gwyneth supremacy

Azriel rolled off you, landing on the empty spot next to you in the bed. You looked over to him, catching your breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching yours. His eyes met yours, and you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks, as if he was a small crush in the marketplace rather than someone who had just made you see the heights of pleasure.

“Had fun?” You asked, a smile creeping up on your face.

He looked over at you, rolling his eyes.

”Wonderful, as always.” He teased. His eyes trailed over the length of your body, covered only by a thin layer of your sheets. The sunlight of the late morning crept in from your balcony window, illuminating the twinkle in his eyes. You had to look away, entranced by the beauty of him. Here, in your bed. Lying here with him like this, it was easy to pretend. The world narrowed to the two of you in this room, together. Here, your past no longer haunted you, there was no trauma, no secrets, no pain. If you closed your eyes and focused on the way his bare arm brushed yours and the breathing from right beside you, it was as if all was as you imagined.

“I have a light workload today. I was thinking I could take Elain to the marketplace, or through the River House’s garden for a walk.”

The cocoon shattered. For just a moment, your breath caught in your throat, and a surge of shame and embarrassment rushed through you, down to your fingertips. Quickly, you grabbed a hold of yourself.

“Are you…sure that’s a good idea?” You asked, trepidation heavy in your tone.

“Why not? I’ve been busy recently. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he justified. “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”

Ugly jealousy coursed through you, and you had the sudden urge to be alone.

You took a deep breath, willing your racing heart to control itself. “It’s just that Lucien will be in the city for dinner in two days.”

Defensiveness filled his expression, and you feared that perhaps you had made a mistake.

“So?” he started. “I’m not afraid of Lucien, Y/N.”

“I know that, but he’ll likely want to see her. You don’t want to start anything. Rhys will be unhappy. Maybe wait until after his visit.”

“Why are you being like this?” He asked. “Lucien can’t force her into anything, and I’m not going to refrain from seeing her just because of her so-called ‘mate’ visiting.”

You forced a teasing tone into your voice, trying to keep the mood light in spite of the knot in your stomach. “Az, he is her mate.”

He was silent for a moment, contemplation heavy in his voice. He rolled over onto his side, facing you. His wings shifted, and the sheet covering him from the waist down moved slightly. You forced your eyes up to meet his.

“What if…what if the Cauldron was wrong? What if he isn’t her true mate?”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Azriel.”

“I know. I know what you’re going to say, Y/N. But I just can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve her. She’s a Cauldron-made seer. He’s just an emissary.”

That sent a jolt through you. Just an emissary. In the logical part of your brain, you already knew that you weren’t necessarily special. At least, not in comparison to your chosen family in the Night Court. Feyre the Cursebreaker. Lady Death. The Shadowsinger. The Seer. And you were just an emissary. To your home court of Day that you once fled in fear, no less. You tried not to let that comment simmer in your brain for any longer.

“Doesn’t it make sense that she should be with someone else, someone who’s as exceptional as her?” he continued on. “She deserves better.”

He didn’t even seem to notice the effect those words had on you, the shock they sent through your system. For someone so observant, he never seemed to notice such things about you. Not with the comment he made, and certainly not with the fact that he was lying naked next to you, lamenting about his desire for another woman. You used to think him lowering his inhibitions so fully around you was a sign of his comfort. His innate relaxation in your presence, reflecting your own feelings. Recently, you’ve wondered if it was just a manifestation of how little he cared.

But Azriel loved you. If not in the way you’d hoped for, then as a friend. As a member of this family.

Didn’t he?

”Azriel, she has a mate.”

“I know that, but…”

“But nothing, Az,” you stressed. “You may want her, but it’s not a mating bond.”

Azriel remained still, but his wings shifted slightly. A tell of his exasperation. You always knew of his tells. You knew him better than anyone.

“Y/N, you wouldn’t understand. Mating bonds are difficult,” he sighed. “I should go.”

Azriel shifted up into sitting, silently as ever. The mattress dipped slightly as he turned his back to you, his wings dragging off to the side of your bed. He stood, and the emptiness of the other side of the bed was reflected in your chest.

“You’re right,” you said quietly.

But you knew about mating bonds. Knew them quite well, really. You knew what a mating bond felt like when a mate didn’t want you, and you felt for Lucien. He would take Elain any way he could have her, just as you did for your mate. Even if it hurt, even if it left your insides bleeding and yearning.

He paused his motions just slightly, as if sensing the poorly masked fatigue in your voice. Your gaze fixed on the sheets twisted between your fingers, unable to look up at his form moving about your space.

”I’ll see you later. Family dinner, tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Right. See you then.”

_____

You couldn’t really pinpoint when it started. The physical affair between you and Azriel had been unexpected, and you didn’t know exactly what it stemmed from. Loneliness, maybe. At first, you held out a little bit of hope that it would grow into something else.

“You’re not being serious, you did not.”

“I am not. I spilled wine all over him. It was mortifying!” You burst out laughing, and Azriel followed suit, the drinks flowing between you.

The two of you sat in the House’s study, illuminated only by the hearth in front of the room. The untethered mating bond hummed in your chest, filling you wholly with warmth. On a night like this, laughing with him sitting so close, it almost seemed silly to keep it a secret from him. He felt like home. Like the two of you belonged.

“I’m lucky that the High Lord of Day is such a flirt. He took no offense, and instead offered that I assist in bathing him.”

Azriel let out a barking laugh, inhibitions down in a way that made your cheeks heat. “Of course.”

The laughs died down, and for a moment the two of you just stared at each other, smiles lingering on your face. You couldn’t recall who moved first, but after another breath his mouth was on yours, and his hands wandered in places he had never dared touch before.

Through the haze of it all, a spark of joy burst within you. The mating bond sung within you, and fulfillment took over you in a way you’d never known before. It was happening, you’d thought. Finally.

Afterwards, the two of you lay in his bed, your head on his bare chest. His wing was underneath you, and warmth engulfed you from the tips of your fingers to your toes.

He was with you, and he was happy. It was an unconventional start to a relationship, but nothing about you and Azriel had ever been normal.

“I’m glad we can be like this, Y/N. Some…relief. No strings.”

Something within you broke, and the warmth of the mating bond grew cold.

“What are you thinking about?” A voice came from behind you, breaking you out of the memory.

You turned in your seat in the House’s kitchen to see Rhys approaching.

“Nothing, really.” You replied, taking a sip of the tea in front of you, Rhys taking a seat in the chair to your left. “Just thinking.”

”Hmm.” The High Lord started. “Does this have anything to do with a certain spymaster escorting my sister-in-law to the marketplace?”

You shot him a warning look. That bastard. “Rhys.”

“You can’t keep it a secret forever, Y/N. It isn’t fair to either of you, and I can only warn him off Elain for so long.”

Rhys learning of your mating bond had been a freak incident, the result of him catching onto a longing gaze last Solstice. He had agreed to keep it a secret, and to let you deal with it in your own way. You’ve had more than your share of men taking choice from you, and Rhys was not inclined to add to that list.

However, that didn’t stop him from meddling. He took every opportunity to encourage you to shout your bond from the rooftops, whether mentally at family dinners or through surprise check-ins. More recently, he had been more active in his intervention, barring Azriel from pursuing Elain. He claimed it was to prevent the Blood Duel. But from the moment Azriel relayed those events to you, you had seen right through it.

“I do not need you to warn him off Elain for me, Rhys. A mating bond will hardly change who he wants.”

“How do you know that?” Rhys stressed. “It can change everything. He deserves to know.”

The two of you have this conversation at least once every fortnight. It always ended the same way.

“Things would not change, and there is no point burdening him with a mating bond he will surely abhor.”

”It is not a burden. And you must know Azriel would never see you that way. It is a gift, to be mated to someone who is already so dear to your heart. One kiss, Y/N, could change everything.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. Letting the silence sit for a moment, you prepared yourself before speaking again.

“We have…done more than kiss.”

A beat passed between the two of you, before you spilled the details of the last eight months to Rhys, who watched with poorly contained shock. His eyes sat wide, and his mouth hung open. For the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, one could observe his ability to resemble a fish.

“This has been going on for nearly eight months,” Rhys repeated slowly, “And still he chases after Elain so brazenly?”

”He has never led me to believe this would grow into a romance. Any hopes are my delusion.”

Rhys covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh, “It is not delusion. It is a natural response to a mating bond.”

“Perhaps, Rhys. But there is nothing I can do.”

Your fingers curled around the warm porcelain of your teacup.

“Nothing I wish to do,” you corrected, tone softening. “I do not want a mating bond that exists solely because he feels obligated to me.”

”You cannot truly believe that Azriel would see you as an obligation.”

”I think,” you said, “that if the Mother had some plan for him to joyously accept our mating bond, he would not leave my bed in the mornings with plans to pursue another female.”

—-

Family dinner was delicious, as always.

The aroma of perfectly roasted lamb and beautifully seasoned potatoes lingered throughout the River House, as empty plates signalled a meal well-enjoyed. Elain’s cooking was wonderful, but an ugly part of you couldn’t help but feel the weight of envy taking root in your chest.

Is there anything she can’t do?

Around the table sat you, Rhys, Amren, Cassian, Feyre, and Mor. Wine flowed generously as you discussed plans for a meeting with Lucien and Eris tomorrow. As a fellow Court emissary, you would be in attendance, so you did your best to focus on Rhys’ talking points despite the wine buzzing in your system. Luckily, your two most likely distractions were not here. Elain had excused herself to bed hours ago, and Azriel had left just moments ago to recon with some spies he had placed in Autumn. The table felt lighter without them here. All night, you had sat through Azriel sitting to the right of you, staring holes through Elain. It had been an effort not to burst out sobbing right there in front of everyone.

Recently, that had become a familiar feeling.

After seemingly hours of listening to Rhys drone on, making mental notes for later, you excused yourself to your room. You opted to crash at the River House, too weary to winnow to the House of Wind. Besides, you figured that a change of scenery might do some good. A futile attempt to chase the peace that had evaded you all week.

It didn’t matter that you’d be down the hall from Elain. You had no reason to be angry with her. Not really. She didn’t control Azriel’s overwhelming indifference to you. If he wasn’t focused on her, it would be Mor. Or someone else who met his standards. Someone special and outstanding and worthy.

Just an emissary.

Walking down the halls of the River House, you pondered on a future for yourself. Would you spend the rest of your life pining after a man who would never view you romantically? Would you ever tell him about the bond, wrecking a 200 year friendship and tying him to you in a way that could only lead to his misery?

The thoughts ruminated in your head until you heard the unmistakable rumble of Azriel’s voice.

Soft and low. Gentle in the way he speaks to you when you lay beneath him and you could pretend.

You looked up, eyes setting upon a slightly ajar door, moonlight filtering through.

Azriel’s room.

Your feet moved before your brain caught up to you. Rushing towards the doorway, you stood in the space of the open door before you truly knew what was happening. There stood Azriel and Elain, his arms just barely grazing upon her waist. They stood close, lips about to touch in a stance that you had been in with him just two nights prior.

Something was tearing in your chest. You tried to keep quiet.

But Azriel was an observant male. It was his job. Maybe not in the sanctuary of your bed, but certainly when he was tasked with protecting something as precious as Elain. His head snapped towards you in the doorway as if a fawn coming upon a faelight. His eyes widened slightly as he met yours.

The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and the sight of them made your own vision blur with sudden tears. And all Azriel did was stare.

One moment he stood frozen, his form blurry through your watery vision. The next, he jumped back from Elain as if her touch had burned him. His gaze never left yours, though his expression shifted to something raw, something almost terrified. It was a jarring change, especially for a male so stoic and controlled. Some instinct deep within you recognized the strangeness of his expression.

His shadows surged forward from the corner of the room, wrapping around his form. They curled up his back, peering over his shoulders towards you. His gaze never left yours, and Elain’s eyes shot rapidly between the two of you, confusion painting her beautiful face.

It was then that you felt it. A tug deep within your chest, reaching down into a place that you knew all too well. Something strong and ancient thrumming within you. Light surged in your soul. Never in your life had you imagined a fulfillment like this. As if the centuries of your life had been black and white, and now you’d seen the colors of the sky for the first time.

The sensation flooded your body, bright and overwhelming, dimmed only by the absolute fear and shock that spread throughout your body. The look on Azriel’s face matched the war happening within you.

Oh gods. He knew. He knew.

Another tug pulled through you. Then another. The silence of the room was overwhelming, and you willed him to say something. To get it over with. To reject you. To end it. But all he did was stare.

“Y/N,” he rasped out, voice heavy. “You…”

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bear the words he would inevitably say. The disgust he would regard you with.

The bond tugged once more in your chest. Azriel’s wide, wild eyes were on you.

You turned and ran.

—-

Two weeks.

You’d successfully avoided Azriel for two weeks before the inevitable confrontation. For his part, he had stayed away from your meeting with Lucien and Eris. Immediately afterward, you had left for Dawn to meet with Thesan. An emergency alliance negotiation.

In your mind, it was a blessing from the Mother. Perhaps a small act of repentance after the stunt she pulled revealing the bond to Azriel.

The journey back to Velaris felt far heavier than the one that had taken you away. Dawn had been bright, orderly, predictable. Everything that Velaris couldn’t be until you had settled this with Azriel.

Winnowing to the House of Wind, you headed straight for the kitchen, intending to grab a cup of tea and hide away in your room.

”You’re back.” The voice came from behind you.

The male had an innate talent for silence.

Mother help me.

You took a slow breath, then another. It was time, you supposed. You turned to look at him, wanting to memorize the exact details of his beautiful face. Once he rejects you, would you ever see him this closely again? Could you bear it?

“I’m back,” you said, keeping your voice light, moving towards the kettle on the counter.

Azriel stared at you intently, unspoken emotion deep within his eyes. As if he too, had been anticipating this moment. Dreading it.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with everything that had gone unsaid for two weeks. His eyes stayed heavy on you.

He finally broke the silence, tension laden in his voice. “You knew. Didn’t you?”

Your eyes slid shut “I did. I’ve known for almost a hundred years.”

The memory hit you hard.

“How’s the lemonade?” Azriel asked, taking a sip of his own in the chair across for you.

“You were right, this is delicious. Best I’ve ever tasted,” you took another sip of the sweet liquid, “How did I not know about this place?”

“It’s one of Velaris’ many hidden gems. You could live here for years and not know of every treat.”

“Well, I suppose I have much to learn.”

A laugh burst out of him, and you his eyes. It was full and deep and brought heat to your cheeks. His large form, wings brushing along the floor, seemed almost comical in this small, intimate cafe. For a moment, you just watched him. His beauty.

Warmth filled you, and you felt something snap within your chest. Like a key slotting into a lock, something had slid into place within your soul. Your mouth dropped open slightly, and all you could do was blink.

“You ok?” He teased. “Missing the Day Court?”

Your hands trembled slightly from the shock of the revelation. “I’m fine. Just…enjoying the lemonade.”

You gazed up at him, and his expression held shock, betrayal, a hint of anger. “A hundred years? You have known of this for that long?”

You nodded once, fixing your gaze somewhere over his shoulder.

Azriel leaned back slightly, as if the distance might help him process what you had just said. If anything, it only heightened the tension between you two.

“I-” he paused, swallowing before continuing. “Why have you not told me, Y/N?”

“I wanted to, at first. I didn’t wish for you to be disappointed, I suppose.”

He gawked. “Disappointed?” He took two steps closer to you, a smile barely there on his face. “Y/N, I am far from disappointed. I am…elated. But I cannot understand why you’ve hidden this so long.”

Your breath stopped. He took another step toward you. You tried to calm the panic in your brain. This is not what you were expecting. Not how you’d envisioned this moment at all.

