He hadn’t meant to snap at Cassian. He rarely lost his temper, rarely let anything slip. But tonight, after seeing Elain—the vision of a future he couldn’t have shattering before his eyes—he was feeling a bit… tense.
Cassian had always been a brute when it came to meals, but Azriel had never cared before. Had never minded. But today wasn’t just any day.
Today, Elain had spent hours in the kitchen, preparing this dinner with the twins, just as she had prepared countless others before it. And no one ever seemed to notice. No one ever seemed to appreciate the work she did, the way she quietly held this family together with warm meals, soft words, and the simple grace of her presence.
She was always overlooked.
Not by him. Never by him.
So when Cassian reached for his food while Elain was still freshening up, while she wasn’t even in the room to take her place at the table, something in him snapped. "Wait," he had said, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.
Cassian had blinked, genuinely confused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "Wait for what? The gravy?"
Azriel’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, his voice quieter, but no less commanding. "Wait until everyone is seated before eating."
A few beats of silence. Then Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. "Since when are you a stickler for manners, Az?"
Azriel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He just held Cassian’s gaze, unyielding. The others gawked at him—Amren arched a brow, Mor glanced between them, even Rhys seemed mildly amused.
He didn’t care. Because Elain would not be treated as a servant. Not today. Not ever.
And then—there she was.
Walking back into the room, her dress the softest shade of rose, the pink of her cheeks and lips mirroring the warmth of it. She had braided her hair back, little tendrils slipping loose around her face, catching the faelight like spun gold.
His chest tightened. He had spent the last few hours pacing, wondering if she would be alright, if she would recover from what Nesta had done. And here she was, holding herself together, smiling softly as she took in the scene.
He forced himself to breathe.
Don’t look at her like that.
Don’t let them see.
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“Well…” Elain said, leaning in just the slightest bit, her voice conspiratorial, as if telling him a secret.
Azriel leaned in, too.
“I haven’t told anyone this yet…”
He waited, eyes locked on hers. She smirked. “You’re getting quite old,” she said, dropping her voice even lower. “I mean—five hundred and thirty eight? Won’t you soon be walking with a cane? And your eyesight.... well, it’ll be going soon, too. I swore I saw a gray hair the other day…”
Azriel’s brows lifted. Elain continued, utterly unphased. “Well, we can’t have our Spymaster getting slow. So I figured I would learn to take your place. As Spymaster, of course. So I've been perfecting paying attention. Noticing all the details. Since soon you will be much too old to do so.”
And then, the cherry on top— She winked. Azriel laughed. A real, unrestrained laugh. Tossed his head back, teeth bared, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Elain clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle her own laughter, but her eyes, Mother above, her eyes.
They sparkled. Glowed.
Like stars.
Like magic.
Like her.
Five hundred and thirty-eight. The number sounded obscene coming from her lips, as if he had one foot in the grave already. And a cane? He let out another laugh, running a scarred hand down his face as she continued, completely unphased by his reaction.
“So you’re replacing me?” he managed to say, his voice still laced with laughter.
Elain nodded solemnly, taking a delicate sip of her wine. “I’ve been studying.”
“Studying,” he echoed, utterly delighted at this turn in conversation.
She nodded again. “I’ve been watching you, Azriel.” The way she said it, casual, teasing, but with a glint of something else in her eye, had his chest tightening.
He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to look away. “And what exactly have you learned, Spymaster?”
Elain hummed, as she tilted her head to the side, pretending to think. “Well,” she began, “I’ve noticed that you don’t actually read all those letters your shadows give you. You just skim them and pretend to be brooding.” Azriel let out another laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not true.”
She raised a brow. Azriel pressed his lips together, pretending to glare. “It’s mostly not true.”
Elain smirked, victorious.
“What else?” he asked, leaning into this ridiculous game.
“I’ve noticed that you always take the chair closest to the fireplace, but you pretend like you don’t care where you sit.” Azriel blinked. Had she really noticed that?
She wasn’t finished. “I’ve noticed that you let Cassian win sometimes when you argue. But only when he’s in a particularly bad mood.”
Azriel coughed, nearly choking on his drink. “Excuse me?”
Elain beamed, utterly smug. “I knew it.”
Azriel pressed his lips together, shaking his head as he muttered, “I do not.”
Elain just grinned and took another sip of her wine. He watched her, still half-stunned, half-amazed. She had been watching him. Paying attention. He had spent centuries watching others, analyzing, gathering information, ensuring he knew everything before anyone else did.
But Elain, she had been doing the same to him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even noticed. Elain leaned forward again, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I’ve also noticed something else.”
Azriel tilted his head, utterly entranced. “What’s that?”
She smirked. “That for all your shadows, for all your secrets, for all your brooding and mystery—” she paused, eyes gleaming with mischief—“you are terrible at hiding when you’re flustered.”
Azriel went still. Elain sat back, pleased, lifting a wineglass to her lips as if she hadn’t just unraveled him in front of the entire room. His shadows swirled in outrage, his ears burning, and yet—
Yet he laughed. Deep, full, real. Because of course—of course—Elain Archeron had managed to outmaneuver him. And she winked again, as if sealing the victory. The entire room had gone silent. Azriel barely noticed. He barely noticed the stares, barely noticed the way Amren gawked at him, or how Mor raised a golden brow in surprise. Because Elain... Elain was laughing. With him. And he didn’t care about anything else.
“Well, someone has had plenty to drink tonight,” Mor drawled, her voice teasing but curious as she took another sip of wine, tilting her head.
Azriel knew that look. The one where she was assessing him, trying to figure him out. But for once.... he didn’t care. For once, his attention didn’t flicker to Mor. For once, he didn’t cast his gaze downward, didn’t tense, didn’t search for something he knew he would never find in her eyes.
Because for once— He was too busy looking at Elain.
Elain, still glowing from laughter. Elain, whose gaze lingered on him, and not anyone else. Elain, who had winked at him. Elain, who had noticed his pain, his headaches, and done something about it. Elain, who sat close—so close—to him, warmth curling around them both.
So he looked at her. Really looked at her. Her soft brown eyes. The gentle curve of her lips. The soft flush on her cheeks.
