The magic weaving through the mansion was revolting, flecked with the powers of the High Lord himself, it was hard to ignore its presence. It wasn’t often Ayla stepped out of this chamber, though Azriel encouraged her, as did his family. She knew he meant well; it was the others she wasn’t certain of.

Breeze from the open windows cooled the marbled floors. Everyone except Azriel offered to close them—the wraiths, Nesta, Elain—whenever they reckoned to visit her, as though her simple wish was strange.

Her bare feet made no sound as Ayla stepped into the corridor. Darkness bathed the floor, except for the harsh pane of light streaked across the landing at the end of the stairway. Her shadow moved along the wall, faint hollows where eyes would be, in rhythm with her careful steps.

There was an eerie quiet in the house devoid of the usual whispers or chaffings. The dining table to her left was cleared and empty, as was the hallway to her right that led to the closed chambers and study Ayla hadn’t been shown yet.

As soon as she descended into the foyer, a thrill coursed through her veins, her heart thrashing in her chest. Her feet strangely tingled, felt more alive and eager to move than they had in the past months. She could finally breathe, but she dared not bask in the relief for long.

The solitude caught her unaware, and she stood gaping at the gleaming dark wood with the stars and moons carved on it. She was used to the softened call of her name as fingers wrapped around her arm and whisked her back upstairs, her body waiting for that moment to arrive before this hope took root in her.

Fire crackled behind her for no one breaking her out of the trance, and she rushed to the doors. Her hands touched the handles made of solid gold, and she closed her eyes.

Azriel.

Ayla was told she was free to leave. She was free to move. Was she?

She was welcomed here. This was her home, too, now. Was it?

Would Azriel fathom her reasons? Would they seek her if she eloped in the middle of the night?

The magic flowing through the wards reached back, singing her skin. Her fingers tightened on the bars and bones snapped with pain. Tears stung her eyes, yet a laughter welled up in her chest. When her voice threatened to spill, Ayla pressed her lips together, gritting her teeth.

Joy bloomed in her chest, a warmth spreading and seeping into every crack inside her and still reaching for more. Laced with amusement and a sort of wonder, it stretched within so as to claim her. Her every instinct to run was smothered as the desire to give in to the unbearable lightness taking hold of her.

Then she heard it. Inside her mind. A babe’s laughter.

Ayla retreated a few steps, shoving her hands behind her back as though that hid her act of transgression. Up the stairs she ran without a glance to ensure she was still alone. All the while, incoherent babbles and taunting giggles haunted her.

Ayla was a fool. A hasty, reckless fool. To have believed they left her alone. If Nyx was here, so were the others.

As soon as her head sank into the feather pillow, she pinched her eyes shut. Minutes passed, every one marked with a long, deep breath, and there still were no footfalls closing in.

When her heart finally settled, the door creaked softly. She curled further into herself, tucking her knees close to her chest. She wasn’t certain which of the wraiths it was this time, who they served, and whose commands they fulfilled.

Everywhere she went, one of them followed unless Azriel’s friends accepted that charge themselves, but always under the pretence of companionship, and Ayla would’ve offered them grace had they been adept at faking an interest.

Around her, conversations changed, voices hushed, and silences lingered. Shadows defied laws of nature. Eyes were too wary to match their smiles. Curiosity was a little too intrusive to be harmless. Tales and quips were a little too intimate to be inoffensive.

Ayla had known they weren’t meant to be as soon as she realised who Azriel was. Yet, she dallied with fate, played the part of a naive, love-stricken damsel who cared not of anything but the moment in her grasp. She didn’t belong here, with Azriel, with his family. They believed it, too, for their actions spoke for them.

Her own disapproved of Azriel, but they never questioned her; Raya and Orvin were always aware of their place. Ayla hadn’t needed to answer to anyone before. What was hers was hers alone.

Azriel’s family were a different breed. In the name of brotherhood, they brandished each other’s past to earn a place in his present. Everyone fought for a claim on him. And it wouldn’t be long before Azriel succumbed to his loyalty—to his friends, to his High Lord; it didn’t matter.

His presence washed over her before he even closed the door.

Time stretched in these moments of biding what was to come. Ayla felt his eyes on her. If he moved, she didn’t hear him. One with darkness itself, Azriel was capable of evading her senses when he truly wanted. Right then, he did. But he often forgot he was hers as much as she was his. And nothing that belonged to her escaped her.

The mattress dipped behind her and Azriel waited some more before he pressed his bare chest to her back. A slow caress of his knuckles along her face. He had always been certain with his touches, but that night had emboldened him more.

Azriel kissed her behind the ear. ‘I know you’re awake.’

His breaths warmed her neck, and Ayla remained still.

Another kiss landed on her shoulder. His hand travelled along her arm and landed atop hers. Azriel weaved their fingers together, slotted perfectly together in all their callouses and scars, and when he closed his palm over hers, she couldn’t return his touch.

She wasn’t certain she wanted to, either.