”You don’t understand?” You parroted, a mocking tone creeping into your voice. He stood so close to you now you could see the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw.

Something soft crept into his voice. “You truly believe that I would be disappointed to learn that the Mother chose you for me?”

Your laugh came out brittle. Disbelief flooded through you at his words. “The Mother may have chosen me for you, but you have never chosen me, Azriel.”

”What?”

You laughed again. Surely, anyone walking by would think you mad.

”When this bond snapped for you, you were ready to kiss another female, Azriel!”

”So this is about Elain?” He exhaled slowly. “Y/N, that was a misunderstanding. I believe she might be my mate.”

”She has a mate!” You were shouting now, your voice rising despite yourself. An overflow of emotions betraying you. In the past, you’d always thought this moment would be defined by his anger, his emotions towards such a disappointing pairing by the Mother.

“I understand the timing was awful. I’m sorry.”

”You’re sorry,” you deadpanned.

Azriel shook his head, speaking slowly. “I know…I know that I have failed you in many ways. And I can understand why you wouldn’t have told me.”

He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. It was a stark change from his usual directness. Your hands shook slightly, tears welling up in your eyes.

”Please. Please don’t cry, Y/N.” He sounded desperate, pained.

“So what happens now?” You posed. “Elain is not your mate, which anyone with half a brain could have told you.”

”Now you are my mate. Everything has changed, darling.”

”Don’t call me that.” Gods, why couldn’t you stop the tears? They streaked down your face, staining your cheeks. “Nothing has changed.”

Azriel only gaped at you. “How can you say that? We are mates. Elain does not matter.”

”Doesn’t matter?” It was your turn to stare at him like a fish out of water. “You have no feelings for me. And I am not interested in you pretending to care for me.”

”I- I would not be pretending.” He stuttered.

You stepped back immediately.

“Yes, you would,” you argued, insistence heavy in your tone. “Two weeks ago, you lay with me in bed and told me that you wish to be mated to another!”

You had to shut your eyes before continuing. “Do you think that I don’t know you? I have watched for two centuries how you look at women that you actually want.”

“I want you.”

”Because of the bond,” you shot back.

”No,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t say that.”

A bitter breath escaped you, “What would you have me say, Azriel? For hundreds of years, you have looked at every female but me. And when you finally-“ a sob cut through your words. “When you finally touched me, and I had hope, you broke that trust. Stress relief, isn’t that what you said?”

He flinched at the words. “I did not mean to imply-“

”You implied nothing. You said it quite clearly.”

”I thought you were happy with our…arrangement. You never asked for more.”

”So you assumed that I was happy with just sex while you pined for another?” You let out a scoff at that. You were being petty, you knew. But you found that you didn’t care. This was uncharted territory.

You’d never imagined that you’d be the one with the power in the situation. Here he was, and he seemed as if he wanted you. Desired you. But that couldn’t be right. There was no way. He was only trying to do right by you.

“Azriel,” you continued, “You have never desired me romantically. Physically, clearly. But do not stand here and lie to me.”

His shadows peered at you from over his shoulder, and his brow creased slightly with effort. As if he had to work to hold them back from you. “I am not lying to you. I have never lied to you, Y/N.”

“But you still do not love me.”

Azriel huffed. “How can you say that? You are my mate!”

”But you do not love me!” Your voice raised again. “This is why I never told you about the bond.”

”It isn’t like that,” Azriel tried, anguish heavy in his voice. “Please, let’s sit and we can talk about this.”

”There is nothing to talk about.” You sniffled, hand moving to wipe a tear from your cheek. “And we’re stopping our little…arrangement, if it wasn’t clear.”

”Ok,” he nodded, frantically. He moved to take your hands into his. “How about this? We’ll start over. No past.”

You shook your head, sniffling. “No, you don’t understand.”

His expression fractured. “Tell me then. Help me understand how to fix this. We’re mates. And that means something to me, Y/N. It can mean something to both of us. We just need time. I know I was awful to you. And inconsiderate.” He lowered his forehead down to yours, and you felt a tear drop from his cheek to yours. “Let me fix it. I’ll do whatever you want.”

For years, you dreamed of this moment.

”We cannot be together, Azriel. I won’t be your second choice.”

”You would not be my second choice. Never. We are mates.” He stressed.

”But that is the problem,” you stressed. “The bond has chosen me for you. But you would never do so.”

“That isn’t true, Y/N. The Mother has linked us. And that means something to me. We can figure this out.”

Gods, you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face him as he attempted to placate you.

Here was Azriel, a male that you had dreamed of loving you since the day you met him. And now he was telling you he wanted you. As a mate. As a lover.

You broke out of his hold, maneuvering your hands away from him, “I spoke to Rhys before I left for Dawn. I’m moving back to Day.”

He froze. A beat of silence passed between you, then another. “What?”

Tears were still welling in your eyes, made undetectable by the ocean spray. It was all rather dramatic, really—you winnowing to a cliff with the howling wind as your only companion. Perhaps this was why Azriel described his beautiful places with such precision; he was giving you options for when he broke your heart. 

The scene was a blur in your mind. You distantly remembered the empty way your mate looked at you, how his eyes barely grazed past before honing in on her. On Elain. You used to feel licks of jealousy each time you came into contact with the female, but those feelings had long gone. Even now, with your heart beating from your chest, a numbness coating your skin from the cold, you didn’t feel jealousy. You weren’t sure what feeling consumed you. 

Come back. 

Rhysand’s voice was a weak echo in the back of your head. You weren’t far enough from Velaris, apparently. 

We need to talk. Come back. 

And then a pause. 

Please. 

You didn’t feel the need to talk about anything. Your mouth was dry despite the tepid air, your throat aching. 

It’s not what you think.

You fought the urge to slam a wall down in your mind, well aware that Rhysand could break through if he truly wanted to. Your magic had never been very strong. That was probably why Azriel was still in love with Elain. He wanted an equal and had grown tired of spinning pretty lies for you. 

When your feet began to ache from the ragged rocks on the cliffside, you retreated into the dismal-looking forest. The trees were withered with the season and lashed by the unquelled ocean, providing little cover from the wind. It didn’t matter. You slumped against the sturdiest one you could find and sank to the ground, knees by your chin. 

Feyre’s voice would come soon, your High Lady always eager to calm. To fix. You plucked at the material of your dress as it soaked into your knees, considering what it would take for this to be fixed. 

He said he loved her. He held her. You hadn’t had to witness him holding her in years. 

Your love was supposed to be assured, stable. He loved you before the bond, and you loved him even before he fully realized the depth of you. Just before his mission, he had kissed you and promised so many things, as he always did before he left. You knocked your head back against the wavering tree and tried to remember exactly what he had promised all those weeks ago. Maybe a gift from the sea? Or trinkets from Helion’s personal collection? It was impossible to remember; the conversation had felt so commonplace then. 

Some of the anger came next. You found yourself cursing the day you met him, pushing your head further into the soaked bark. If you hadn’t been working that day, perhaps you wouldn’t be feeling this pain now. If he hadn’t walked through the doors to your shop all those years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to play this game with you. 

Most people never met their mate. 

You hadn’t been so lucky. 

“Oh, y/n, you’re drenched.” When Feyre’s voice finally sounded off, it was closer than Rhysand’s. More clear. “Come. Please. At least let me take you somewhere dry.” 

It took another moment for you to realize that Feyre was there, directly in front of you. You winced as you rocked up and met her eyes, your head throbbing from the day. 

Feyre took in the pathetic picture you were sure you displayed. She dropped to her knees in front of you and made a sound that got lost in the wind. “I know,” she hummed, sad. “I’m sorry. Let me take you home.” 

“I don’t want to go back there,” you croaked back. “I can’t—” 

When you couldn’t finish your thought, Feyre considered. She leaned back to sit on her heels and rested her hands in her lap, her hair whistling in the gusts of air. Rain pattered and was consumed by waves. There was nothing she could say. Nothing, except, “He doesn’t know what year it is.” 

~~

“Again.” 

“It is six years past the date you remember, Azriel. You were sent on a mission last month and were supposed to return today. To Mor’s housewarming party. Your mate informed you of it before you left. You spoke to me yesterday through the connection. You confirmed your mission was completed and that you would be home for the party.” 

“My mate?” Azriel breathed out, hands in a prayer over his mouth. You watched him from the crack in the door, how he puffed out a breath and leaned back in the chair, his wings splaying. 

Rhysand remained patient. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Yes.” 

“Not Elain?” 

“Not Elain. I meant what I said before. It has been years since you’ve been with Elain.” 

“The woman who left,” Azriel began, your hands twitching at your sides at his mention of you. “She’s Mor’s friend. She owns the shop by the rainbow.” 

Your gaze flickered to Rhysand. He eyed the door briefly before raising his brows. “She is. And she does.” 

“My shadows call for her. They—they’re very… upset,” Azriel revealed, his face pressed into near-permanent confusion. 

Rhyand offered a hum in response, but Azriel had always been more perceptive than the rest, more clever. You watched his head shake slightly, his fingers curled as they rested in fists on his knees. 

“It’s her, isn’t it? She’s my mate.” 

You left then, unwilling to face his reaction to the news. You weren’t supposed to be listening, anyway. Feyre only allowed your trip through the House so you could get a glass of water. She had been hovering, otherwise, obviously cautious with Azriel in the same building. 

She shouldn’t have brought you here. 

You should have stayed on the side of that bleak cliff. 

It became clear why she brought you the moment you set foot inside, the calm that washed over you healing some of the ache. Traitorous mating bonds didn’t quite care when your life was falling apart, only that you were near to each other. That calm was just about undone now; the conflict raging on Azriel’s face was enough to make you sick.

You pressed down the hall with your water shaking in your hand, taking slow steps to have some time to yourself. Azriel had not betrayed you. He did love Elain, but he did not betray you. The two were not mutually exclusive to your tender heart, even with the state your mate was in—if he was still your mate. The bond echoed in your chest, not feeling closed, but feeling incomplete. If you focused on it too hard, the feeling caused you to hyperventilate.

He loved Elain. He did not love you. He did not even remember you. 

Sickness edged its way into your throat. 

Six years ago, Azriel had only barely met you. It was another year before the two of you fell in love, and then another year and a half before the bond appeared. Those years had been filled with joy and the feeling of falling, but they had also been rife with insecurities and a back-and-forth pull. Azriel’s feelings for Elain had not simply disappeared when he met you, and you had not been ready for a relationship with an unsure man. 

None of that mattered now. All of that progress, the years of loving him, were all… gone. 

Rhys… he hasn’t looked yet. After we calmed Az down enough to figure out what was going on, he went into the surface of his mind—what he usually keeps open for us to see—and he said it was static. Like he wasn’t conscious. He didn’t want to look further without knowing more. And then we asked him for the date and… 

You mulled over Feyre’s explanation from earlier. Everyone had been so angry at Azriel, yelling at him and demanding explanations from a man with only a half-conscious brain. Elain had gently pushed him away the moment you left the party, expecting her own set of explanations. You missed that part. In your memory, she had melted into him, eager for his touch. 

Apparently, neither you nor Azriel had reliable memories. 

“Excuse me?” 

You startled, the cup slipping from your fingers. Shattering glass and splashes of water followed. Your flinch was more exaggerated than anticipated, the sound of Azriel’s voice sending you into a panic. You stepped back and jolted, hearing crunching and then a rushed warning that you didn’t have time to follow. You turned, and there he was. 

Azriel had his hand raised, his mouth parted from his call. He was staring down at your feet, but remained rooted in place despite the worry that flickered across his features. When his eyes flashed up to meet yours, a chill overtook you. You looked at him, and there was no connection. You loved him, yes, but the bond was stunted. Looking at him hurt. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Were you alright? What a question to ask you. After he witnessed your breakdown just hours prior, you almost considered that he might be mocking you. 

“Um, yes,” you eventually stammered out, hands clutching at the nightgown Feyre had wrapped you in. 

“Your feet,” Azriel pointed out. “You’re bleeding. Let me help.” 

He took a step forward, and you took one back. 

“Wait, don't!” 

It was too late. Again. More broken glass was crushed beneath your feet, the feeling of it barely registering. That was probably a bad sign. You were too focused on getting away from the husk of your mating bond to care. 

“Oh,” you breathed, staring down at the wet crimson staining the marbled floors. 

Azriel let out a hurried sound that barely rose above the ringing in your ears. You had begun to feel lightheaded as you looked down, blinking harshly to clear your mind. It didn’t work. 

“Here,” Azriel offered. You caught his hand reaching out in your blurred peripheral. “Step over. I can—” 

He stopped when you finally found the stability to look up. Your eyes were wet again, craters of shallow water that you couldn’t control. It hurt to look at him. 

Azriel stared back with intentionality. He seemed to flinch, glancing again at your feet, before wetting his lips and nodding towards his outstretched hand. “Let me help you.” 

“I can—I can do it,” you whispered. He probably thought you were insane. He had no memory of you, and now you were bleeding and whispering in the hallway. 

“Please,” Azriel pressed, speaking so softly you could let the tears fall. 

You couldn’t meet his eye as you took his hand, instead focusing down at the mess you had created. Azriel guided you past the broken glass and began to assess. He took in a breath and leaned back to look at you, but when his shadows only swarmed your feet, he nodded to himself, glancing up to meet your gaze. You had already been staring. Memorizing him, maybe, unsure when you would be this close again. 

“We should get you sitting down. There could be glass in your feet, and it shouldn’t heal over like that.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing the tears to remain in your waterline. “Feyre could—” 

“I’d like to be the one to help you,” Azriel interrupted, eyes roving over the planes of your face. 

“Why?” you whispered back. 

He flinched again, tilting his head as if searching for something. Some of the numbness had left you, a dull throb echoing in your heel. You bit harder into your cheek, and Azriel caught it. He reached down to your hands and placed them on his shoulders, giving you the chance to redistribute your weight. You took it, desperate to touch him. 

“I thought—I thought maybe I would feel it. If we were close,” Azriel said into the space between you. He furrowed his brows, and his head shook so slightly. “But I don’t. I don’t—I’m sorry. Were you told—” 

“That you don’t remember me?” you finished for him. “Yes.” 

“I do remember you. I do. But from before. You only just met Mor. I’ve only spoken to you twice.” 

You shifted your jaw to accommodate the burning in your nose, tears finally escaping down your cheeks. You clutched at Azriel’s leathers and stared up at the ceiling. “Right,” you affirmed. “That’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” 

“Rhys is going to try… to fix it.” 

You pressed your lips together and shut your eyes for a moment. “Do you want to fix it?” 

“Of course—”

“Or do you want Elain?” 

A pause. An ugly one. That wasn’t fair, but anger was mingling with the sorrow within you, and you kept seeing him hold her. You had been through all of this already, had similar conversations with Azriel years ago when you were still learning about each other. It was a cruel joke that met you today, watching Azriel’s expression shift into a yearning that wasn’t meant for you. 

“You have to understand,” he breathed out, gaze tracking out. “To me, we are—we’re together. I—I love her.” 

The admittance was like a knife to the heart. He had been talking to Rhys when he said it before. Now, he was talking to you, telling you that he was in love with another. It didn’t matter that he was living in the past; your mate was standing before you, telling you that he did not know you. That he did not love you. 

You nodded as more tears fell, your throat closing from the emotion. “I understand completely. I was there the first time. I know your relationship quite well.” 

Azriel tsked, expression pinched. “She told me that it isn’t like that anymore. When you left earlier, she told me that she doesn’t love me. She told me and I still—” 

You couldn’t listen to this. Azriel was distraught in his consideration, mulling through the discrepancies of his memory and the current. A sob worked its way up your throat, and you covered your mouth with your fingers, falling back on your injured feet to create distance. You couldn’t listen to this. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Azriel shook his head, reaching for you again as you stepped away. “Let me help you, still. I shouldn’t have—I don’t know how to do this. Please forgive me.” 

