#azrielpov

Chapter 12 — Morvethis: Bearer of Dark Death is up now on AO3

To read, click the link down below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/83391311/chapters/221953411

This chapter is… different—heavier, sharper. It’s entirely from Azriel’s point of view, and for the first time, you’re not just witnessing his control, you’re seeing the cost of it: what it takes to hold everything in, what it’s been doing to him, and what happens when that control is pushed just a little too far.

FATES BARGAIN

Chapter 3

AZRİEL

I stood back from the lively buzz of conversation, my arms crossed over my chest, shadows curling around me like a second skin. From where I lingered near the entrance of the River House’s courtyard, I had a clear view of her. Sy was with Feyre, Mor, and Elain, the three of them chatting animatedly with her. Feyre’s warm laugh echoed through the open space, Mor’s hands moving in expressive gestures, and Elain’s soft, encouraging smile aimed at Sy as she tried to draw her into the conversation.

But I wasn’t focused on what they were saying. No, my attention was on Sy herself—on the way she responded, the way she shifted nervously under their kindness, as if it was foreign to her. Her body language spoke volumes: the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands fidgeted with the fabric of her new dress, how she glanced down when the others’ attention turned too directly toward her, as if uncertain how to accept it.

There was something about her that held my attention, something that went beyond mere curiosity. It was a feeling I couldn’t quite place, like a word that hovered on the tip of my tongue but refused to be spoken. I told myself that I was simply doing my job—keeping an eye on a potential threat. After all, she was still an unknown element in our world, brought here by an ancient power with motives none of us could yet understand. That’s what I told myself. And yet...

I couldn’t ignore the way my gaze lingered on the way the evening light caught the subtle highlights in her hair, or how the dress she wore—the deep twilight blue—flowed around her in a way that made her seem as if she belonged to the shifting shadows of dusk. I hated that my attention kept drifting back to these details, these little things that had no bearing on the potential danger she posed. But they drew me in, nonetheless, as if there was a thread connecting us that I couldn’t untangle.

Rhysand and Cassian were nearby, talking in low voices. I could catch bits and pieces of their conversation—plans about the approaching tensions in the north, the rumors of unrest among the Illyrian camps—but the words barely registered in my mind. My shadows should have been trained on them, on the potential threats gathering beyond Velaris’s borders, but they hovered around Sy instead, drifting closer, as if drawn to the same quiet mystery that held my focus.

Cassian’s laugh broke through my thoughts, low and knowing, and I tore my eyes away from Sy just in time to see him smirking at me. He folded his arms across his broad chest, giving me that look—the one that said he knew exactly what was going through my mind, even if I hadn’t put it into words yet. “You’re staring, Az,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “She’s got you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

I shot him a sharp look, refusing to let his teasing get under my skin. “I’m watching her, Cassian,” I replied coolly, keeping my tone even, professional. “It’s my job to figure out whether she’s a threat or not. We still don’t know what brought her here, or what she’s capable of. It’s better if someone keeps an eye on her.”

But even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren’t the whole truth. Yes, it was my responsibility to ensure that she didn’t pose a danger to Velaris, to Rhysand and Feyre, and to all those I swore to protect. But there was another reason I kept watching her, a reason that tangled in the shadows of my own thoughts, making it impossible to look away.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, the smirk deepening as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Right. And all those looks you’re giving her—the ones that seem to linger a little longer than necessary—those are just part of the job too?” He chuckled, his laughter a rough rumble that made my jaw clench.

I shot him a glare, but he wasn’t wrong. Even I could admit that. There was something in Sy that stirred a part of me I hadn’t expected—something that made me want to know what lay beneath the guarded glances and cautious smiles. But I couldn’t let myself go down that path. I couldn’t afford distractions. “Believe what you want, Cassian,” I muttered, turning my gaze back to Sy, trying to ignore the knot tightening in my chest. “She’s different. I’m just being thorough.”

Cassian’s laughter softened, turning into a more genuine, knowing smile. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “Sure, Az. Keep telling yourself that.” He paused, letting the silence stretch between us before adding, more quietly, “Just... don’t forget to let yourself be something more than the Spymaster once in a while. Not everything has to be a threat.”

