, waiting to be read.

"I was promised to a male before I ever knew what marriage truly meant," she said. "A political match. Convenient. Beneficial. And everyone told me I should be grateful."

Her fingers tightened in the blankets.

"I knew what he was," she continued. "What men like him do when no one is watching. I knew I would lose everything--my voice, my freedom, my body." A breath shuddered through her. "So, I ran."

Cassian's face softened, all humorous gone.

“I cut my hair,” she said. “Bound my chest until I could barely breathe. I stole clothes too big for me and learned how to walk, how to speak, how to exist as a male.” Her mouth curved in something bitter. “I saw the way the world opened for them. How they’re allowed to be angry. Loud. Reckless. How no one questions their presence...or their worth.”

She finally looked at them.

“I wanted that life. Not for glory. For survival.” Her voice wavered only once. “So, I became Brandon. And I never looked back.”

Silence stretched thick between them.

“I know you might feel anger,” she said softly. “Or betrayal. But you were the only real friendships I’ve ever had. The only place I felt… peace.” Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. “And even if it was brief--those moments meant everything to me. I will always be grateful for them.”

Cassian blinked.

Then he scoffed--not cruelly, but in disbelief--and shook his head. “Are you serious?” he said, stepping closer. “Angry? No. Shocked, yeah. But impressed?” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Absolutely.”

Y/N frowned slightly.

“You survived Illyrian camps,” Cassian went on, voice growing animated. “You fought beside us. You saved our asses more times than I can count. I’ve been yelling at commanders for years that this place needs female warriors, and they never listen.” He gestured at her like she was proof incarnate. “You just proved them all wrong--and they don’t even know it.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “That’s- gods, that’s impressive.”

“Cool,” he added.

Azriel’s head snapped up.

“Cool,” Azriel repeated sharply. “Not cool.” His voice cut through the tent like a blade. “And certainly not something to praise.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop.

“You lied to us,” Azriel said, finally turning toward her fully. His eyes were dark, furious, not with hatred, but with something far more dangerous. “You built an entire false identity. You stood beside us under a name that wasn’t yours.”

Y/N lifted her chin. "I was going to be married off to a man who would've owned me," she said. "Who would've hurt me. Once I escaped, I had nowhere to go, to stay. This camp, as weird as it sounds, was the only place left."

"That doesn't change the fact that we trusted you," Azriel shot back. His voice rose--not shouting, but tight, restrained. "We shared our lives with you. Our histories. I considered you one of us."

"You still can," she said quietly. "I did this to survive."

"You don't get to decide that for us," he snapped.

Her patience finally snapped.

"No. You don't get to decide anything about this," she said, voice fierce now. "You have no idea what it means to be a female in this world. You don't get the right to speak freely. Or choose your future. Or even exist without being owned by someone else."

She held his gaze, unflinching.

"You don't get to be angry at me for doing what I had to do, because you'll never live what I have lived."

Something shifted. Just barely.

Azriel's jaw clenched. His fury faltered--not gone, but fractured. He looked away with a sharp scoff, crossing his arms.

"Whatever," he muttered.

Cassian broke the tension gently. "So," he said, softer now. "What's your real name then?"

"Y/N," she said.

The name settled into the space between them--real, vulnerable, irrevocable.

Rhysand exhaled softly, as if steadying himself.

"We need to get you out of here, Y/N. Before anyone finds out."

The words hit her like a blade.

She swallowed hard, heart plummeting. “Yes,” she said quickly, panic threading her voice. “I know. I- I understand. I’ve committed a vile mistake, and I accept the consequences, I need to be exiled, but please...just give me one day. One day to stand on my feet again and I’ll leave. I swear I won’t cause trouble.”

Rhysand blinked.

“Exiled?” he echoed, genuinely confused. “No. You’re not being exiled.”

She froze.

“I’m getting you somewhere safe,” he continued gently. “I’ve spoken with my mother. We both agreed--you cannot stay in the camps. Not now. Not ever again.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“There is a city in the Night Court,” Rhysand went on, careful with every word. “Far safer than this place. But my father resides there, and while he is just--while he is kind--he is also bound by tradition. If he knew your story, he would feel compelled to punish you. Severely.”

Her hands trembled beneath the blankets.

“So, for now,” Rhysand said, “I’ll send you to the Court of Nightmares. My cousin, Mor, will take care of you there. You will be protected. You won’t have to hide.”

The world tilted.

“You may decide where you wish to go afterward,” he finished. “What life you wish to build. But that choice will be yours.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I- ” Her voice cracked. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to repay you.”

“You don’t,” Rhysand said simply. “You live.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she managed. “I- thank you, truly.”

“I’ll winnow her there.”

Azriel’s voice cut in quietly.

Everyone turned.

He stepped forward, extending a hand, not demanding, not rushed. An offering.