“I can’t—” you choked out, pulling and tugging at the empty space within you. “I can’t be around you. I need to—I have to leave.” 

“No, I’ll stop. I won’t talk about her. Your feet. You can’t walk,” Azriel rushed out, taking careful steps to match each of your backtracks. 

But he wanted to talk about her. It was his instinct. The conversation had led so easily to the woman he loved, and that hadn’t been you. For the first time in years, it hadn’t been you. Another sob ripped from your throat, your feet crying out as you quickened your pace and went to turn down the hall. 

“Please—”

Azriel’s call was interrupted, Feyre gasping as she rounded the corner. She took hurried steps towards the scene, glancing down at the glass and vanishing it with a flick of her wrist. She looked to your feet next, the way you were tinted with tears. Feyre gathered your face in her hands and shook her head as you cried. 

“What happened?” she worried. “I thought you went to the kitchen?” 

You couldn’t talk anymore, all words wasted on the shadowsinger at your back. You watched Feyre send a searching look over your shoulder, and she shook her head again, this time with more resolve. Your High Lady gathered you into her side and cooed reassurances that you didn’t hear. You felt her magic wrap around your feet, and the hallway remained silent as she guided you away. 

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

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

The thought made Azriel laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mor!”

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

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

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

“He’s very kind.”

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

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

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

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

—-

Speaking of foolishness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I just–” 

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

“What is this?” She blurted out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to laugh–“

“Azriel, get off of me.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course I enjoy being with you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

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

“Why can’t you answer my question?”

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

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

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

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

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

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

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

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

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

He knew what he had to do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need some time.”

“Get out.”

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

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

“Get out!”

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

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

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

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

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

——- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She remembered his rejection, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you on about?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Feyre demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Attraction?” She whispered in disbelief. 

“Oh my god.” Cassian breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not- I didn’t mean to-”

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

“That’s not-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, there was no time to self-pity. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pity. It was pity, surely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. That would be best.” 

“I’ll walk you back then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Azriel.” 

~~

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

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

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

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

The thought grated on you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

“Responsibility,” Azriel repeated.

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

“Such as?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Of course not.” 

“You’re avoiding me.” 

“I’m not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad you’re back then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Sorry, Cass, I’m not free either. I’m going on a date.”

You wait for the kiss, the rumble of his voice and the whisper of his breath as lips form the words I love you.

He never says it.

His back faces yours and never once does he reach for you in his slumber. “Is everything alright?” You muster up the bravery to ask the following morning, sheets gripped near your chest like armor as you watch him strap the holsters for his weapons against his back and thighs.

“Fine.”

Even inch of you wants to believe him but his words are short, clipped; utterly uninterested. “Are you sure?”

His mouth purses, parts, closes again as if he’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to word it. “Everything’s alright—just distracted is all.”

Your head nods robotically, hearing but not believing. “You hungry? I can make you something before you go.”

“No need. I have plans.”

He doesn’t stay to watch the way your face falls. Doesn’t linger for a kiss or to brush pillow-mussed hair out of your face. Cassian’s gone before your lungs can even complete the process of a full breath.

You try to brush it off. To busy yourself with fixing the sheets, fluffing pillows and tidying up the space you share. But, instead of finding peace, your cleaning becomes obsessive; reorganizing the closets, shining shoes and sifting through the clutter in bedside drawers.

You don’t even mean to find it—you have no intention of snooping but the folded piece of parchment finds you anyway, catching on the bracelet dangling from your wrist and slicing at the soft skin beneath it. “Ow,” You hiss, inspecting a cut so shallow blood doesn’t even draw. Not until your focus shifts back to the crumpled paper that was shoved in the shadows.

Any comfort you’d accumulated promptly burns to ashes when you read its contents. The hope you’d latched onto smashes like glass, littering the space around you in glittering shards as you read Cassian’s blocky scrawl. It’s filled with confessions of a love not meant for you. Addressed to a name that’s not your own.

You’re not even sure when the tears start, just distantly aware of trails of wetness dampening the slope of your cheeks, traveling down the curve of your chin and neck.

The love note is damn near memorized by time Cassian finds his way back to the room, hours having passed in the blink of an eye and he stands as still as a board when he finds you in a crumpled heap on the floor, paper pinched between your fingers, eyes studying the words as if it’ll change who they’re meant for. He says your name with such caution, clearly expecting you to greet him with anger and malice but that would take up too much energy—energy that had been leached from your bones, leaving behind nothing but the husk of who you’d once been.

“How long?” You finally croak out, voice void and lifeless.

Cassian is too quiet for too long, clearly searching for the right words until the truth takes the reins and spills itself before you. “A few months.”

“A few months.” The way your shoulders cave in is devastating. You look like the sun with no light. A flower with no stem. A bird with no wings. “Then this isn’t just you being overly flirtatious. This is…there’s feelings involved here.”

“I can explain.”

You can’t help but cut him off before he finds some charming way to explain himself out of your ire. Taking the reins of the conversation is all too easy—the power entirely too addicting. “To explain, not apologize.” The breath you take is heavy, settles in your belly like lead. “You’re here to end this?”

Cassian takes a step closer and instinctively you take a step back, arms crossing over your chest in attempts to hold yourself together. “I have to.” It’s then that you pick up on the scent that sticks to him. One you recognize. One that doesn’t belong to you or the bottles of perfume you keep. “I think she could be my mate.”

You can’t work up the nerve to look him in the eye, fearful that the simple act of eye contact would be enough to have the tears bursting free from the dams working overtime to keep the current at bay. A deep breath fills your lungs, spine lengthening as you force strength into the fibers of your tone. “Okay.”

He reaches for you, fingertips millimeters away from brushing the curve of your cheek but you flinch away—creating space. His spine sags with remorse, shoulders set with shame, hand falling limp at his sides with regret pooling at his fingertips and you’ve had enough when hazel irises fill with pity. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be sorry, Cassian.” Your voice breaks, your smile shakes but it still doesn’t rob you of the kindness that drew him in in the first place. “Just be happy.”

—

The shift that follows is immediate, all of his things boxed up and left in front of the door of his old room. You don’t fuss or fight, you don’t even break anything. You just pack it up and return it to its rightful owner.

You remove yourself from family breakfasts and avoid shared dinners like the plague in fears of seeing Cassian flaunt his love with Nesta without a care in the world.

You ignore your found family’s attempts at comfort, brushing off any and all inquiries on how you’re feeling. Turning down invitations for nights out to try to get your mind off things. Shutting down irate rants from your friends as they ramble about all the ways you didn’t deserve this—how they wanted to make it right for you. “Don’t bother,” The words come out so softly, laced with such defeat its devastating.

“No!” Mor can barely contain her disdain, brows furrowed and lips twisted in a sneer. “This is wrong. What he’s doing—what they’re doing is wrong. You and Cass have loved eachother for decades all for him to throw it away over some cauldron-made floozy? I can’t just sit back and watch that happen.” She’s pacing, heels clacking against the hardwood floors so harshly you’re sure dents begin to mark their way through the shinny finish. “Why are you so damn calm?”

“Because, what’s the point?” You shrug, red wine swirling in your glass. It’s strong, a little bitter but it numbs you so gently, like morphine injected directly into your veins. “How foolish do I already look as the female who feels too much for a male who clearly felt nothing for me. Making a scene about it would just add insult to injury.” Your eyes are distant, fixed on a random spot on the freshly painted walls in the new apartment Rhysand insisted on funding. It’s bare; empty, walls void of character and atmosphere sucked dry of all care. “He thinks she’s his mate Mor. Her. I just don’t understand why he can’t see—“ Your head shakes left to right, chest caving in. Wine quickly fills that chasm, glass refilling every time you reach the bottom.

You don’t even mean to say it really.

Drunk words being sober thoughts and all that.

But, Mor latches onto the unfinished sentence like glue. Eyebrows furrow, pupils expand in confusion before dilating to pinpricks when realization settles in. “Can’t see…that you’re his mate.” Puzzle pieces fuse together, a perfect picture being painted right before her very eyes but the image is distorted; the wrong face on a familiar figure. “There is a bond. You are his mate—he just doesn’t know. You never told him.”

You don’t so much as flinch at her conclusion. Only sigh, prettily painted toes grazing through the fluff of your throw rug. “Doesn’t matter much now.” More wine fills your glass until the decanter runs empty, the corners of your mouth tugging down in a frown. “I don’t think it ever even mattered at all.”

The flowy fabric of Mor’s dress billows as she plops down beside you, weight sinking into the soft cushions of your couch. A fresh bottle appears in her grasp, cork releasing with a pop but this one she doesn’t share, just drinks straight from the source. It’s cradled to her chest, eyes trained on the side of your face, cataloging the lifelessness of your skin, the bags growing under your eyes, the way your cheeks begin to thin out from lack of true sustenance. “Just say something to him.” She urges, her tone pleading; eyes begging. “Say anything. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“Say what?” Your head falls back in something worse than defeat; something more like acceptance as your neck rests on the lip of the couch. “No bond forces two as one, and he wants her.” Fresh tears gather in your waterline, sliding down your cheeks so silently you barely notice them. “He wants her.”

She says your name, vocalizing the syllables so softly, so full of pity it lurches you from your spot before the sorrow roots you in place.

“You know what, if he’s happy, then I’m ecstatic. I have so much free time now.” Clammy hands wipe against linen sleep shorts as you stand, shifting over to a pile of boxes in the corner. You occupy yourself with unpacking, finding new homes for items collected in another lifetime. “I can pick up a hobby or travel or something—I’ve always loved Summer and I’m sure Rhys could use someone to start mending the rift between the courts. It’ll be like a paid vacation.”

It’s obvious your friend wants to object. Wants to call you out on the avoidance that begins to take place but for some reason she doesn’t bother. Maybe she see’s that you can’t take much more—that the flame of your fight has been snuffed out and you’re barely able to keep the remaining embers alive. Instead, she nods, crossing her legs under her and silently watches the way you convert your emotions into finding the perfect place for pictures and obsessing over which wall best suits a rack full of throw blankets. “How long of a vacation?”

“However long it takes to be able to be in the same room as them without feeling sick to my stomach.”

You say it like a joke but nobody laughs.

—

Turns out, Rhys has a soft spot for broken women. Big brother instincts running on overdrive at the sight of your watery eyes, composure crumpling at a voice that cracks under the weight of the world on your shoulders. One look at your torment and you’ve been granted permission for an all expense paid trip for his favorite —only— emissary. The paperwork is drafted hastily, sent out to neighboring courts before the ink even has the chance to fully dry. A few responses return within the hour, requests granted, a list of stipulations attached and agreed upon before basic necessities are packed away and winnowed off to your first stop before the sun even begins to peak its head above the horizon.

You don’t even linger long enough to say goodbye.

Given the fact that there’s no timeline listed in the fine print of your extended leave, guilt lives in your gut at the abrupt departure but Rhys promises to handle the fallout in your absence and you can’t help but admit the distance is a indescribable relief. Perhaps, it’s the way Summer Court accepts you, although a bit hesitantly at first. Tarquin watches you like a hawk your first few weeks, cataloging your every move until he’s certain you truly are there to rebuild trust instead of being some pretty Night Court spy slinking about in search of their secrets or weaknesses.

Six months pass and instead of hovering out of necessity, he deigns to keep you close by choice; your quarters no more than twenty steps away from his own and filled with radiant opulence. Early mornings are spent with breakfasts shared, treaties discussed, plans made for leisurely strolls through his city until a genuine care is curated for his people and the customs they share. “Do you ever come up for air?” The High Lord muses over his fork, sausage speared through the shiny silver prongs.

Fluffy eggs are piled on jammy toast, crumbs catch on the corner of your mouth but you make sure not a speck stains the packet of papers your free hand holds onto, eyes skimming over trade agreements and a list of needs personally extracted from skilled healers, fresh market mangers and dock workers. Things they require from Night Court that they’ve lived without given the strain. “I can hold my breath for quite some time, you know. Nowhere near the end of my reserves yet.”

It’s a cheeky response. A little dry. Comfort in your environment bleeds through your tone and the High Lord before you grins at your casual banter.

“I can see that,” He shrugs casually, leaning deeper into his chair. Ankles cross under the table, his hair tumbling over the bare chest exposed in his unbuttoned linen top. “I suppose, I’m just worried you’ll burnout if you keep at this pace.”

“The wellbeing of your people is important,” You insist, one hand blindly reaching for a flute of champagne and orange spritz. “They’ve gone without for much too long.”

He hums, nodding softly in agreement. Under the table, his foot nudges your own, forcing your attention to him. “And you? What of your wellbeing?” Your brows furrow in confusion. “You haven’t mentioned a word of your family since the first week you arrived. No letters, no visits—your birthday is tomorrow. Were you planning on going back to celebrate?”

You bristle at the reminder, toast falling back onto to your plate, now forgotten. Champagne is sipped as you struggle to clear the knot beginning to form in your throat, guilt gnawing in your belly, forcing you to acknowledge the radio silence you’ve upheld towards the people you love back home. “How do you know about that?”

“Rhysand sent over a summons for your return for the special occasion.”

You groan, papers abandoned in favor of holding your head in your hands. A tension headache begins to form right between your eyes, vision already going blurry at the irritating thump, thump, thump that takes root beneath the surface.

“Well, some greeting that is.”

You jump at the sound of a familiar voice; it’s melodic, sultry, accompanied by the rhythmic click of high heels against polished floors. Wide eyes catch on the approaching figure clad in red, blonde hair falling down in waves down her shoulders. “Mor? What are you doing here?”

“I’m your summons.” She grins, not-so-subtly taking you in from head to toe. A little pout forms when noticing the weight-loss, the eye bags, the way you’ve let your roots grow out. “Rhys had a feeling you might ignore him if he only sent a letter.” You’re too stunned to stand but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest as she continues her appraisal of you, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a hug. One nearly too tight.

Patting the arm around your neck, you shoot daggers at Tarquin but he pointedly ignores it, occupying himself by stuffing his mouth with fresh fruit topped with sweet whipped creams. “How proactive of him.” The words grit out like sand stubbornly stuck inside a shoe. “But, I hadn’t really intended to come back until I finished things here.”

“Boo!” She protests, swiftly snagging the glass of champagne you’d been nursing before her arrival. “If I accepted that answer, you’d never come home!” Mor says it like a joke but you can hear the truth in her words, the concern beginning to bleed into her tone, the desperate way she keeps her hands on your shoulder as if she’s afraid you’re going to disappear without a trace. “Please? It’ll be fun, I promise. I ordered a whole case of that good wine you like and I convinced Az to smuggle an ounce of mirthroot from the dealer he refuses to share with us.” She goes on for a few minutes, words running a mile a minute, more pretty promises spilling free until she see’s your walls begin to crumble.

You hate yourself for it, yet somehow, someway, Mor cons you into returning home for your birthday. The domino effect of your agreement is immediate and overwhelming. You, being dragged away from the table and led to your room so she can riffle through your closet and pick out enough clothes to last you a week. “Mor, I’m only going to be home for the night, two nights max—you’re packing my bag like I’m gearing up for war.”

“Just wanted to make sure you have options.” A white lie that’s easily detected, especially when she spends too much time collecting your usual jewelry from the dish resting on your bedside. “Speaking of options, how often do you and the High Lord of Summer spend breakfasts together?”

Shoulders shrug, your ass plopping onto the generous cushion of your mattress. “Everyday.”