I stiffened at his words, a familiar defensiveness rising in me. I shrugged off his hand, keeping my eyes on Sy as she laughed softly at something Mor had said, the sound delicate, almost fragile. It was a sound I hadn’t expected from her, and something about it made that knot in my chest pull tighter. “You’re imagining things,” I replied curtly. “I’m just doing my job.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t entirely true. Because in that laugh, in the way she seemed to carry a weight that matched my own, I saw a reflection of something that felt achingly familiar. A loneliness that I recognized, though I couldn’t explain why. And I hated that it called to me, that it made me want to reach out and understand it, even when I knew that letting myself care about her could only lead to trouble.

Cassian sighed, but he didn’t push the issue further. He turned back to Rhysand, their conversation resuming, but I could feel his knowing smirk lingering, like an itch at the back of my mind.

I forced myself to focus, to remind myself of why I was really here. She was an unknown, a question that needed answering. But as I watched her from across the courtyard, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to understand the full story behind those guarded eyes, and why—despite every instinct that told me to keep my distance—I felt the pull to unravel the mystery of her presence.

And why, as she glanced my way again, her expression softening when our eyes met, I couldn’t quite bring myself to look away.

SY

As the conversation with Feyre, Mor, and Elain continued around me, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. A tingling awareness crept along my skin, and despite the lively chatter of the three women beside me, I couldn’t ignore the weight of that steady gaze. It was like a pull—drawing my attention away from their words, coaxing me to look up.

So, I did. My eyes met Azriel’s across the courtyard, where he stood with Rhysand and Cassian. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed over his chest, but his focus was entirely on me. Those hazel eyes of his, shadowed and intense, seemed to see straight through me, unraveling secrets I wasn’t even sure I had. The air between us seemed to still, the sounds of the River House and the river itself fading into the background. It was as if, in that moment, the world had narrowed to just the space between his gaze and mine.

For a moment, I couldn’t look away. And it struck me then—just how undeniably handsome he was. I’d seen it before, of course, the sharp angles of his jaw, the strong lines of his shoulders, the way his dark hair fell just slightly into his eyes, giving him an untamed look that made my pulse race a little faster. But there was something more—something about the way he carried himself, a quiet strength that wasn’t loud like Cassian’s but still commanded attention. A charisma that lingered in the shadows around him, making him both mysterious and impossible to ignore.

It was unsettling how easily he could capture my focus, how my thoughts seemed to twist around him even as I tried to concentrate on the conversation with the others. I forced myself to tear my gaze away, turning back to Feyre, Mor, and Elain, who were discussing plans for the next day. I nodded along, but I could feel my mind wandering back to him, wondering what thoughts hid behind those watchful eyes, what made him so intensely aware of me.

I tried to engage in their conversation—Feyre was talking about a new art project she wanted to start, and Elain chimed in with suggestions about the flowers she could use as inspiration. I even managed a few comments of my own, but the entire time, I was aware of the steady beat of my heart, of the way my pulse seemed to quicken whenever I thought of the way Azriel had looked at me.

After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me, and I dared to glance back in his direction, just to see if he was still looking. I expected to find him focused on Rhysand and Cassian, maybe leaning back into whatever serious conversation they were having. But instead, I caught him again—his gaze fixed on me, his expression unreadable. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes when he realized I’d caught him staring, but he didn’t look away immediately.

A small, mischievous smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it, a silent acknowledgment that I had noticed him watching. Azriel’s reaction was almost immediate—his cheeks darkened with a hint of color, just enough to be noticeable, before he quickly turned his attention back to the conversation with his brothers. He pretended as though nothing had happened, his posture shifting as he murmured something to Rhysand, but I didn’t miss the way he seemed just a little too focused on appearing nonchalant, as if he could erase the moment with sheer willpower.

I bit back a laugh, a warmth spreading through my chest at the thought that I had managed to fluster him, even just a little. It was a small victory, but it left a pleasant flutter in my stomach, a reminder that beneath his stoic exterior, there was still something human—something that responded to me in ways that were beyond his control.