“I’ll make sure she’s settled,” he said, eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “Safely.”

Something unspoken passed between them: regret, shame, understanding. An apology without words.

She felt it.

And she took his hand.

Cassian cleared his throat, then grinned, though his eyes were warm. “Yeah,” he said. “And if anyone gives you trouble until then, I’ll break their legs. Politely.”

A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

For the first time since waking, her chest felt lighter. And for the first time since running, she wasn’t alone.

"...and that happened over four hundred years ago."

Silence.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta stared at Y/N as if she'd just grown two heads.

Then Feyre blinked. Once. Twice. "...Whoa."

Y/N laughed, soft and bright, leaning back against the cushions of the River House sofa. “Yes,” she said. “Whoa.”

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, catching on the Sidra beyond. Time had moved gently here--centuries folding into peace. Elain sat cross-legged on the rug, absently twirling a curl of Nyx’s dark hair around her finger as the boy dozed against her chest.

“And you just- ” Feyre shook her head, grinning in disbelief. “You just became a soldier?”

“A very angry one,” Nesta muttered dryly.

Y/N smirked.

Elain tilted her head, eyes soft. “And… did you and Azriel reconcile fully after that?”

Before Y/N could answer, Nesta snorted. “Obviously. Otherwise why would they be mates right now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile lingered. “It didn’t happen all at once,” she said. “It was… slow. Painfully so. Trust had to be rebuilt, brick by brick. Azriel needed time. I needed patience. And somewhere between shared silences, late-night training, and him learning how to listen instead of brood...” She paused, lips curving. “...things changed.”

Nesta scoffed. “Shocking.”

Feyre laughed and then looked at Nesta. “Well,” she said lightly, “looks like your mate did end up becoming the warrior-commander he once dreamed of being.”

Y/N laughed too, but then her expression softened, something tender and sad settling in her eyes as she looked at Feyre, then at Nyx.

“I just wish you’d met Rhys’s mother,” she said quietly. “And his sister. They were the kindest, most welcoming fae I had ever known.”

A hush fell.

Feyre swallowed. “I know,” she whispered. “Rhys has told me so much about them. But I believe they’re still here--with us.”

Elain hugged Nyx a little closer, smiling gently. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.”

“You’re right about that.”

Azriel’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside.

Y/N barely had time to turn before strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leaned back into him instinctively, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Cassian followed, immediately dropping onto the arm of Nesta’s chair. “Are we telling war stories again? Because if so, I demand a rewrite. I was far more impressive than she made me sound.”

“You praised yourself enough in her version,” Nesta said sweetly.

Rhysand entered last, Feyre rising to meet him as Nyx stirred, murmuring in his sleep.

Laughter filled the room--warm, easy, earned.

Y/N let it wash over her.

Once, she had been a girl running for her life. A soldier hiding behind a borrowed name. A secret wrapped in armor and fear.

Now, she was surrounded by family--chosen and found. By love that had survived lies, war, and time itself.

She caught Azriel’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

If he’s been extra dour lately it’s completely unrelated. He just hasn’t been sleeping well these last few weeks, a stirring feeling swirling in his chest. His mind has been racing more than usual at night—and if it just so happens to be with thoughts of you, it’s only because you’re his friend and he misses your company. He wants what’s best for you, and maybe he’s not convinced this stranger is that.

Trying to blow off any extra steam during training has helped some. Keeping his body moving helps his mind focus on the present.

Cassian agreed to spar with him this morning, and he was grateful. The dance of hand to hand combat is a decent enough distraction from the prickling anxiety that has settled in him.

Azriel channeled his frustrations and let his body move with technique that’s been drilled into him for centuries. Ducking and jabbing, blocking and kicking. Cassian and him have done this routine too many times to count, and he finally started to feel his mind quiet for the first time in weeks.

That was until his shadows carried the sound of your soft laughter to him on the wind as you walked through the threshold of the training ring. It was normally a sound that warmed him, made him feel lighter, but then his shadows whispered a name that had him clenching his jaw. Merek.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed you in your training gear, leaned against the weapons rack in conversation with the male. He leaned in close to you, practically caging you in with his domineering stature. He said something to you that had you laughing again and Azriel suddenly felt hot all over, a sour taste in his mouth.

Distracted, Cassian was able to gain the upper hand, sweeping his leg and pinning him to the ground with a triumphant grin.

“Ha! That’s one to zero,” he gloated.

Azriel grumbled and pushed himself up, ignoring his brother's boasting. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed two swords, tossing one to Cassian before taking his stance.

“Again,” Azriel simply demanded. Your presence on the other side of the room glinted at him enticingly, but he refused to take in the sight of you at your company’s side. Cassian twirled the long blade before assuming his own stance, glancing at the pair against the wall.