A perfectly plucked brow raises. “Oh, really?” A conspiratorial smirk lives in the glossy corners of her mouth. “And does he always arrive at these breakfasts so….scandalously dressed?”

“This is Summer Court if you hadn’t noticed—can you blame the male for showing off a little chest?”

“A little chest?” Mor scoffs, hair flicking off one shoulder. “There’s nothing little about that male, anyone with eyes could get lost in the abs and a v-line peeking through that sorry excuse of a shirt. Don’t even get me started on his piercing.”

Eyes roll, a hint of a blush growing along the curve of your ears. It’d been so long since you’d had anything remotely close to girl-talk. “It’s perfectly normal here for males and females to have their belly’s pierced.”

Breezy pants, skimpy skirts and barely there shirts are robbed from your dresser, neatly folded and stowed away. Dresses with tummy cut-outs and generous necklines, thin tube tops and shorts so small their only purpose is to conceal the naughty bits are waved in the air with a pleased nod. “You’re going to give the boys back home a heart attack when you come through wearing these.”

“I don’t wear them to catch attention, I wear them to work on my tan.”

“And tan you are, one could mistake you for an Illyrian with that hue—it’s pretty. Makes your eyes pop.”

“You know what’ll really make my eyes pop? Some of that mirthroot. Did you bring it with you or was it just a bribe to get me back?” You’re being a brat, you know that. Mor knows that too. Either way, she supplies your needs, procuring a pretty velvet bag and tossing it your way. The scent smacks you in the face the moment you loosen its ties and a giddy little grin smears itself across your face. “Happy birthday to me—have you any clue how hard it is to find a reputable dealer here? Liqour, powder and mushrooms? Easy peasy. Anything else was next to impossible.”

Content with her pickings of your items, Mor leaves them by the door, following your lead to the balcony attached to your chambers. There’s a comfortable seating arrangement, brightly colored flowers blooming in golden pots that soak up sunlight and reflect its beauty. A spiral copper staircase leads directly to a rooftop pool that overlooks Tarquins personal gardens. Birds chirp, fish swim about in man-made ponds and crickets sing their song in the neatly trimmed bushes below. “Since when do you dabble in powder?”

“Since I found out my mate had been cheating on me with another female.”

It’s said so casually Mor freezes in place. Blue eyes slowly flicking over to you but you’re otherwise occupied, fingers breaking up buds, blunt paper unwrapped and catching the ground up plant. Your motions are fluid, practiced; something you seem to do often enough to have it completely rolled and sealed in under forty seconds.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have a problem or anything. Powder didn’t agree with me much.” One hand reaches over and a box of matches and an ash tray is procured from a little nook in the wall by the balcony doors. “Mushrooms were fun at first, until I started hallucinating images of my ex making out with his newest conquest in vivid detail.” The spark of flame to wood is like breathing for the first time again after swimming underwater for hours. Relieving. A saving grace. A life raft in the middle of a turbulent storm. “Liqour was my safest option but after a few times being caught belligerently drunk around town in the dead of the night, Tarquin started following me everywhere I went like he was afraid I was going to take a tumble off the cliffside.” You finally meet her gaze. “That’s why we have breakfast every morning—why we seem so close? He’s babysitting me so I don’t do something stupid to myself.”

Mor’s mouth opens, closes; tears welling up in her waterline. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Legs cross over the other, frame situating itself in the floating wicker chairs cushioned with pillows the shade of teal. “Wouldn’t be great for Court diplomacy if Night’s emissary died on Summer’s turf.” Your shrug on the topic is annoyingly flippant, worryingly detached, painfully numb. “Anyways, how’s home? Anything new?”

She swallows thickly, searching for composure, pushing blonde hair away from her cheeks as the summer breeze shifts through the fabrics of her dress. “It’s really not the same without you there. Things are quiet—tense even. Like a machine trying to move without a vital piece.” Fingers gently pinch around the passed blunt, smoke flowing past her lips when she keeps speaking, eyes memorizing the lush sight of a trim garden, waterfalls and fountains, walkways encrusted with gems that sparkle where the light touches. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t write. Didn’t visit. I—we miss you, you know?”

Vision blurring, throat working over the emotion beginning to knot in it, you nod. “I miss me too.” You brush the vulnerability off as quickly as it appeared. “It’s nice to see you though, hadn’t realized how much until you got here.”

To keep your hands busy, you already begin rolling another, opting to let Mor keep the first to herself so you don’t have to keep passing back and forth. So you don’t have to explain why you inhale too hard and hold the smoke in your lungs too long. Why your hands shake or explain your dissociating when the thoughts get too loud.

All you wanted was something to numb the ache beginning to return in your chest.

“Do you know how much longer you’re going to be here?”

“I’m less than two weeks away from completing the re-organization of trade routes. Tolls and taxes have been reviewed, negotiated and signed off on. Just need to cross my t’s and dot my I’s before it’s time for me to move onto the next.”

Mor sits up straight, ash pooling into a little mountain in the tray. “To the next? You won’t be coming home right away?”

Utter silence fills the gaps, fingers fidgeting as you pick at your cuticles until they bleed.

“Are you ever going to come back?”

“We’ll be heading over after we finish these, I reckon.”

You know that’s not what she means.

You don’t look to see the way she deflates, attempts to fight the choice before giving up altogether. Frustration settles between her brows, sticks to the scrunch of her nose and smudges the corners of her mouth. Mor’s next pull is vicious, compulsive; smoke huffing out her nostrils like an angered dragon fighting not to breath fire. “Suppose I’ll just have to cherish you while you last then.”

It hurts. Stabs a sensitive piece of you that lacks proper armor but you take the hit. Eat the injury and take it to the chest like you do all the other punches thrown your way. “Guess so.”

—

The high that permeates through your bloodstream satiates your nerves long enough to muster up the strength to winnow back to the Court that raised you.

Too bad it doesn’t last nearly as long as you’d hoped.

Perhaps it’s the familiarity of this house and the people in it because your throat begins to swell shut when you step through the doors and are bombarded by a flurry of familiar faces.

Feyre is first to snatch you up, slender arms wrapping around your neck like a cobra ready to coil its body around you to keep you rooted in place. Tears wet your bare shoulders as muffled words of relief is breathed into your neck. “You actually came! I was so worried you wouldn’t.”

Rhys has to pull her back, intuitive to the way you try and fail to relax into the embrace. His welcome is far more tame, though the true extent of his emotion lives in his eyes—shown mostly in the way they scan you over, his smile there but weak as what he sees worries him to the bone. Your skin glows from all the sun but your soul withers like flowers who’d forgotten how to bloom. “I trust Tarquin’s been taking good care of you?”

“More than good,” You fix a smile on your face to soothe his concern. “He hovers worse than you do.”

Something in his posture implies he knows more about that than he lets on, hands rustling through your hair like a fond older brother. He memorizes the scrunch of your nose and the girlish way you struggle to get your hair back into place.

The sound of heavy steps forces you to turn, a tether pulling you taut until your eyes meet the ones that haunt your every dream. He’s a little smaller than you remember, hair cut a bit shorter than you used to do it. A braid you never taught him how to do is weaved behind his right ear, dangling like a reminder that another woman’s hands touch what used to belong to you. Cassian’s voice is all but a whisper when he finally works the nerve to use it. “You came back.”

“Didn’t have much choice, Mor wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Her arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close like she can tell your knees are going weak at the sight of him. “Damn straight.” She pulls you along before you get the idea to retreat and even though you have to pass Cassian to get to your old room, Mor stands as barrier between you and him.

You can’t help the glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting his once more. All he can do is stare, frozen in place; mouth agape as whatever words he’d intended dies in his throat as he looks at you like it’s the first time but you’re already turning the corner before you dare to figure out why.

“Where’s Az?”

“Finishing up some final touches for tomorrow. You’ll see him later.” Excitement bleeds through her every move, the contents of your bag on the bed like a kid sifting through a candy store. “It’ll be really casual tonight, family only—just to catch up. Hope you’re hungry.”

A glass and a half of wine and a blunt later, you are actually quite hungry. Mor forces you into a change of clothes, a comfy tube top and breezy pants that sit low, showing off the shape of your hips and the cute new dermals pierced into the dimples of your back.

It’s the first thing Feyre brings up when you enter the dining room. “Do they hurt?”

More wine is poured, an abundance of food being portioned off and placed before you. “Couldn’t say, I was a little wasted when we got them.”

“We?”

“The High Lord of Summer is incredibly daring off of faerie wine.”

You feel eyes boring holes into the side of your face, hanging onto every word like a fly caught in a trap. Teeth grind auadibly. Strained smiles are carved in the corner of Cassian’s mouth asa you enthusiastically recount your time alongside Tarquin and his people. Nails bite into the palm of his hands beneath a satin table cloth so dark it resembles an abyss.

Everyone’s celebrating, conversations carrying, voices overlapping, laughs bleeding into one another and yet you cant shake the irritating hyperawareness of Cassian’s eyes on your body. Subtly, you search for Nesta, scanning the room for her steely gaze and perpetually elegant updo’s but her presence never appears. You try not to look too far into it, willing your heart not to care at all but the task is a fools arrand.

No matter how many’s attempts made, your line of sight continues to gravitate his way; admiring the line of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the dimples that appears in his cheeks when he submits to the smiles his family draws from him.

You suppose it’s your fault in the end when Cassian mistakes your stare for invitation, his boisterous voice cutting through the clutter of conversation to insert his own inquiries in the mix. “Are you with him?”

Your jaw clenches, lids narrowing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I think you and I both know exactly why it is my business.”

Instead of taking the bait and outing the mating bond you keep tucked away, you fixate on the soft plush of the rug beneath your toes. Over-analyze the obsidian rimmed crystalware holding specially procured wines. Inspecting the spices used in the roast and mash that used to be your favorite meal but now every bite disintegrates like ash on your tongue.

Fingers itch for a reprieve. A distraction. Another drink. More mirthroot.

A cross fade would ease the tension that lives in your shoulders, setting root in your spine until you sit like a statue in a place that should feel like freedom.

“I’m going to grab more ice, drinks getting warm.”

No one fights you even if they do follow your figure until it disappears into the kitchen. Grounding breaths are taken, hands braced against the countertops as you force your emotions in check, shoving them in a tiny little box so the ache doesn’t render you useless.

The double doors open behind you, a slightly annoyed sigh escaping you. “Mor I—“ Morrigan isn’t the one standing behind you. Elain is, watching you with a knowing look in her doe eyes. “Elain? I’m sorry —“

“You know,” Her soft tone cuts you off in a way that seems more charming than disrespectful. She takes her sweet time putting on her floral mitts before retrieving a fresh tray of baked goods out of the oven. “I dream about you sometimes.” Your jaw clenches, brows scrunching in slight confusion and yet you say nothing. “Of you and your mate.”

Contents -

℧ One | A Fresh Slate | 2k words

℧ Two | Sweet Streets | 2.8k words

℧ Three | Flickers of Trust | 3.6k words

℧ Four | Cowboy Hat Rules | 2k words

℧ Five | The Devil You Loved | 2k words

℧ Six | A Quiet Landing | 2.3k words

℧ Seven

℧ Eight

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - This series will include content warnings at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

My third Cassian fic and it is a requested one! This time it's City Boy Cassian x Country Girl Reader, where she's new to the city after a messy breakup... and her ridiculously handsome neighbour may or may not be her saving grace.

I'll be honest, I was a little nervous writing this because I'm a total city girl myself, my "country knowledge" mostly comes from Google and the one cowboy book series I read. Once I got into it, this story turned out to be such a blast to write :)

I also haven’t posted a solo Cassian fic in ages, so… here we are.

Contents -

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 One | The Great War | 2.1k words

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Two | Illicit Affairs | 2.3k words

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Three

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Four

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Five

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Six

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Seven

𓍯𓂃♥︎𓂃 Eight

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

This entire fic is inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Invisible String" :)

It's very angsty, quite sad (happy ending dw) and definitely a slow burn—not so much miscommunication, but more of a desperate 'please admit your feelings' kind of story!!

Ik I said I'd try to write more fluff, but this idea took root in my mind and wouldn't let go, so I had to write it—it wasn't really a choice x

It had been 5 days since you last saw Nyx. The longest you've gone without your best friend. Only he isn't your best friend, he's your mate. And right now you were avoiding your mate like the plague. As far as you could tell the mating bond had only snapped for you. When the bond snapped it wasn't during a life changing event or pivotal moment in your life. It was quiet and unexpected. You were sitting next to him at Rita's enjoying drinks as you listened to him talk. You were mid drink when you almost choked from the shock of it. 

Once you stopped coughing and regained your composure you quickly made an excuse to call it a night even though it was still early. Since then you'd made every excuse to avoid him. You thought the mother was cruel for choosing to tie him to you. He was the heir to the night court, son of the most powerful high lord and his mother was the curse breaker. You weren't anything, except an orphan that Azriel and Gwyn had adopted. You had no magic of your own or special gifts, you were just average at best.

“Stop torturing yourself and talk to him.” Gwyn said from the doorway as you finished getting ready. You were fresh out of excuses and tonight was the weekly family dinner. “I don't know what you're talking about.” You say as you put on the necklace Nyx gave you for Solstice a few years ago. “So a bond didn't snap with a certain future high lord?” She says before stepping further into your room. “If it had, why would he care? It's not like I'm his type. You've seen the girls he's dated.” You say as you lace up your boots. “I've also seen the way he looks at you.” Gwyn says.

“Are you two about ready?” Azriel asks. “I guess.” You answer unenthusiastically. Azriel glances at Gwyn but doesn't push after her subtle head shake. The flight to the river house is quicker than you'd like. When you walk into the dining room you notice Nyx sitting beside Feyre, leaving you to sit between Azriel and Cassian. A small grace you tell yourself except he's across from you. “Y/n, it's good to see you. We've missed you around here.” Feyre says with a smile. Meanwhile Nyx can't help but roll his eyes.

His reaction stings but what did you expect after avoiding him for 5 days. “How nice of you to make time for us.” Nyx says sarcastically. Feyre reprimands him by smacking his leg under the table. You understand he's mad at you and you don't blame him. You fight the urge to leave, reminding yourself you can manage one dinner. As the food is handed around you can't help as your gaze keeps landing on Nyx. The bond aching in your chest as you struggle to keep your expressions neutral. “I need some fresh air.” You say as his eyes connect with yours, worried he's seen through you. 

You step outside taking a deep breath of the evening air. A shiver running down your back as the wind picks up momentarily. Your arms instinctively wrap around you. Your body flinches when warm soft leather shields you from the wind. “You could've at least grabbed a coat.” Nyx’s familiar voice says as he stands beside you. “I wasn't planning on being out here very long.” You reply, pulling his jacket tighter around you, despite your words. “Just long enough to come up with a believable excuse to get as far away from me as you can.” Nyx says, blowing out a breath as he nervously rubs the back of his neck. 

The silence is heavy between the two of you, neither knowing what to say. You glance at Nyx only to find him already looking at you. “What did I do?” He asks, a pained expression at the distance you've put between you. “Nothing. It's just-nevermind.” You say. His fingers gently lift your chin so your eyes meet his. “Please.” He says, his voice soft and full of overwhelming emotions. You want to tell him but you can't force the words from your lips. “Whatever I've done, give me the chance to fix it.” He pleads. “You can't fix it, no one can.” You say as all the doubt creeps deeper into your bones, knowing he'll reject you if you told him.

His thumbs gently wipe the tears that you hadn't noticed falling. “Sweetheart. Whatever it is won't change anything.” Nyx says and you can't help but lean into his touch. “It'll change everything.” You say as you try to pull away from him as reality crashes back into you. “No it won't.” Nyx says with such conviction you almost believe him. You want to believe him but you know you'll end up heartbroken. “Please, just talk to me.” He tries. “You're my mate.” You say barely above a whisper but you know he heard as his body momentarily tenses. 