But as I turned back to the girls, I realized they hadn’t missed the exchange either. Mor’s eyes were alight with amusement, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she tilted her head, studying me with a look that was far too observant. “So, Sy,” she began, her tone teasing, “did you enjoy the view over there?”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, a smile curling the edges of her mouth as she exchanged a glance with Elain. Elain, ever gentle, tried to hide her own amusement behind a polite cough, but the way her eyes sparkled gave her away. “You and Azriel seemed to be having a little... moment,” she said softly, though there was no judgment in her voice, just a kind curiosity.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I tried to shrug off their comments, though my smile must have given me away. “It’s not like that,” I mumbled, feeling a little flustered under their collective gaze. “He’s just... watching me because, well, I’m new here. It’s his job to be suspicious, right?”

Mor let out a laugh, her smirk widening as she nudged my arm playfully. “Oh, sure, let’s go with that. But I’ve known Azriel a long time, and I can tell you—he doesn’t usually get that distracted when he’s supposed to be working.”

Feyre’s smile turned a touch more sympathetic, though her amusement hadn’t faded. “He’s not easy to read, but... maybe you’ve caught his attention in more ways than one, Sy.”

Elain nodded, her voice gentle but curious. “There’s no harm in being curious about someone, after all. It’s... kind of nice, isn’t it? To know that someone is looking out for you?”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. The warmth that lingered from Azriel’s gaze, from the way he had seemed so focused on me, left me feeling strangely exposed, but not in an entirely unwelcome way. “I don’t know,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely more than a murmur. “I think it’s more complicated than that.”

Mor’s smirk softened, and she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Complicated is just another word for interesting, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but smile at that, and as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, I found myself glancing back toward Azriel one last time. He was focused on Cassian and Rhysand now, but there was a stiffness to his posture that hadn’t been there before, like he was still aware of the connection that had sparked between us, even if he was trying to ignore it. And though I didn’t know what any of it meant, I couldn’t help but wonder what might come of it—what secrets might lie behind those watchful eyes, and whether I was as much of a mystery to him as he was to me.

Feyre and Rhysand led me to the room where I’d be staying, their footsteps echoing down the quiet halls of the River House. The room was tucked into a distant wing, far from the heart of the home where the rest of them gathered. It was beautifully decorated, filled with rich, warm colors and thoughtfully chosen furniture, but the isolation was palpable. Feyre offered me a reassuring smile as we reached the door, a smile that mirrored the one she’d given me earlier when she’d hinted about Azriel.

“We don’t want you to think we’re trying to isolate you,” she said gently, her voice sincere. “This is just the only spare room we have, Sy. But the good news is, there’s someone in the room next door who can keep you company if you need it. Maybe you could knock on his door if you ever need anything.” There was a hint of mischief in her eyes, the kind that made my cheeks warm. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who she meant.

I ran cool fingers over my flushed cheeks, trying to dispel the heat that rose there. “Thank you, Feyre, Rhysand,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I managed a quick, flustered smile before retreating into the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. “Good night,” I added, but they were already disappearing down the hall.

Inside, the room was as welcoming as the rest of the house. A large wardrobe stood against one wall, and when I opened it, I found the clothes Feyre had bought me earlier, neatly arranged alongside a few other outfits I hadn’t seen before. The thoughtfulness behind it warmed me—a reminder that, despite being a stranger, they had treated me with a kindness I hadn’t expected. It made me pause, thinking about the family I had left behind. How were they faring without me? What had become of my body back in my own world? Was it still lying in that hospital bed, or had they already said their goodbyes?

Pushing those thoughts aside, I walked out onto the balcony. The cool night air washed over me, carrying with it the scent of the river and the crispness of the mountain breeze. I leaned against the railing, staring out at the breathtaking scene before me. The Night Court’s skyline stretched out under a sky full of stars, more vivid than anything I’d ever seen back in my world. The mountains loomed dark and majestic in the distance, while the river wound its way through the city, reflecting the starlight like a ribbon of silver. It was so beautiful, so unreal, that I found myself holding my breath, afraid that if I blinked, it might vanish like a dream.