“Whatever helps, brother,” he said knowingly.

Azriel answered by lunging at him. Cassian was quick to parry his blade, the two entering a dance of a different kind, the steel an extension of the two seasoned warriors.

With each burst of laughter that reached his ears he moved faster, jabbing and swiping his blade with a vengeance. Sweat beaded down his face, dark waves stuck to his forehead as he threw himself into the motions.

If anyone was a match for Azriel’s manic sparring, it was Cassian. He kept up well, his own riposte enough to push Azriel back a few steps before he was able to advance again.

With his tension and ire, Azriel was getting sloppy. No longer relying on technique, but allowing his emotions to guide his sword as each coy word you exchange with the male chipped away at his resolve.

A particularly breathless giggle caused Azriel to falter, failing to block a simple lunge from Cassian. Cassian’s blade sliced into Azriel’s shoulder, pulling back as quick as it had pierced, but the damage was done.

Azriel hissed, his sword clattering to the ground loudly as he recoiled from the pain. The metallic tang of blood filled the air as it began spilling from the wound. He brought his wrapped palm up to the site, trying to stifle the flow with gritted teeth.

Cassian cursed and discarded his own sword before stepping toward him, “Brother I’m sorry, I thought you saw it”

“Yeah, well I didn’t,” Azriel snapped.

Before he could process it, you were at his side, brows pinched in worry. He hadn’t even realized the room had fallen silent of your chatter.

You placed a soft hand on his other shoulder, “Az are you alright?”

His shoulders dropped slightly at the sound of your voice, his perpetual glare from the past few weeks softening as his eyes found yours. Your brows were pinched together as you checked him over in concern and he couldn’t help but to melt under your gaze.

It felt like an eternity since he’s seen you face to face, you’ve been too busy with the healer and Azriel had been keeping busy to avoid the sight.

Your familiar scent washed over him at your arrival and he leaned towards your touch without thinking, wanting to take in as much of you as he could get. A few shadows swirled at your feet.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “just a scratch is all.” He spoke gently. You were so close there was no need to speak any louder.

“A scratch, sure,” you tsked, “let me see.”

Only because it was you and you were speaking with that soft tone that always made his mind go fuzzy, he removed his hand to let you see the cut. Instantly, blood continues to flow from the gash and you grimace.

Azriel couldn’t even find it in himself to be concerned over the accident. If anything he was almost thankful Cassian hadn’t pulled his jabs if it meant seeing you this close, and your sole attention was always such a treat. He found himself wishing he was injured in training more often if this was his reward.

“Looks pretty deep, maybe you should get it checked out,” you suggested.

“I’ve had worse,” he said with a soft smile, only for you. You huffed like the thought bothered you and his chest fluttered at your concern.

“Alright big strong Illyrian,” you teased, not noticing the way he almost preened at the words. “but maybe you should have Merek take a look just in case.”

The name was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head. He straightened, slipping on the stoic mask he always wore, withdrawing from your closeness. Your brows pulled together at the sudden shift in atmosphere, lips parting to speak, but were cut off before you could.

“No problem, let’s have a look,”

All of Azriel’s frustrations came rushing back at the sound of the smug voice. Merek sauntered over to the two of you. Azriel let his wings spread slightly and his chest puffed out subconsciously at your side as the male approached. He faintly registered Cassian’s amused oh Mother from somewhere in the room.

Merek, clueless or cocky as he was, reached out to assess the wound on his shoulder, fingertips glowing gold with his healing magic. Azriel swiped his hand away harsher than necessary before he could touch him.

“I don’t need your help,” Azriel seethed.

Merek blinked, seeming to finally register the anger coursing off the shadowsinger in waves. He raised his hand in surrender, shooting you a look Azriel didn’t understand. He almost seemed pleased with Azriel’s reaction—like it answered something for him. You only shook your head so subtly he would have missed the movement if it weren’t for his shadows.

Clearly this was some joke to the two of you. Azriel clenched his jaw at the thought. You and Merek talking about him and laughing at his infatuation with you. Maybe he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. He almost felt sick at the thought, swallowing harshly to rid the lump forming in his throat.

You reached out to place a comforting hand on his good shoulder, but he quickly turned and rushed away. He didn’t need your pity, which was clearly all this had been. You were with someone else and only saw him as a friend—nothing more. The sting of this realization burned through him, drowning out the throbbing of his shoulder. At least it had stopped bleeding. Embarrassed, Azriel headed to his room to tend to his wounds—emotional and physical.

He never let himself consciously hope you would ever share his affections as more than a friend. Azriel never even admitted to himself what he felt for you was anything more than the love he feels for all of his family, but today had peeled back his skin and undeniably what was left at his core was you. How he wants you, needs you, loves you. He can’t stand to see you with that healer, not because he doesn’t think he’s good for you, but because it’s him you should be with.