The weight of the moment makes your stomach sink as you brace yourself for his rejection. Gentle fingers lift your eyes to his before his soft lips press against yours, leaving you stunned. His arms wrap around you pulling you closer before he finally breaks the kiss and leans his forehead to yours. “I've been waiting years for you to say those words.” He says barely above a whisper, as if too much noise would ruin the moment. “You knew?” You ask, not accusing, just curious. “No, but I've been hoping.” He answers. “But the girls you've dated.” You start before he stops you. 

“Pale in comparison to you, sweetheart.” He says, noticing the delicate necklace you're wearing. His fingers gently hold the small pendant, thumb brushing over the silver moon and stars. A soft smile tugs at his lips, “the solstice I gave this to you I realized I'd give you the moon and the stars, all you had to do was ask.” He says, remembering when he helped you put it on that night. How you excitedly showed it off, the approving looks he got not only from his parents but Azriel and Gwyn as well. You smile at the memory before he lets the necklace hang from your neck again. 

You almost let yourself hope sometimes, that maybe they did feel the same way. When Bryce would smirk at you when you grabbed her hand to cross the street or drag her onto the dance floor.

And when you occasionally crashed on the couch of their shared apartment, Hunt would brush his fingers over your skin in a way that lingered a little too long.

But beyond that, it was never anything more. Never acknowledged outright. To everyone else, it would just seem you were really close with them. Maybe another one of their strays they’d taken in under their wings like Ithan.

It was gut-wrenching. You felt like a lost puppy, following them around everywhere they went, desperate for affection. But you kept going, taking whatever scraps they’d give you. Convincing yourself it was fine. That you could be happy just being their friend. As long as they were still in your life, you would survive.

Eventually, things hit a wall. Hunt was the first to pull away. First, it was just avoiding eye contact when the three of you went out. Then he started leaving the room whenever you came over to their apartment.

You tried not to let it affect you. It was fine. He was a grown male and he didn’t owe you anything. But then Bryce started to pull away too. She invited you over less and less. And when you saw her out and about, she’d keep it brief, giving an excuse as to why she needed to hurry. Not to mention the fact your messages to them had been left on read for weeks now.

The last time you saw her was a week ago, and once you got home after her once again blowing you off, you cried in your bed for hours.

You couldn’t explain why it hurt so bad. How you had even gotten it in your mind that you could possibly have both of them. They were in a multiple-years-long committed relationship for Cthona’s sake. They didn’t need you. And who were you to try to squeeze your way in?

You had convinced yourself that maybe they entertained you for a while, wanted to see how far you would go. How desperate you were. They must have gotten bored or uncomfortable with it at some point. And when they realized you wouldn’t back off despite their obvious change, they had to take it a step further to really hammer the nail in the coffin.

You wished they would have just said something. Told you that they weren’t interested or needed some more space. Though, you suppose that’s asking for a lot from two people who had never been the best at communicating.

But then this afternoon you were on your bed in your apartment, stuffing your face with ice cream when you got a text from Bryce asking you to come over.

You had stared at your phone in disbelief. Then you scoffed and tossed it to the side. No. You weren’t falling for it again. And maybe they weren’t the people you thought they were if they got bored without you and decided to lure you back for more entertainment.

Then she sent you another text, saying it was urgent and that she needed to talk to you. You had groaned into your pillow and laid there for a while contemplating your decision. You decided that if they were just toying with you, then this would be your chance to end it.

So that’s where you were now, sitting on the couch in Bryce and Hunt’s apartment.

Hunt was leaning with his hip against the island counter, wings splayed behind him, and Bryce sat a few inches away from you on the couch.

Bryce released a deep breath, shared a look you couldn’t decipher with Hunt, and pivoted her body toward you. “We need to talk.”

“I gathered that,” you said, your tone sharp. You didn’t plan to sound so mean, but if you weren’t angry, you were hurt. And the last thing you wanted to do was let them see how much it broke your heart.

Bryce flinched at your tone, and it was then you noticed the emotions on her face. Fear. Sadness. Regret.

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” she said softly.

“I’ve been busy.”

Bryce sighed again and looked at Hunt.

He moved from the counter to come sit next to her, taking her hand in his. “We want to apologize.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking over their tense posture. “For what?”

Bryce made eye contact with Hunt again and he gave her a subtle nod. “For pushing you away,” she said. “We just—we didn’t know what else to do and we freaked out.”

You scoffed. “What else to do? You tell me I’m too much or bothering you, you don’t just ignore me,” you snapped.

“Wait what?” Bryce asked.

“You shut me out,” you said flatly. “Both of you. If you wanted me to back off or give you guys space you should’ve just said something. Instead, you tossed me aside like trash. I thought I… meant something to you.”

“You do,” Bryce whispered. “You do. That’s the problem.”

You blinked. “What kind of messed-up logic is that?”

“We were scared,” Hunt said, voice rough with emotion. “Of how much you meant to us. Of what it would do to us if we let you in completely and then lost you.”

Bryce nodded. “After everything we’ve lost, the idea of loving someone else, really loving someone, it felt like opening a wound that might never heal.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much that made sense. How it mirrored your own fears. But it didn’t excuse what they did.

“You could’ve told me that. Instead, you made me feel like I was nothing.”

Bryce’s voice cracked. “I know. And I hate that we did that to you. You deserve better.”

“We thought pushing you away would protect us,” Hunt said. “But all it did was hurt you. And now… we just want the chance to fix it. To show you how we really feel.”

Bryce scooted closer. “We love you. Both of us. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Hunt echoed.

Your lip trembled. You looked at the two of them, pain and hope bleeding into every inch of their faces. And despite the ache in your chest, your heart beat just a little faster.

Bryce’s hand reached for yours, not grabbing it yet but leaving her palm open for you to take. “Can we start over?” she asked. “Together?”

You exhaled shakily, your heart cracking open again, piece by piece. “Okay,” you whispered, slowly placing your hand on top of hers. “But you better mean it.”

“We do. With everything we are,” Hunt said.

You’d always been fascinated by the marks on your lover’s skin.

Not the ones that marred his skin, that had been the result of cruelty and a life of brutality, but the ones he’d been born with. That made him, him.

Eris’s chest still rose and fell rapidly as a result of the passion the two of you had just shared. Your head rested in the crook of his arm, facing him. The male looked positively sated and satisfied.

But your attention was on the expanse of bare skin on display for you.

His pale skin was splattered with splotches of freckles, similar to the ones that were on his face, ones you’d traced countless times. Before you’d ever fallen into bed together, you’d often wondered if he’d had freckles anywhere else on his body.

Boy, did he ever.

They weren’t numerous, but he had patches of them. A little here, a little there.

Some covered the expanse of those broad, muscled shoulders.

Some across his chest, trickling down to his finely toned stomach.

Then there were the lone ones, some scattered like afterthoughts. Some in smaller clusters of only a few.

He had one almost right over his heart, one on the inside of his left bicep, another prominent one right under his collarbone on the right side.

Some were faint clusters, others were darker, more noticeable. They were like little hidden treasures, you were always discovering more.

You’d spent plenty of time kissing the ones on his face, but the first time he was bared to you, you were in awe of the masterpiece you saw.

Now, your fingers tap danced down his ribs along more of those freckles. You traced your finger from freckle to freckle, connecting them like you were revealing a mystery picture that could only be seen when the dots were connected—or in this case, freckles.

He watched you carefully as the sweat cooled on your skin, your breathing returning to normal, slowly.

But you were too busy focusing on the marks of your mate’s body, fingertips gentle as they explored every mark you could find.

“One…two…three,” you murmured.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him, fingertip continuing on.

“Four…five…six…seven…eight.”

“You’re trying to count them again aren’t you?”

The amusement was apparent in his voice, the smile lacing his words.

“Nine…ten. Yes, I am,” you answered, leaving your finger in the place you’d left off, just on his left pectoral.

“You never make it past ten,” he smirked, “Why do you do that anyway?”

You shrugged.

“I just…love them. They’re part of you. It’s like you come with your own pattern—a pattern that is unique to you and only you. No one else has a freckle on their chest that looks like a tiny heart.”

He snorted.

“It does not.”

“Well it does to me,” you smiled, “I love how it looks like someone took a paintbrush and bent the bristles to splatter dots of paint all over you. Except instead of paint, its freckles. You have them in the most random spots. Like here’s a group.”

Your finger circled a group of lighter freckles on his chest, an inch or so above one of his nipples. You felt him shiver under your touch.

“No one’s ever really paid attention to them the way you have,” he said softly.

“You weren’t really the type to show them to just anyone, either,” you pointed out.

He chuckled, “Point taken.”

Your fingers still traced, realizing you’d lost count of where you were at and momentarily shifted your attention to a new spot.

Along his ribs your fingers traced a larger cluster of freckles, mostly lighter with a few more prominent, darker ones. It was one of your favorite spots to press kisses to, although you were kidding no one—you loved to kiss them all. You’d happily spend all day kissing every single one, if it were possible.

“This one is the Archeron Star because you have three prominent freckles in the group. It reminds me of the three sisters.”

You smiled secretly, knowing you’d be telling your friends—the sisters—this funny story, one day.

“Oh, so we’re naming them now?” Eris hummed, amused.

“Yes.”

Your fingers traced to the bunch on his shoulder, ones you’d kissed numerous times since the male had become yours.

“This should be the Velaris Constellation.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“It reminds me of the scatter of stars on a beautiful Velaris night. There’s so many you can’t even imagine trying to count them,” you explained.

“Weren’t you just trying to count them earlier, my love?”

You made a dismissive noise.

“Not important at the moment.”

He just laughed deeply, fingers brushing your hair back from your face as your focus remained on the many beautiful marks on your mate’s body.

Your fingers fell to just over the plains of his toned stomach, brushing over a sparse, but prominent collection of freckles just under his breastbone.

“I think I’ll call this one Autumn Minor.”

“Interesting choice,” he mused.

“I only say that because they’re on you and they’re sparse, light there. They still deserve a name though. But these—”

You paused, brushing a thumb over the freckles over one cheekbone. They were nearly identical on his opposite one, meeting over the bridge of his nose.

“These should be called Autumn Major because they’re the most prominent ones on the most beautiful Autumn male.”

“Oh now you’re just flattering me,” he grinned.

Eris bent down, lips brushing against yours briefly.

You quickly returned to attempting to count the numerous spots.

“One…two…three…” you mumbled under your breath.

He smirked, hand smoothing over your hair in a loving gesture, watching you with amusement dancing in those amber eyes.

“Twelve…thirteen…fourteen.”

“Well you’re already further than you’ve ever gotten.”

You hushed him.

“I’ll lose my concentration.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” his lips twitched.

“Nineteen…twenty…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—you’ve got a lot right here.”

You tapped the place near his side, closer to his hip bone. You’d counted all around his waistline and worked your way up to the ones along his ribs and over his chest.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine…thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.”

Then, you realized you’d lost your place or skipped a number for you sighed heavily.

Eris’s smile was bright as he watched you.

“Thirty-three,” he corrected, taking your hand and kissing it, “Furthest you’ve ever gotten.”

You beamed up at him, proud to have gotten to that high of a number when you usually hadn’t been able to. You loved everything about him. Especially the constellations that covered his skin.

He seemed to be considering something as he looked down at your face.

“What’s the one over my heart called?”

You didn’t even have to think about it before you answered, without any hesitation.

“Mine.”

But as Y/N made her way through the palace corridors, her heart was a storm--fast, uneven, dangerous in its certainty. She'd fought gods, armies, and fate itself, yet her hands trembled now more than they ever had on a battlefield.

She could still remember the first time she and Aelin stood together after their short but dreadful separation, side by side once more--not as lost girls, but as sisters forged by fire and blood. Through years of war, of desperate fights and whispered promises, that bound had never wavered.

They had been so different. Aelin was a flam--dazzling, reckless, impossible to look away from. Y/N had been the blade hidden in the dark, colder, sharper, with a thirst for blood that Aelin had learned to temper but never silence. The fire had always belonged to her sister, but the shadowed steel? That had been hers.

When Aelin had sacrificed her magic to save them all, Y/N had still kept hers--swearing, with every shred of her power, that she would be the shield their family needed. The shield Terrasen needed. She could not bring their parents back. But she could make damn sure no one ever took their home again.

And for a time, it had just been the two of them. The only family they had. Until Aedion came--tattered, stubborn, and full of a loyalty that had rekindled something she thought long gone. With him came hope, and with hope came the strength to keep moving forward.

Then came the war.

The endless nights on frozen ground, the constant ache of wounds old and new, the quiet moments of laughter stolen between the storms. Meeting the Cadre, standing in awe of Dorian's quiet resilience and begrudgingly respecting Chaol's unwavering discipline.

And Rowan.

Gods, Rowan. She had known of him long before she’d met him, the legendary warrior with ice in his veins and a hawk’s gaze fixed on her sister. At first, he had been distant, unreadable, his every movement purposeful and efficient. But somewhere between shared watches under the stars, between the rare smirks he allowed himself and the quiet way he tended her wounds, the ice began to thaw.

What started as a respect became admiration. And admiration, though she had fought it, became love.

But there had never been time to think about it. Not with war raging, not with the weight of survival pressing on her shoulders. Until now.

She could still see Aelin’s coronation as if it had happened an hour ago--the golden light spilling through the glass, the crown gleaming on her sister’s head, pride burning in her chest. It had been the moment she knew that, for the first time in years, they were truly safe.

And with that safety came the one thing she had never allowed herself before.

Time.

Time to feel. Time to admit that the war was over, that she could want something for herself.

So she had decided--no more silence. No more stolen glances and unspoken words. Today, she told Rowan Whitethorn the truth.

She'd thought it would be the hardest thing she'd ever done. It wasn't.

No, the hardest thing had been standing there after she'd said the words--after she'd told him--the she loved him.

And watching him laugh.

Not a full laugh. A low, disbelieving chuckle.

“As if, with all that’s happened, this is what you’ve been thinking about?” he’d said, as if her feelings were some childish distraction.

She’d blinked at him, stunned into stillness, the confession she’d built up in her chest for months crumbling in an instant.

“What?” she’d managed, her voice little more than breath.

Rowan had only shaken his head, his expression unreadable but for that faint look of pity she would never forget. "I've only ever had one female in my life. And I always will."

She knew who he meant.

Lyra. His mate...at least, the one he’d thought was his mate, the one Maeve had planted in his life like a cruel joke. By now, they all knew the truth. But still, he clung to her memory like a weapon he refused to put down.

And then, as if that weren’t enough, his gaze had swept over her, cool, assessing, as though measuring and finding her wanting.

“You’re too young for me,” he’d added, his tone almost dismissive. As though she were nothing but a girl chasing after a fantasy. As though she didn’t know the taste of blood, the weight of loss, the burn of power in her veins.

Something inside her had snapped.

“I may be younger, Whitethorn,” she’d spat, “but I’ve fought the same battles you have. I’ve bled for the same cause. Don’t mistake my age for weakness. And don’t you dare look at me like I’m some naive little girl.”

His eyes had narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

So she’d turned on her heel and walked away before he could see the tears burning at the edges of her vision. Walked away before she did something reckless--like beg him to take it back.

Because Rowan Whitethorn had been the first male she had ever loved. The first who’d made her believe love could exist beyond blood and war.

And he’d just shattered it with a laugh.

In the days that followed, she avoided him.

It wasn't difficult--not when the palace had endless halls, and her duties often took her to the city, to the people. She made sure of it. She timed her meals so he was never in the dining hall, took the long way around training yards if she heard the sound of steel meeting steel.