I closed my eyes, letting the night air fill my lungs, trying to center myself, to silence the tumultuous thoughts that kept circling in my head. But then a voice broke through the quiet, low and smooth as the river itself, startling me so much that I jumped.

“Rough day?” The male voice came from my right, and my hand flew instinctively to my chest, trying to steady my racing heart.

Azriel stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe of his own balcony, his arms crossed. He looked relaxed, almost amused, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips as he watched me with that familiar, unreadable gaze. His shadows lingered around him, curling in the darkness like smoke. How long had he been standing there? Long enough to have seen me lost in thought, that much was certain.

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask the way my heart still pounded in my chest. “You Illyrian males seem to have a hobby of sneaking up on me, don’t you?” I teased, forcing a smile to my lips, though I couldn’t quite shake the flustered feeling.

He arched a brow, his expression curious. “Males, plural? Who else has managed to scare you?” He didn’t move from his spot, but there was a subtle tension in the set of his shoulders, a tightness in his voice that hinted he didn’t like the idea of me being caught off guard by anyone else.

His handsome features were as still as stone, but I could sense the disapproval beneath his calm exterior. It was as if the idea that someone else might have shaken me irritated him more than it should. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d imagined the edge in his voice.

“Rhysand,” I replied with a small shrug, trying to play it off as casually as I could. “Earlier today, he did the same thing—caught me off guard, just like you did now.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to share that with him, why I wanted him to know, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the conversations I’d had with Feyre and the others, the suggestion that there might be more to Azriel’s watchful gaze than mere duty.

He said nothing in response, but the silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts. His shadows shifted subtly, brushing against the air like whispers I couldn’t quite hear. I turned my gaze back to the stunning view before me, trying to focus on the night rather than the heat that his presence seemed to stir inside me.

I drew in a deep breath, the night air cool against my flushed skin, but my mind raced with questions. Could I have powers here, in this new world? What did Hekate truly want from me? How had I even managed to cross the veil between worlds? And what of my family—were they grieving, or had they already moved on from my absence?

Closing my eyes tightly, I tried to will the thoughts away, to quiet my mind. One step at a time, I reminded myself. Focus on what’s in front of you.

When I turned back around, thinking Azriel might have returned to his room, I found myself inches away from him, my chest bumping against his solid form. A surprised gasp slipped from my lips as I looked up, realizing he hadn’t gone anywhere—he had simply moved closer, quietly as always, standing just behind me. His presence was overwhelming, a wall of warmth and strength, and I felt as if I’d stumbled into a shadowed corner that was both safe and dangerous at the same time.

I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze. His hazel eyes shone like embers in the darkness, flecks of gold catching the faint moonlight. I could feel the shadows circling around us, brushing against my skin like curious fingers, but I was too caught up in the moment to care. A strange warmth coiled inside my chest, a heat that seemed to radiate from the closeness of his body, the nearness of his breath against my cheek. I couldn’t tell if it came from his proximity or from the way he looked at me, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away, as if breaking the connection between our eyes would shatter something fragile.

We stayed like that for a heartbeat—two heartbeats—time stretching out between us until it felt like the world had stopped turning. He studied me with such intensity that it felt as though he was trying to read the secrets I kept hidden, trying to understand the thoughts I wouldn’t share.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry, and somehow managed to find my voice. “Goodnight, Azriel,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, the words shaky with a tension I couldn’t quite name.

His expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something that matched the uncertainty fluttering in my chest. Then, he inclined his head, stepping back just enough to let me pass. I brushed past him, feeling the warmth of his presence lingering like a ghost as I made my way back into my room.

Once inside, I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I tried to steady my breathing. My thoughts were a tangled mess, the memory of his gaze, the feel of his breath against my skin, playing over and over in my mind.

I changed into the soft nightclothes I’d found earlier, slipping beneath the blankets of the bed. But as I lay there in the dark, the memory of those hazel eyes refused to fade. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them again, the way they had looked at me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

I tried to banish the thought, turning over in bed, forcing myself to focus on my breathing—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—but it was no use. Images of Azriel kept slipping into my mind, the way he had seemed both infuriatingly composed and yet... something else. Something more vulnerable, more uncertain.