This inner realization reached Azriel as he made it to his bedroom door. He paused in front of the entrance, his mind and heart racing with what he just admitted to himself. Pathetic. He has been completely pathetic. Everyone—including you—has seen it but him.

Everyone has been pitying him because you’re with someone and they have caught on to his feelings for you before even he knew about them.

Gods, this was humiliating. He dropped his head against the wood with a hard thud, standing in the hall with his shadows swirling around him just as his thoughts were.

“Azriel,”

He bristled at the sound of your voice, too consumed in his own thoughts to hear your approach or any warning his shadows may have whispered to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked him again.

“I told you I’m fine,” he replied shortly, but not meanly. You truly haven’t done anything wrong, it’s not your fault you don’t love him. He just needed space to process things and learn to accept his unrequited feelings. It was hard to do that when the fae he wanted most was right in front of him, and being so sweet too. He already felt his skin stitching itself back together.

“I’m not talking about your shoulder,” you said.

He slowly lifted his head from the door, facing you. Your arms were crossed against your chest and you looked at him knowingly. He swallowed thickly.

“Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean then,” he feigned confusion.

“I mean how you almost bit Merek’s hand off back there? Or how you completely shut down on me?” you pressed.

Cauldron boil me, he thought. What was he supposed to say? Sorry I just realized I’m in love with you and probably always have been and I can’t stand to see you with someone else? No, that’s ridiculous and a sure way to get you to never speak to him again.

“I…” he started, but he was floundering. You looked at him expectantly. “…am just tired,” he said haltingly.

“Tired.” You deadpanned. He nodded. “I don’t believe you,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

His mouth opened and closed, trying–and failing–to defend his weak excuse. In all the years he has known you he’s never known you to be so confrontational, and he's never been at such a loss for words. You were locked in a standoff.

“Do you know what I think?” you prompted after a moment.

He felt his scarred hands begin to sweat. He was trapped and couldn’t find a way out of the situation. Azriel wasn’t sure how he ended up cornered here, his mind too dizzy with new revelations. He only looked at you in response, his shadows melted into the nooks of his taught wings, to watch with bated breaths.

“I think," you stepped forward speaking lowly, "you don't like Merek very much," your eyes were scrutinizing as they searched his face and you took another step closer, head tilted back to peer up at him. You were only a breath away, your warmth wrapped around him and filled his senses with your addictive scent. His body leaned in without a thought, gaze drawn to your plush lips that were so close, his own parted absentmindedly, begging to taste you. Your voice was a husky whisper when you spoke again, "tell me why, Azriel."

He wet his lips, head craning down to taste your breath as you breathed the words. His throat felt dry when he finally admitted, "because you shouldn’t be with him."

His body was locked, forfeiting any movement in case it shattered whatever dream world he certainly entered, one where he could possibly have you all to himself. His mind was hazy, so close to tasting what he’s secretly always desired. You didn’t say anything and the hallway was dead silent. The corner of your mouth twitched and your own eyes dropped to his mouth momentarily before meeting his eyes again.

"and who should I be with?" you prompted.

His heart was pounding and his mind could only produce the truth. He sucked in a sharp breath before his exhale formed the word, “me.”

He waited. He waited for the disgust and the scoff that was sure to follow his confession. How could he think he was worthy of loving you? And yet…he was certain he was the only one who could—the only one who was meant to.

Only it didn’t come.

“So what are you going to do about it?” your eyes sparkled.

Azriel acted before he could talk himself out of it, before he could wake up from this dream he’s certain he’s had before. His hands came up to cradle the side of your neck and he leaned down to close the short distance between you. Your lips were warm and soft and addicting as you pressed up on your toes and kissed him back. He couldn’t get enough. Your plush lips parted for him and when your tongue slid across his he nearly groaned, thumbs caressing your jaw as the kiss deepened. If it were up to Azriel, he would kiss you forever, but you both needed to breathe.

You broke apart, foreheads resting together as you caught your breath. His eyes were closed in bliss, your hands gently touching his wrists where he held you, but they fluttered open at the sound of your breathless laughter to see his shadows had returned and they twisted and swirled around your embrace, a few dancing through your hair.

“For a spymaster you’re not very bright,” you teased and he scoffed, brows furrowing. “I am not with Merek and I don’t wish to be.”

He blinked in surprise, “I just thought—you’ve been spending so much time together,” he murmured.

“Yes, as friends. I know him from my brief travels through Dawn and Rhys asked me to make him feel welcome in our court,”

“Rhys asked you that?” he repeated and you nodded, an amused smile on your face. He took a deep breath, head shaking in astonishment. “Of course he did,” he concluded.

You laughed, “Gods, I would’ve gone on walks with someone else ages ago if that was all it took!” He rolled his eyes as your teasing.