When she did see him--passing in a corridor, across the expanse of the throne room--she kept her eyes forward, her expression carved from the same marble that lined the palace walls.

She told herself she was doing fine. That the sting in her chest would fade with time. That maybe, one day, she'd be able to look at him and feel nothing at all.

But gods, it hurt.

Because his laugh still rang in her head at night, a cruel echo that didn’t match the male she had fought beside, trusted with her life. She’d replayed the moment more times than she could count, wondering if she’d imagined the way his eyes had softened before the words came. Wondering if she’d misread everything.

Even Aelin noticed.

“You’ve been quiet,” her sister said one evening, catching her alone in the garden.

“I’m tired,” Y/N replied, and it wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.

She didn’t tell Aelin that she couldn’t step into the training yard without feeling the weight of Rowan’s gaze on her back, or imagining it, and that was worse.

And if Rowan noticed her absence, if he noticed the way she no longer lingered in conversation, no longer laughed at Fenrys’s jabs when Rowan was near, he said nothing.

Avoiding him had started as self-preservation.

Now, it had become an art.

She knew exactly how long it took Rowan to finish breakfast and leave the dining hall. She knew which routes through the palace would take her to the library without passing the training yard. She could read the cadence of his footsteps from a corridor away.

It didn't matter if it looked ridiculous. It was easier than having to look him in the eye and remember the way he'd looked at her that day--like she'd been foolish to ever think he could feel the same.

And maybe she had been foolish.

Because they’d been close. She thought they had, at least. He’d been her sparring partner, her confidant during the worst stretches of the war. They’d shared jokes under their breath in strategy meetings, laughed, really laughed, around the fire on those rare nights when they all felt almost human again. He’d taught her how to sharpen a blade the way the Fae did, how to read the wind before a fight.

She'd thought those moments meant something. But maybe she'd read it wrong. Maybe he'd just been polite. Or maybe he had given her mixed signals and just decided to pretend otherwise.

Either way, the conclusion was the same. She would speak to him only when necessary. And she'd be fine. Eventually.

It worked well enough--until the day she, Rowan and Fenrys were tasked with overseeing the arrival of a fresh rotation of palace guards.

They stood in the courtyard as the new recruits lined up, Fenrys leaning casually against a pillar while Rowan paced with the easy, predatory grace of someone born to command. Y/N kept her focus on the parchment in her hands, jotting down names and ranks as each soldier stepped forward.

A younger guard hesitated, glancing between her and Rowan before finally approaching her. "Ah- Princess Y/N, should I report to you or...?"

Before she could answer, Rowan's voice cut in. "To me. I'll handle it."

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "I think I'm capable of giving orders, Prince Whitethorn."

"This falls under my jurisdiction," he countered, arms folding across his chest.

The guard looked between them, paling slightly.

"It's a list of sleeping quarters, not a battle formation," she said, her tone icy. "I can manage without your oversight."

"I said I'll handle it."

"No," she replied flatly. "I will."

Fenrys, watching the exchange with an expression halfway between fascination and horror, raised his brows. "Do you two want me to step out so you can settle...whatever this is?"

"Nothing to settle," Y/N said quickly, not taking her eyes off Rowan.

Rowan's jaw flexed. "Exactly."

The poor guard looked as though he wanted to sink into the cobblestones and disappear.

"Right," Fenrys muttered under his breath, glancing between them again. "Glad we cleared that up."

"Send me to Adarlan."

The words flew out of her mouth the moment she shoved open the office doors.

Aelin and Aedion both turned toward her, mid-discussion over a stack of maps and parchment.

"Oh, great," Y/N said, eyeing her cousin. "You're here too."

Aedion's mouth curved into a small smirk. "Always a pleasure, princess."

She ignored him, marching closer. "Aelin, hear me out- "

Her sister leaned back in her chair, golden hair catching the sunlight. "Why do you suddenly want to leave so badly?"

Y/N gave a breezy laugh, waving a hand as if it were obvious.

“Well, Terrasen might be an old kingdom, but you’re a new queen. We’ve got to establish strong connections in your good name. As your sister, I can perfectly represent you.” She smiled sweetly. “Besides, Dorian is king there now. I’m sure he can set up meetings for me with high-ranking, important people.”

Aelin hummed, studying her. “You sure that’s all this is about?”

“Yes?” Y/N blinked, feigning confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Though in truth, she could still see the image burned in her mind--Rowan leaning down to speak with the pretty female representative from Orynth, his hand brushing her arm in a way that made Y/N’s stomach twist. No, she wasn’t telling Aelin that.

Her sister's mouth curved into the faintest smirk before she leaned forward. "Well then, you can't go alone. Take Rowan with you."

"What?!" The word shot out of Y/N like a lightning bolt.

Aelin pointed a triumphant finger at her. "Aha! I knew it! You and him have something going on."

"What?!" Aedion barked, looking between them like they'd just confessed to treason. "Really?! Why didn't I notice?"

"You're awfully defensive," Aelin drawled.

"Because you're being ridiculous!"

Aelin leaned back, still smirking. "Mhm. Sure."

Y/N crossed her arms. "I'm not taking him."

"You'd be safer- "

“I’ll take my own court and guards,” Y/N cut in.

Her sister studied her for another beat, then sighed. “Alright, alright. Go with your own court, then.”

“Thank you.” Y/N stepped forward, kissed her sister’s cheek, and pulled Aedion into a quick hug. “Love you, my family dearest.”

Aedion raised a brow as she started toward the door. “If you come back married to Dorian, I’m not letting Rowan in the room when he hears about it.”

Y/N waved him off without looking back. “Noted.”

The dining room was warm with firelight and chatter, plates clinking as the conversation wound lazily between stories, trade agreements, and Fenrys' latest ridiculous tale.

Y/N had been content to listen, to keep her eyes on her plate and her smile polite, until Aelin, in that infuriatingly casual tone, dropped, "And I still can't believe my baby sister is going away all on her own tomorrow."

The words hit the table like a stone in water, ripples of surprise cutting through the hum of conversation. "What?!" Fenrys blinked, leaning forward. "You're leaving?"

Lysandra’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes searched Y/N’s face. “When were you planning to share this news?”

Y/N forced a shrug, reaching for her wine. “It’s nothing dramatic. Just a trip to Adarlan.”

But she felt it—the sudden weight of Rowan’s gaze snapping up from across the table, pinning her in place. Sharp. Demanding. A flicker of… fury?

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The silence from him was louder than anything else in the room.

The meal carried on, though the air had shifted, taut and strange. Y/N kept her eyes away from him.

When dinner finally ended, she was halfway to the corridor before a hand closed around her wrist, dragging her into a shadowed alcove just beyond the door.

“What the- ” she hissed, yanking against his grip.

“Why the hell are you leaving?” Rowan’s voice was low, dangerous.

She glared. “To establish ”

“Don’t give me that same bullshit of ‘to establish good connections,’” he cut in, stepping closer. “Tell me the real reason.”

Her temper flared. “Know your place, Whitethorn,” she snapped, yanking her arm free. “I am the sister of a queen, and I won’t be insulted by someone below me.”

His mouth curved, but there was nothing warm in it. “So this is it? You pull rank on me? All because I rejected you- ”

The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek cracked through the air.

“Don’t think yourself anything special,” she bit out, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re just another brooding male with an overinflated ego. The males I take to my bed every night can confirm that.”

For the barest moment, his eyes widened, whether in shock or fury, she couldn't tell. His jaw worked, words forming-

But she didn't give him the chance. She turned on her heel and began walking away, spine straight, pulse roaring in her ears.

It was a lie. Every word of it.

But she didn't care.

Not if it made him feel even a fraction of the sting she'd been carrying for months.

It had been a week since she left.

Rowan told himself it didn't matter. That it shouldn't matter. She was gone on a diplomatic job--fulfilling her duties as a crown princess, representing Terrasen with that steel in her spine and that smile she could summon even in the darkest days. There was no reason for him to care.

And yet...every day, he found himself looking for her without meaning to. At breakfast, glancing toward the seat she usually claimed. In meetings, expecting some sharp remark from her corner. Walking past the training yard and catching himself listening for her voice.

For months now, he'd been trying--like a damn fool--not to be affected by her sudden coldness, by the way she'd started looking through him as if he were nothing more than air.

Though it hadn't been so sudden, had it?

No. He knew exactly when it had started. Why it had started. And he knew--deep in his bones--that he was the core cause of it all.

He just...got scared. Gods, he'd been a coward.

The truth was, he'd loved Y/N from the start. From that first meeting in secret, in Adarlan, when she and Aelin had saved Aedion from execution. He could still see her standing there, defiant and unyielding, her eyes bright with fire. He'd thought then that she was dangerous--to his enemies, to anyone who underestimated her.

He hadn't realized she'd be dangerous to him too. But she was.

From that day forward, he’d found himself drawn to her. Through battles and bloodshed, standing back-to-back against Maeve’s forces, against Erawan’s horrors. In the quiet after the war, helping each other patch wounds—inside and out. She’d been there when he discovered the truth about Lyria, when the grief threatened to swallow him whole. She’d stayed by his side. Always.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because he loved her. Gods, he did. But loving her meant risking the same loss he’d already endured once. And Rowan Whitethorn had decided long ago that he wasn’t meant for a happy ending, wasn’t destined for a mate, for true love.

So he'd done the one thing guaranteed to destroy it before it began. He'd rejected her. Pushed her away. And in doing so, lost her anyway. The past week had been an exercise in restraint. Pretending it didn't bother him that she was gone. Pretending her absence wasn't a gaping hole in every room, every day.

It wasn't working.

With a low, frustrated sigh, Rowan shoved a hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do. He'd fought it long enough, and for what? She was already beyond his reach...and yet, he couldn't stand being apart from her another damn day.

He was going to Adarlan.

The midday sun streamed in through the tall glass windows, spilling over the long table where Y/N sat with Dorian and a collection of Adarlan's finest.

Three lords--Lord Rensworth, Lord Calder, and Lord Taren--had traveled from their various holdings to attend, along with two high-ranking guildmasters who oversaw the city's most profitable trade networks. Wealth and influence dripped from every smile in the room, each one polished and practiced.

"Of course," Lord Calder was saying, "Terrasen's timber supply would be invaluable in the reconstruction of our southern districts. With proper agreements, we could- "

“Proper agreements,” Dorian cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair, “meaning agreements that don’t conveniently empty Adarlan’s coffers into Terrasen’s hands.” He flicked a glance at Y/N, the corner of his mouth twitching. “My friend here is persuasive, but I assure you, gentlemen, she doesn’t get everything she wants.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly. “Yet.”

The guildmasters chuckled, and even Lord Rensworth’s stiff mouth twitched at that. The conversation moved forward, Dorian occasionally stepping in--sometimes to bolster her points, sometimes to poke at her just to see if he could get a rise.

It was going well. Productive, even. Until the doors opened.

Her mind marely registered the polite announcement from the guard before her gaze shifted--before her breath caught hard enough to hurt.

Chaol strode in first, all captain's poise and unshakable calm. But beside him...

Rowan.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing that battered leather battle jacket like it had been made for him. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, a loose strand falling over his brow, and those pine-green eyes--sharp, unrelenting--swept over the room. His expression was a mask of cool command, but the sheer presence of him filled the space, made it hard to breathe.

The male she had tried--truly, desperately tried--not to love anymore. She dragged her gaze away before he could look at her, focusing on Dorian, who had gone still at her side.

"Well," Dorian drawled, breaking the sudden silence. "I don't recall putting this on the meeting agenda."

Chaol offered a polite bow to the table. “Apologies for the interruption. We have… an unexpected visitor.”

“Clearly,” Dorian murmured, his eyes glinting as they shifted to Rowan. “Care to explain, Whitethorn?”

Rowan’s deep voice rolled through the chamber. “I was passing through on court business and thought it wise to deliver some matters in person.”

Court business. Right. And she was the King of Wendlyn.

The rest of the table shifted uncomfortably at the presence of a Fae warrior among them, but Dorian smiled as if nothing about this was the slightest bit strange. “Well. I do love surprises,” he said lightly, though his gaze flicked between Y/N and Rowan with a curiosity she did not appreciate.

She forced her attention back to the discussion, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. Ignoring the fact that even without looking at him, she could feel Rowan’s eyes on her like the press of a hand.

For the next several days, Y/N once again perfected the art of pretending Rowan Whitethorn didn't exist. It wasn't easy. Somehow, despite Adarlan's sprawling palace and endless corridors, he had a knack for appearing wherever she was--be it in the dining hall, council chambers, or even the gods-damned library.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The entire point of this trip had been to get away from him. To breathe without feeling that steady, unrelenting presence shadowing her every step.

But no, apparently the universe--or the Fates--had decided she hadn’t suffered enough yet.

When he approached her after meetings, she would excuse herself with a polite smile to speak to someone across the room. When he caught her in the gardens, she’d pretend she’d just remembered an appointment with Dorian and leave before Rowan could open his mouth. Once, when he tried to walk her back from a late meeting, she had taken a side corridor so abruptly the guard trailing them nearly tripped over his own feet.

He’d tried speaking to her--calmly, patiently--but she never gave him more than clipped replies. Most times, she didn’t give him the chance to get that far.

And now… now it was her final day in Adarlan.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, letting out a long, resigned sigh. She’d almost made it through without breaking. Almost.

Dorian, ever the flamboyant monarch, had decided her visit deserved a farewell ball. She supposed she should be flattered, though she suspected he just liked any excuse to parade his court in front of half the city.

Her gown was a deep emerald silk that shimmered with each shift of movement, the fitted bodice leaving her shoulders bare. Gold-threaded embroidery traced curling patterns along the skirts, catching the light like sunlight on water. A delicate tiara--gilded leaves with tiny emerald drops--rested atop her hair, the curls pinned in place to perfection.

Tonight, she decided, she would not care.

She would dance until her feet ached, drink until her cheeks warmed, and laugh until her voice was hoarse. She would not glance at him, would not think of him, would not wonder if he was watching.

Rowan Whitethorn could stand in the corner and glower for all she cared. Let him stew in his silence. Let him feel a fraction of what she had felt these past months.

Lifting her chin, she straightened her spine, the tiara gleaming as she turned from the mirror. With that newfound resolve wrapped around her like armor, Y/N swept from the room, head held high.

"...and of course, my ships are the fastest in the Eastern Sea," Lord Varrin drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet as if it were more precious than gold. "Merchants beg for my routes, princess. Beg."

Y/N smiled politely, though she hadn’t heard a single word he’d been saying for the past ten minutes. Her attention kept flicking across the ballroom--toward the corner where Rowan stood like a carved statue of wrath, his arms crossed, his green eyes locked on her like he could burn the smug nobleman beside her to ash.

The satisfaction it gave her was… intoxicating. Let him glare. Let him watch.

She cut off Lord Varrin mid-boast, her tone sweet as poisoned honey. “Aren’t you going to ask me for a dance?”

He blinked, startled, then smirked, leaning just a little too close. “Of course, princess.”

She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the floor. The music swelled, and they began to move through the steps. At first, it was easy enough--until his hand began creeping, fingers brushing just under the edge of her ribs.

Her stomach turned.

By the next turn, his palm slid lower along her waist, pressing her closer until their bodies were almost flush.

She squeaked, twisting slightly. "I- please...space."

“What do you mean?” he murmured, breath far too close to her ear. “It’s perfect this way.”

And then his hand slid further, lower, settling on her backside.

The revulsion hit so fast she barely managed to jerk back before-

The male was yanked away, stumbling.

Y/N’s breath caught as she found herself staring into Rowan’s fury: pure, unrelenting, cold enough to freeze the air between them.