And as I finally drifted off to sleep, the last thing I saw in the darkness behind my eyelids was the memory of his face, framed in shadow, the hint of a mystery in those eyes that made me want to learn more. It was a dangerous thought, but as sleep pulled me under, I found that I didn’t want to let it go.

AZRIEL

Azriel stood in the shadows of his room, the flickering light from the hearth casting long shadows across the walls. He had been here for a while now, attempting to lose himself in the reports Rhysand had given him earlier—briefings on the unrest brewing beyond Velaris, rumors of trouble among the Illyrian camps. His role, his duty, was clear, and it was a role he had played without hesitation for centuries. But tonight, his mind refused to focus on the parchment in front of him.

Instead, his thoughts kept straying—to her. To Sy.

He had been observing her all day, ever since she had arrived. He had watched her carefully, his attention sharp, cataloging every flicker of emotion that crossed her face, every slight shift in her posture. He had told himself that it was necessary, that she was an unknown, a potential threat to his court. And yet, beneath that excuse, there was a restless curiosity that he couldn’t quite silence. He found himself wondering what lay behind her guarded expressions, what kind of life she had left behind, and what kind of strength had brought her here—strength that he hadn’t expected to find in someone so seemingly fragile.

He could still remember the way her laugh had sounded at dinner, light and uncertain, as if she was testing out how it felt to be part of a conversation again. He could still see the way her cheeks had flushed when she caught him watching her across the table, the way her smile had tugged at something deep inside him that he had long since buried.

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to push those thoughts aside. It was foolish—dangerous, even—to let himself get distracted by someone who might be gone from their lives as suddenly as she had appeared. And yet, despite his best efforts, her presence lingered in his mind, like the scent of rain on the air before a storm.

He had almost managed to convince himself to go back to the reports when a faint hint of her scent reached him through the open balcony door. It was subtle, but unmistakable—something warm and sweet, like the scent of a flower blooming in the shadows. Without thinking, he found himself drifting toward the door, drawn by that familiar pull that seemed to tighten every time she was near.

He stepped onto the balcony, the night air cool against his skin, and glanced to his right. There she was—Sy, standing just a few feet away on her own balcony, leaning against the railing as she stared out at the night. Her back was to him, her silhouette framed by the silver glow of the moon, the delicate fabric of her dress shifting in the evening breeze. She seemed lost in thought, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, measured breaths, as if she was trying to calm something inside herself.

Azriel watched her silently, his shadows curling around him like a protective cloak, blending him into the darkness. He knew he should probably turn away, leave her to her thoughts, but he found that he couldn’t. There was a vulnerability in her stance, a weariness that he recognized all too well. It stirred something inside him, something that made his grip on the shadows loosen, made him take a step closer, though he knew it was foolish.

Without thinking, he spoke, letting his voice drift through the stillness between them. “Rough day?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand flying to her chest as if to steady her racing heart. Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, the way her reaction amused him. It wasn’t often that he managed to catch people off guard—not like this.

She turned to face him, and even in the dim light, he could see the flush of color that crept into her cheeks, the way she tried to hide her surprise with a laugh. “You Illyrian males seem to have a hobby of sneaking up on me, don’t you?” she teased, her voice light and playful, though there was an edge of nervousness beneath it.

Azriel arched an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as he studied her. “Males, plural? Who else has managed to scare you?” He didn’t move from where he stood, leaning against the edge of his own balcony, but he could feel a tension coiling inside him at the thought. The idea that someone else might have shaken her, might have made her feel vulnerable, stirred a possessiveness in him that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

She shrugged, brushing off his question as if it was nothing, but he caught the flicker of something in her eyes before she spoke. “Rhysand,” she said, her tone casual, but he could hear the undercurrent of something else—something that made his shadows tighten slightly. “Earlier today, he did the same thing—caught me off guard, just like you did now.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, though he tried to keep his expression impassive. He knew it was irrational to feel a flash of irritation at Rhysand’s name—Rhys was his brother, his High Lord, and he had every right to interact with Sy however he pleased. But the thought that she had been surprised by Rhysand in the same way she had been by him, that she might have felt that same shock, that same flutter of awareness—it dug at him, more than he cared to admit.

He didn’t respond, letting the silence settle between them again, and she turned back toward the view, her gaze sweeping across the night-shrouded landscape. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the edge of the railing as if she was trying to anchor herself. He wondered what thoughts chased through her mind—what fears and uncertainties haunted her in this strange new world.

She took a deep breath, her eyes slipping closed, and for a moment, she looked so small, so lost, that it sent a pang through his chest. He wanted to reach out, to tell her that she wasn’t alone in facing those shadows, but the words stuck in his throat. He had never been good at offering comfort, not in a way that didn’t come with the sharp edges of his own darkness.

When she turned back toward him, her movements tentative, he realized too late that he had moved closer, that he had crossed the invisible boundary between their balconies without even noticing. She collided with him, her small frame bumping into his chest, and he froze, his breath catching at the sudden closeness.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her surprise clear in the way her lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping her. Azriel stared down at her, aware of every inch of space between them—or rather, the lack of it. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Her scent—something sweet and unfamiliar—washed over him, making his thoughts blur and tangle, like shadows caught in a rising wind.

His shadows curled around her, almost of their own accord, brushing against her skin like curious tendrils. He forced them back, but the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made it harder to keep them in check. And despite his best efforts, he couldn’t look away from her, from the way her lips trembled slightly, from the vulnerability in her wide eyes.

She looked up at him, and in her gaze, he saw a reflection of his own uncertainty, his own struggle to find the right words. He could have moved back, could have turned away, but something held him there, something that whispered that if he broke this connection, if he pulled away, he might lose a chance he didn’t yet understand.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, caught in the stillness of the night, with only the distant murmur of the river breaking the silence. He could see her searching his face, and he wondered if she saw past the mask he wore, if she glimpsed the cracks that lay beneath.

She was the first to find her voice, her words barely a whisper. “Goodnight, Azriel.” Her voice trembled slightly, but there was a softness in it that brushed against the edges of his heart.

Azriel swallowed, forcing himself to nod, even though a part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to keep talking, to fill the silence between them with more than just secrets and shadows. But he let her pass, stepping back as she slipped into her room, her presence leaving a strange emptiness in the air behind her.

He watched the door close, standing alone on the balcony with only the night for company. His shadows whispered restlessly around him, carrying thoughts he refused to acknowledge, emotions he had buried too deep to name. He told himself that this was nothing more than curiosity, that she was an enigma to be solved, a potential danger that he needed to understand. But as he turned and slipped back into his own room, he couldn’t ignore the way his mind kept returning to the feel of her warmth against him, the way her eyes had looked when they met his.

Notes: This is technically a Drabble thanks to an anon ask but I’m posting it in its own post because it may inspire a four-chapter Gwynriel fic later down the line. The title “Ribbons” will make a lot more sense once you’ve read them all. The prompt was “Gwyn and Az first kiss 💖”. Enjoy!

Azriel always thought attraction was akin to an arrow—it was arresting, piercing the heart with that sudden epiphany. That’s how it had been with Mor and Elain—a moment of being unable to breathe, unable to think of anything apart from them, even as he realised that whilst his heart was no longer his own, he’d never own theirs.

And in the shared moments with each of those females, Azriel’s shadows always betrayed him. A smile solely for him or a few kind words and they’d lift for the briefest of seconds. It was enough time to expose his expression and the clear want in his eyes—sometimes even the faint embarrassment that burned his cheeks from being thrown into the spotlight. Because if there was one thing that Azriel had learnt over five hundred years it was that he would never be worthy.

But with Gwyn things were different. Their interactions weren’t conventional but intriguing. Gwyn was the priestess he’d been too late to save at Sangravah, but they rarely brought up how they first met. Instead, Gwyn acted as if he might be a predator. It was not something Azriel judged her for. After what had happened to her, he did not blame Gwyn for acting like she was a deer and he a lion. But under his and Cassian’s gentle tutelage in the sparring ring, and the company of Nesta and Emerie, Gwyn bloomed like the roses in his mother’s garden. No longer did she hover uncertainly in the shadows—she emerged fully into the light, her auburn hair glistening in the sunshine, her lithe figure unwaveringly strong in her fighting leathers.