“Hey- ” Lord Varrin began, voice indignant.

Rowan’s head turned toward him, slow as death itself. The look he gave--sharp and lethal--was enough to make the lord snap his mouth shut, paling beneath his tan.

The pounding in Y/N’s chest wasn’t just from disgust anymore. She felt… exposed. Shaken.

Rowan’s eyes flicked back to hers, and something shifted in them. The harshness eased, his mouth tightening in something close to concern.

Without a word, he stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm--gentle, careful--as if asking permission. She didn’t protest when he guided her toward the edge of the ballroom, away from the music and the stares, through a side door and into a quieter, dim-lit room.

The door clicked shut behind them, muting the music and laughter from the ballrom.

Silence.

Y/N stood stiff, her pulse still hammering from the unwanted touch, from the way Rowan had appeared--furious and unyielding--before dragging her away.

And now, without a single warning, he dropped to his knees.

Her breath caught. "Rowan- "

He caught her hands in his, head bowed for a moment before looking up at her. His eyes were a storm--torment, and something rawer, something almost...broken.

"Just- just...listen to me. Please." His voice was low, rough.

She stayed silent.

Rowan exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as if steadying himself. "I was a fool. I told myself I was protecting you. That if I kept you at a distance, you'd be safe from...from the fate that followed Lyria. That loving me was a curse I couldn't let you bear."

His grip on her hands tightened, as though afraid she’d slip away. “So I pushed you away. I lied to your face. And in doing so, I became the very thing I swore I’d never be: the one to hurt you. I convinced myself it was for your sake, when it was really my own fear.”

Her throat felt tight, but she didn’t speak.

“I love you.” The words trembled--not from uncertainty, but from the force of them. “I have loved you from the moment you stood before me in Adarlan, sword in hand, fierce and unyielding. I loved you when we fought back-to-back in war, when we healed together afterward, when you were the only light I could stand to look at. I love you still. Gods help me, I will love you until my last breath.”

Rowan swallowed hard. "I understand if it's too late. If you never want to speak to me again- "

She didn't let him finish.

Dropping to her knees in front of him, she cupped his face and kissed him. Hard.

For a heartbeat, he froze, then his hands slid up to her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her back with a desperation that made her heart ache.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, she pressed her forehead to his. “You fool,” she whispered. “I never once stopped loving you.”

His lips curved, slow and disbelieving, the beginnings of a smile-

“...but don’t think you’re this easily forgiven.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, her eyes sharp even as they shimmered. “You still hurt me. You still couldn’t be truly open with me. So for now, you can start by trying to earn my forgiveness.”

The smile faded into something solemn, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I know. And I am so very sorry. I will spend the rest of my life making up for this mistake.”

Her breath hitched at the promise in his voice, the weight of it.

She huffed softly, though her lips were tugging upward. "You'd better."

And when he kissed her again, gentler this time, it felt less like an ending and more like the first step toward something whole again.

Her apartment is too still. Too heavy. Not the kind of warm and comforting silence that once greeted him after missions, but something colder—uneasy, sharp. A silence that tastes like ash on his tongue. His shadows, usually content to lounge around her apartment, are restless. They know before he dares to. They whisper against his skin, low, frantic hisses that almost make him shiver. Too late, too late, too late.

He tries to ignore them, tries to cling to the ritual that had always carried him here after a hard day—her scent, the warmth of her fire, and the knowledge that, no matter how much blood coated his hands, she always let him in. Always.

“Hey.” The word scrapes out of his throat, softer than he intended, too fragile for the weight pressing on his chest. It drops into the silence of her apartment like a stone into deep water, and the ripples don’t reach her. She doesn’t turn. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. Once, her shoulders would have softened at the sound of his voice. Now, they only tighten, her arms folded around herself, her spine rigid. His shadows recoil, and he hears the murmur spread. She’s closing you out. It almost feels like they’re mocking him with the information.

The silence stretches. Not tense, not sharp, just heavy—familiar. He shifts his weight, the floorboard beneath him groaning, his boots scuffing against her rug. The sound feels intrusive, out of place in the sanctuary he once believed this space to be.

“You weren’t at the clinic today,” he says carefully, tentative, as if pressing too hard might shatter her completely. But his words feel empty—a pitiful bridge to cross the distance yawning between them. His shadows press close, suffocating, strangling him with anticipation.

“You used the window.”

Her tone is flat, unbothered, but the accusation strikes deep. Her voice cuts sharper than any blade he’s wielded. He flinches, jaw tightening. His shadows hiss, accusing him—coward, secret, shame. He doesn’t answer. He’s repeated those words thousands of times. Reminded himself that windows were for secrets, for shame. That they should never have been for her. But every time he tried to speak, to tell her the truth—about how he truly felt—his fear would choke him alive, and he was nothing but that boy locked in the dungeons with burnt bloody hands again.

He pauses, his throat dry, a lone shadow wrapping around his throat—a mirror of how his guilt was choking him alive. “You didn’t answer the door.”

“I know.”

The silence grows thick, aching. The hearth crackles, casting light that flickers across her form, but she doesn’t move. His shadows stay utterly still, as though awaiting a blow.

Part of him almost wishes she’d stay silent long enough to drive him away. He tells himself to leave, to turn before he makes it worse. But his feet stay rooted. He can’t—not yet.

Her scent reaches him before his next step, wrapping around him like smoke, a storm of memories he can’t escape. He halts in front of the sofa, staring down at his boots, knowing she feels his presence even if she won’t acknowledge it.

“I’m tired, Azriel.”

The sound of his full name spears through him. Not Az. Not the name she used to whisper in laughter, in the soft darkness of her bedroom. Azriel. Cold. Formal. Distant. A chasm opens at his feet. His jaw clenches, one hand half-rising to rake through his hair before falling uselessly to his side. His shadows curl uneasily at his ankles, restless, uneasy, like they know they’re bracing for a fall.

“I’m sorry I just thought—I mean, your lights were on—” His voice stumbles, and his words die, limp in his throat. He stops, staring at her, searching for anything in her expression, any softness. He can’t find any. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The sentence feels weak, pathetic even as he spoke it. His shadows hiss at him again. Coward.

The words hang between them like smoke. He waits—hopes—for her to look at him, to stop him, to say something. Anything. But she only stares at the fire, her silence louder than a scream. 

Slowly, deliberately, he turns toward the door. Each step feels like dragging himself through tar. His shadows coil tight, hissing at him, coward, say it now, or lose her forever. 

His hand hovers on the doorknob, his chest tight with the hope she’ll call him back. He wants her to call him back. Gods, he’s begging for it in silence.

“Don’t.”

The single word slices the air like a blade. His shadows jolt upright, startled. His wings perk up as relief surges through his chest, wild and aching.

He looks back at her, his heart hammering. “You want me to stay?” 

His voice is barely a whisper, desperate, trembling.

“Don’t come back.”

The words punch through his ribs, brutal and final. He stills, his hand locked around the doorknob, knuckles white. His shadows collapse at his feet, silenced. The words root into his chest, hollowing him. He’s spent his whole life mastering silence, secrecy, pain—but nothing has ever terrified him like the permanence in her voice. Like being loved fully. Like losing it now.

The fire crackles behind her, the only witness to his undoing.

“You don’t mean that.”

The words rasp out of him before he can stop them. His wings twitch tight behind him, panic coursing through every nerve. His shadows writhe around his boots, clawing at the floor, some trying to drag him toward her, others yanking him back. He didn’t know which was worse—touching her and breaking her further, or letting her walk away forever. 

“You don’t mean that,” he repeats, softer this time, like speaking it might make it true.

Her laugh—quiet, bitter—splinters the room. Splinters him.

“I do.”

He sways on his feet. His shadows surge forwards, restless, stretching toward her, only to recoil when she flinches at their touch. The rejection hits harder than steel. They coil low around his boots, ashamed.

“Don’t. Just—don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“You’re tired. It’s been a long day—”

“Azriel, this isn’t about today.”

Her voice cracks. His entire body locks at the sound. His shadows lash violently, as if struck by lightning. She’s crying—and it’s his fault. Always his fault. 

One lone shadow—a small ribbon of night—curls at her feet discreetly. Protecting her from him. The betrayal burns, but he can’t find it within himself to be angry. It was only doing what he had never been able to; openly caring for her.

“It’s about every night you come only to forget. When your shadows get too heavy, when Mor’s name echoes in the marrow of your bones and her silence hollows out your chest. I’m the only thing that quieted that ache, and you made me think that mattered.”

Each syllable cuts deeper than steel. He staggers as if they’ve struck him physically. His shadows shriek in his ears, furious and condemning. User. Coward. You broke her.

“I want more than this, Azriel. I want to be more than a body you come to when the world outside is too heavy for you to hold. I want to be more than the arms you fall into when hers were never open for you.”

His lips part. Nothing comes. He feels the truth of her words like poison in his veins. His fingers flex helplessly. His shadows cinch tight around his wrists, shackling him. Even they won’t let him touch her now.

“You matter, Y/n. Gods, of course you matter.” His shadows whisper a truth he hasn’t let himself hear. She’s your everything.

Her rebuttal cuts clean.

“Do I? When’s the last time you stayed past sunrise? When’s the last time you asked me how my day went? Gods, when’s the last time we just talked? Have you noticed we never do anything anymore? You show up when it’s dark, we have sex, and then, when you think I’m asleep, you slip out before the sun can catch you. If I matter so much, why did I have to keep a drawer full of your apologies to remind myself that I did?”

Her words are knives, and each one hits because he knows them, because he’s replayed those mornings a thousand times—standing at her threshold, watching her breathe, and still choosing the door. Coward. Always a coward.

“I want something real. Not borrowed. Not broken. Someone I don’t have to beg for. I deserve better. I can’t be your band-aid, I can’t patch up the hollow Mor left behind. Not anymore.”

He flinches, because he knows she’s right. He’s told himself he deserves better every night he’s left her bed. 

“That’s not fair,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”

“I think you don’t know what hurt means if you think you can keep showing up like this without expecting something to break inside me every time.” 

Her eyes are flames.

“I care about you.” 

“Not enough. Never enough. You care just enough to keep me close, but never enough to stay.”

Her words gut him. His wings sag, his shadows coil flat to the ground, defeated. 

“I can’t stay. Not the way you want me to. Not because you’re not worth it, but because I don’t know how.” The words taste like lies, because the truth—the unbearable truth—is he’s wanted to, every godsdamned night. He’s pictured her in daylight, laughter on her lips, her hand in his. But wanting her in the daylight feels like wanting to breathe in the middle of the sea: impossible, suicidal. Staying means being seen. And he doesn’t know how to survive that.  

His shadows recoil from him, disgusted.

“And I can’t keep being convenient,” she whispers. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm, when you never even look back to see what you’ve burned down.”

Azriel’s face twists, rage and grief clawing at him, indistinguishable. His shadows writhe, thrashing helplessly at his sides.

“I can change. I will. I just- just give me time.”

Her eyes soften. For a heartbeat, he lets himself hope. But her words crush it.

“You’ve had years. I waited. I made excuses. I begged the stars—your stars—to carve me into something worthy of you. I told myself if I stayed long enough, if I gave enough of myself, you’d see me.” 

Something in him breaks with a sound he can’t contain at the idea that she had begged his gods to make her worthy. His breath came ragged, his hand rising helplessly before his shadows shackled it tight, holding him back. As if even they knew his touch was poison to her now.

“I do,” he blurts, voice cracking. “Gods, I do—” 

He reaches for her, despite knowing he shouldn’t, because he’s never been good at letting go anyways. His shadows like chains around his wrists, restraining him, like they know his touch will break her. 

“No, Azriel. You’ve never seen me, not really. You see the comfort, the warmth, the silence. But you never see me. I don’t think you ever really knew me. I’ve never been more than the one patching you up, physically or more. You say you can’t get attached. That you’re not ready. That you’re broken. And I swallowed every excuse like it was love, because admitting the truth meant admitting I didn’t matter.”

Her words hit like hammer blows. His shadows shrink away from her, curling low, ashamed. He wants to argue, to protest, to tell her about the way her laugh carried him through missions, the way her hands steadied the cracks in his chest. He’s known her—in pieces, in shadows, in the quiet ways he never learned to name. But the words never reach his lips.

“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t know how to—”

“Then why didn’t you let me go?”

His lips part. Nothing comes. His shadows whisper it for him. Selfish. Afraid. Too late.

“I gave you time, Azriel, so much time. But you never changed. You just wanted the comfort I brought.”

Her smile is small. Shattered. He staggers, his wings dragging low.

“I do want you. Please, I can’t lose you.” His voice shakes. He steps closer, shadows writhing, chaining his wrists. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I wouldn’t fall, but I did. Gods I did, I’ve been falling for years, I just couldn’t see it.”

He’s unraveling. His shadows thrash, shrieking in his ears. One brushes her ankle, begging. 

Her gaze hardens.

“You aren’t in love with me Azriel, you’re in love with the way I make you feel—safe. And I deserve to be loved for all of me. Not just the parts that make your pain easier to bear.”

His hand drops. His shadows coil tighter, a noose around his neck.

“Please, love, I…I couldn’t let myself. I was scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose you.”

Her head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You never had me to lose. Not really.”

He flinches, not in anger but grief. His wings sag fully now, his shadows whimper low.

“Please, tell me what I can do,” he begs, desperation raw in his voice. “I’ll do anything, just don’t shut me out.”

“Az,” she says softly.

The name—his name—lands like mercy. Hope claws its way into his chest. His shadows lift, whispering frantically, she still sees you, she still sees you.

The bond snaps.

It doesn’t settle, doesn’t hum softly like others had described. No. It detonates inside him—searing, violent. Lightning tears his soul apart and stitches it to hers in the same breath. He staggers back as raw magic lashes through every single one of his nerves, clutching his chest as pain dances through his ribs. His wings flare wide, trembling. His shadows shriek, feral, a cacophony in his head, keening a single word: mate.

But she keeps moving. Moving away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore, please.”

“No,” he whispers, strangled. “No—no, please. Not now. Please.”

He rubs his chest, as though he can calm the bond’s violent thrashing, but it only burns hotter with every step she takes away from him. His shadows crawl desperately toward her ankles, begging her to stay, but recoil when she flinches.

This is the thing he’s run from, the thing he swore he couldn’t survive—love that ties, claws, demands. And it’s here. Irrevocable. And she doesn’t feel it.

The Cauldron tied him to her—but left her free.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels carved open, hollowed out. His shadows whimper like wounded creatures, curling low to the ground.

“I love you,” he breathes, broken. “I love you, and I was too much of a coward to say it before but gods I swear to you—I do. I didn’t let myself admit it because I thought love made you weak, and I couldn’t afford to be—but you make me want to be. You make me want everything I was afraid of.”

He steps toward her, voice desperate. “I’ll stay. Every morning. And I’ll come through the front door, like a man who has nothing to hide. And I’ll hold your hand in public. Let everyone know you’re mine.”

Another step. His hands cradle her face, trembling. “Azriel—”

“I’ll stop hiding,” he says, desperate now. “I’ll fight for this—for you. Just… please. Don’t walk away. Not now. Not when I finally see you.”

But she turns her face away. His hands fall. His shadows sob.

“I can’t, Azriel. Not when I’ve spent so long loving someone who didn’t want me. I gave you everything I had. I broke myself apart and used the pieces to heal you. I have nothing left to give. Not now. Maybe never.” His shadows swarm at her feet, begging her to give their master one last chance. “Go home Azriel, please…” 

“Please.” 

Her final whisper isn’t to him. It’s to the shadows. Please.

And they obey.

The door creaks open, dark tendrils pulling it wide. His own shadows betray him, giving her freedom when he cannot. A betrayal, yes—but also mercy. 

She pauses on the stairs. Her voice is soft, final. “Goodbye, Azriel.”

He doesn’t stop them. He doesn’t stop her. Because the bond might have claimed her as his, but she never would.

The door creaks wider as she makes it up the stairs, shadows curling around its edges like fingers prying him away from her. He resists for a heartbeat—he can’t leave her, not like this—but his own magic betrays him. His shadows shove at his shoulders, insistent, merciless.

Out. Out. Out.

They herd him through the threshold, the wooden frame scraping against his wings as though punishing him for daring to stay. The door slams behind him, the final sound of her absence.

He wants to fight them, to claw his way back inside, to beg until she believes him. But fear roots him—fear that staying will only make her walk further away, fear that loving her fully will destroy them both. Fear has always been the loudest voice. And now it’s the only one left.

The bond is a wildfire in his chest, searing, tearing, clawing at every vein. He staggers down her porch steps before his knees give way. His shadows collapse with him, writhing across the stone, keening their fury in a chorus of whispers that echo inside his skull:

You broke her. You lost her. You ruined her. Mate. Mate. Mate.

Azriel presses a trembling hand to his sternum, as if he could hold the bond in, as if sheer will might soothe the agony. But it only burns hotter, a merciless tether pulling tight, demanding what she’ll never give.

He bows forward, wings sagging, and sobs rip through him before he can stop them. His shadows gather like mourners, circling him, rocking with his shaking body. Some lash at him, angry, others curl close, trying to hold together what can’t be mended.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there—minutes, hours. The sky begins to pale, shadows stretching thin as dawn approaches. His throat is raw, his chest burning, but still he can’t move.

And then—he hears it.

Through the walls, through the distance: her heartbeat.

Steady. Gentle. Asleep.

He closes his eyes and strains his ears to hear it, focusing on that rhythm, letting it anchor him. He matches his ragged breathing to it, in and out, until the panic in his chest ebbs just enough to keep him alive. His shadows still too, rocking softly in time with the sound, clinging to the one piece of her they can reach.

As the sun rises, spilling gold across his broken face, he makes his vow, the bond thrashing in his chest. “I’ll do anything. Anything to win her back.”

The shadows hum low, dark agreement, sealing it like an oath.

"Don't mind me, I'm leaving in a second", he spoke out, still not turning around. His posture stayed rigid. There was no other indication of him noticing your presence.

Without thinking, I countered: "Oh, so now you're speaking again?". Azriel’s neck tensed. That came out a little meaner than anticipated.

He sighed. "Maybe".

I took the few steps to the other chair and slid into it. Hesitantly, I turned my head towards him. He still wouldn't meet my eyes. Azriel looked tired, his eyes half closed with bags underneath them. His long fingers were clenched around the armrests of his chair. It was evident that he was severely unwell. How long had this been going on for? Maybe I should have pressed harder when he started ignoring me, I realized, and not folded in on myself.

For a while, we sat in silence while I studied him. Then I couldn't bear it anymore. I swallowed the anxiety that had welled up inside me for weeks, tried to calm my flaying nerves. "What is going on, Az, are you okay? Please, we can talk about whatever happened. I miss you”, I pleaded, the last words only a whisper. I quickly shut my mouth before more words could escape my lips. Come back, I thought, come back to me.

The muscles in his jaw tensed and he dropped his head into his hands. "Don't say that. Don't make it harder than it already is".

Desperation grew inside of me. Even if he did not love me back, I would not bury our friendship without at least putting up a fight. “We can work it out. Whatever it is, we can face it together”.

His face twisted in a pained expression. “Cauldron boil me, I wish it were that easy”

"Is this about starfall?", I asked. Finally, our gazes met. Azriel looked defeated. "So it is?". He didn't deny it, so I assumed I was correct. "You're embarrassed at what happend, or what? Do you want to take back what you did and said? Is it because you're scared?". The shadows drew in closer around him, pooling around his chest and neck, as if to guard him.

His voice was agonized when he replied: "You don't understand. You just don't understand and I can't even be mad at you. But I can't be around you like this". Azriel had always been a man of few words, but frustration hit you hard. Why couldn't he give you at least some insight? "Then fucking explain it to me, Az! I can't take this anymore."

There was no hesitation in his voice this time. "Maybe I shouldn't have kissed you."

This felt like a blow to my stomach. All air was knocked right out of me. This day was the happiest I had been in years. I thought about it before falling asleep, in the bathtub and over breakfast. Again and again, I replayed this moment to make sure I hadn't made it up, to hold onto it. And now he was destroying it, crushing it, with a single sentence. Tears welled up in my eyes and I fought to not let them roll.

I hated myself for the crack of my voice, when I asked: "Was it that horrible? Did I disgust you much that you can't even look at me anymore?". Even if he didn't love me -

"Don't you ever think about yourself like that", he practically growled, "you, out of all people, have no business believing that". He was angry now, as if he couldn't even understand how I could think that. His words confused me. One second he said he shouldn't have kissed me and now this?

"Then what is it, Az? What happened to 'I will always find you'? Talk to me please. Make me understand", I begged. My hand reached out to thread through his fingers, but he escaped my grasp, stood up and leaned against the terrace fence.

There was a long pause. I almost thought he wouldn't answer. Then, quietly, almost desparately: "Can't you feel it?"

What did he mean? Why did he always have to be so cryptic? "I feel that you're drifting away from me and I can't get ahold of you. LIke I'm reaching out and begging and with every try, you float further away".

His hands gripped the banister so tightly his knuckles turned white and a sad smile crossed his face. "That's how I feel about you as well."

"What did I do wrong? Please. I'm right here, you're not losing me". I would plead on my knees before letting go. There was nothing I wouldn't do to get him back. Even if he regretted the kiss, I would not lose my best friend. My better half.

When he glanced back at me, the look in his eyes broke me. The spark in them was gone, the glint I had come to love dimmed. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault". The sadness seeped out of him, his shadows now concealing almost every part of him, except for his face. I had never seen him like this. "Please, give me some space. I - I'll tell you. Just this once, please". Without waiting for my answer, he jumped over the low fencing around the rooftop terrace and flew into the night. And left me alone with my thoughts. Only then did my tears start to run.

How did it go?

Fuck off, Rhysand

I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat dry, my heart hammering.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

The words that left my mouth weren't my own. Neither was my voice. What was going on? I still felt half asleep.

"I thought Y/N would figure it out herself. It was so painfully obvious in her memories, but she just didn't connect the dots. Pretty ironic considering her job". I couldn't focus on my surroundings, still only half conscious. All I could register were the big violet eyes staring at me.

Anger flared up at the other person's words, but it wasn't mine. I could feel it, but it was somehow...foreign. Rhys was talking to me, I realized. But it wasn't me, really. The body I was in was taller, the angle I saw everything from was wrong. And the hands that were brought up to sweep the stray hairs out of my eyes were tan, scarred and surrounded by shadows. I was inside Azriel's mind. Suddenly, I was wide awake. Why was I here? How did I even get into this situation?

"What was she thinking about?", Azriel asked. Rhysand gave me - no - Azriel a long look. Azriel was back at the townhouse and they were speaking about my previous talk with Rhys, it seemed. Curiosity took over the confusion within me. I longed to know what Azriel would say about me. Would he tell Rhys the reason for his behavior?

"I think you know. I'm not telling you. She screamed bloody murder at me that I had violated her thoughts like that". Disappointment lapped at me from within him. But there was something else entirely, too. Affection. Concern.

There was a long pause. Azriel started pacing the room. "You could make her some food", Rhys offered, "That should clear it up. Apart from the rather obvious method". Az' wings rustled behind him. He was uncomfortable. Blurry images of our entwined bodies came into his mind. They came and went fast, he quickly shoved each one away behind thick barriers. What did that mean?

"I'm not going to force her like that. She should decide for herself. And the "obvious method" as you called it, is not really an option to me right now". An image of me, naked in his bed blazed through his mental shields. By the Mother, what were they talking about? He breathed in deeply and vanished this product of his imagination. I grew restless. Why was he thinking about me like this, when only a few hours ago he had made very clear that he didn't even want to think about the kiss? Did he lie to me?

Azriel started pacing. His mind was racing. Shards of conversations with me came flying from his thoughts into my own. Dozens of made-up scenarios of him iniciating conversations that ended with me rejecting him. Which was weird, because why would I-

Rhy interrupted my - our thoughts: "Can you feel her? As her mate you should be able to have some insight into her mind".

All thoughts left my mind. Mate mate mate mate mate mate mate echoed through me. Azriel was my mate. My whole worldview shifted as I thought about our last conversation. Why didn't he just tell me? Somewhere far away from here I felt the blood rushing through my veins, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Mate.

"Not really, so far. Every now and then I can feel something, but hearing her thoughts or even seeing them... that only happened once". I longed to see what he had seen, but he had regained his composure. There was nothing slipping past his wards. A million questions raced through my head. Why couldn't I feel the bond? And since when did he know about this?

"Can I have a look? Maybe I can feel around and find out what the problem is", Rhys offered.

I felt him before I could withdraw from Azriel's mind. I didn't even know how to withdraw. Where was the path back to myself? Where did Azriel end and I begin? How had I even ended up here? I didn't know.

Soft claws stroked my consciousness - no, Azriel's. It felt nearly the same. Rhys dived into Azriel's brain, pulling me down into his thoughts with him, and sifted through memories, feelings, everything Az would let him see. Big parts of his brain were walled in, impenetrable.

Something here is different. He carefully dove through Az' brain and before I knew it, his invisible claws were stroking at my own walls. Interesting. Until he found what he was looking for. A tiny, softly glowing, thread, bound tightly to my thoughts, winding straight into the heart of Azriel's sectioned-off memories.

Go back, and for Cauldron's sake, talk to him, Rhys purred at me.

Azriel POV

I would never get used to the feeling of my brother combing through my brain, even after over 600 years. He was gentle and respected the heavy wards I had built over time, protecting my most vulnerable memories. The size of the walled-in part had grown considerably over the past years. But he was kind enough not to comment on that. Rhys moved along the outskirts of my brain until I could barely feel him anymore. But he was still there, somewhere. Somewhere... foreign. At the edges of my consciousness, a claw hit heavy walls. Walls that weren't my own. And then: a claw lightly stroking a thread that was welded to the essence of my being. A mating bond. Thin and fickle, not yet accepted. But it was there. And that meant that on the other side, behind thick walls... was her.

"Did you feel that?", Rhys asked after he withdrew from my mind. My shadows swirled around me, as if they had sensed something as well. They seemed elated, tugging at my hands and wings to get me moving.

"Yes", I breathed out, "thank you ". The smallest spark of hope ignited within me. I quickly shut it down. If it hadn't snapped for her yet, who was to say it ever would?

"The bond is most definitely not one-sided", Rhys explained, "I could feel her on the other side, but it has not fully snapped. Maybe because you've known each other for so long. What happened after you kissed at starfall? Maybe it takes a little more... closure.", he winked, sporting a wicked grin.

A low growl escaped my lips. He had no business thinking about my mate like this. She was my mate. Mine. The half-finished bond inside me flared up at his words, roaring with anger over his insinuation. If he ever so much as thought of her like this again, I would-

"Easy, man. Remind me to grant you a long vacation after you mate fully. You’re in desperate need of a good fuck". I breathed in deeply, trying not to tackle him to the ground.

It took all of my willpower to stay calm. "Can I stay here tonight?". There was no way I could sleep next door to her tonight.

"Always".

I left him there, went to the room I sometimes shared with Cassian and dropped onto my bed. As I stared at the dark ceiling, my thoughts circled back to another night.

I was drunk off her. She was beautiful everyday, I could barely take my eyes off her when she wore pajamas at breakfast. But today was a wholly different calibre. The dress she was wearing perfectly accentuated her eyes, and the glitter in her hair made her sparkle like she was a star herself.

"I will find you, no matter where. I promise". The words left my lips before I could think them through. She was too close to me. I had one glass of wine too much. Or maybe I was just sick of pretending.

"And I will find you", she replied. Her lips were slightly opened, the look in her eyes so vulnerable. A mirror of my own feelings. My shadows tugged at my suit's lapels, their whispers in my ears were delighted. This was it, the moment I had been waiting on forever.

Without my doing, my wings unfolded around her, shielding us off from the world around us. A breath later we were outside on a vacant balcony.

My ringed fingers shook slightly as I brought them up to her cheeks, cradling her face. Starlight reflected in her beautiful eyes and I wished I could drown in them. Her hands drew me in closer, her eyes closed. "Az - I...", she whispered.

Before I knew it, my lips touched hers. They were velvet on mine. Her hands threaded into the hair at the nape of my neck and she arched upwards. The only thought on my mind was her name, repeating like a prayer, while my lips moved softly on hers. Slowly, savoring every second, I parted her lips with my tongue. The moment our tongues touched, it was like a spark had been ignited inside me. A white hot feeling rushed through my veins and reflexively I moaned into her and pulled her closer. It was like a supernova inside me. Like something that had been missing from me my entire life was crafted with enormous force. And then I felt her. Her desire and wanting crashed down on me, amplified my own. My mate.

My knees threatened to buckle and the shadows swirled around her in ecstasy, threading through her hair, touching her arms and face.

And then the kiss ended and reality came crushing down on me with a force that knocked the wind out of my lungs.

She looked happy. Nothing more. There was no sign that she felt what I felt. No recognition that the Cauldron hat just welded our souls together, fused our entire beings into one. All my hopes shattered. My insides turned to ice and for a split second I wished I were dead.

Internally, I tried to reach out to her and tug at the string binding us together. But it was too thin, too unstable. There was no way for me to get ahold of it. Everytime I reached for it, it slipped from my grasp. I drew her into a hug to keep from breaking apart. But it was of no use. My hands started shaking against her back and my breath caught in my throat. I needed to go.

I pressed a kiss onto her forehead, before I withdrew from her embrace. Mumbling an excuse I barely registered, I forced myself to turn around and leave. With every step I took, I could feel my soul shattering into more and more pieces. In my room, I ripped my suit jacket off and threw it in a corner, didn't even bother to unbutton my shirt and instead tore it in two and threw it right after the jacket. I could still taste and feel her on my lips. In hopes of ridding myself of it, I tried to wipe her off of them. My hands came back red with lipstick.

The bond, still fresh, pulsed inside me and I felt her everywhere. Hell, I saw her in her mirror, through her own eyes, pulling off her dress and getting ready for bed, only a door away. I felt how tired she was, how happy she was. How fucking unaware she was that she was now the center of my world.

My shadows escaped from me, slithered underneath the door. They were agitated, longing for her as much as I was. Now, I felt how they pooled against her door, begging to be let in. I had just enough power over them to stop them from rushing into her room.

There was only one thing that would help now. I dug through my dresser. Mindlessly, I threw everything in my way into a pile on the floor. Until I found what I was looking for. A sinfully expensive bottle of very strong alcohol Cass had gifted me for solstice. Without thinking, I uncorked the flask with my teeth and drank until I gasped for air. And then I drank again. Anything to dull the ache inside me. The ache for her. Until I wouldn’t care anymore.

What a fucking mess. She was one of the few truly good things in my life and now that had been stolen from me too. Sometimes I felt like my life was one big single joke. No matter what, I never got what I wanted. I longed and pleaded and burned, but not once had life been playing fair with me. Maybe that was my curse. To give and give and never get anything in return.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear the voice of my father, long gone. Did you really think you deserved her? You are nothing, boy. And I knew he was right. How blind I was to believe that I was good enough for her. How fucking naïve.

There was nothing I could do. The bond ached inside me, mocking me for my delusions. I laid down and hoped the world would go away.