And Gwyn was too smart for her own good, putting together that he had given her the necklace, and that she was not the original recipient, within weeks of receiving it. But rather than freeze him out, Gwyn had turned up to training after a few absent evenings and thanked him, before telling him sternly that she may be living with Clotho’s priestesses but that she didn’t need to be treated like damaged goods, thank you very much.

After that, she crept up on him—slowly but surely—over months of nightly training sessions as both of them avoided the churning of memory, thoughts and dreams. And in those moments beneath the stars, Azriel started to see Gwyn not as the girl who’d been raped by Hybern’s men, but as Gwyn. He learnt things about her and noticed details he hadn’t before—or at least hadn’t acknowledged thanks to his tortured wallowing—such as how Gwyn’s teal eyes glittered with challenge, or how her nose wrinkled just so when she was concentrating on mastering a manoeuvre.

But the biggest change was in his shadows—that pesky, childish part of him that Azriel couldn’t wholly control. They began to grow more inquisitive, peeking over his shoulder as she told him about her latest research or what book Nesta and Emerie had recommended to her. And if his focus slipped for a second, they would start to stretch their tendrils towards her, reaching, reaching—

Azriel blamed the lack of control on sleep deprivation, but Gwyn never shied away from the shadows that blotted out the stars. She only opened her palm, lit up as they wound around her arm and up her neck, whispering, whispering in a language no-one understood but him. Pestered him for answers about them until he was sure she was going to abandon their nightly meetings altogether in place of the library to learn more about Shadowsinger gifts.

And then one evening, after months and months of trying, Gwyn managed to cut the ribbon with her non-fighting hand. She turned to him with pure, undiluted elation etched across her features, and Azriel only had the time to register that she looked beautiful as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

It was rarely something anybody ever did with him. With Azriel people were always cautious in their approach of him—distant from the male submerged in the storm or shadows they did not understand. But Gwyn did not seem to care. Didn’t even blanch as his shadows twined around them like dancing ribbons.

And when she drew back, Azriel knew.

Chapter 27: Threads of Fate

Chapter 7 is now up (AO3)— What We Carry Home.

This one belongs entirely to Azriel: quiet mornings, unfinished thoughts, rain over Noxhaven, a borrowed book that lingers longer than expected, and the dangerous realization that some people begin to alter the shape of your days before you even notice. But softness never lasts long in this city, and what begins with tea, poetry, and a visit to Marigold House soon descends into the darker veins of Noxhaven.

READ HERE:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/84509256/chapters/225070221#main

Hey everyone, this is the part where I think Azriel's POV is going to make a lot of people happy!Enjoy, and don't forget to like my posts if you do!

AZRİEL

As they reappeared in the River House, Rhysand and Feyre on either side of her, Azriel’s eyes couldn’t help but follow Sy's movements. He watched as she steadied herself after the winnowing, a small smile tugging at her lips, her breath catching from the sudden shift. The dress she wore now—a twilight blue that flowed like water—hugged her form in a way that made him pause. The fabric draped over her curves, accentuating the line of her waist before cascading softly to her ankles. It suited her, he thought reluctantly, bringing out the gentleness in her eyes.

He kept his expression neutral, though his shadows betrayed him, swirling more restlessly around his shoulders. He reminded himself that this girl, this strange newcomer, was still an enigma—one they couldn’t fully trust yet. And yet, he couldn’t deny the strange pull he felt toward her, an attraction that he couldn’t quite explain. The way she looked at Velaris with a mix of awe and disbelief, the hesitant smile that hinted at a deeper well of hope—it drew him in despite himself.

As they made their way to the dining room, the others were already gathered. Cassian lounged casually in his chair, arms crossed as he smirked at Azriel and the newcomer. Nesta sat beside him, her posture straight and unyielding, watching Sy with an appraising look, her expression carefully blank. Elain, ever gentle, offered Sy a warm smile, the kind that seemed to welcome anyone into her circle. Across from them, Amren perched like a small but deadly bird, her silver eyes gleaming with curiosity as she took in their arrival.

The conversation flowed easily around the table as everyone settled in, and Sy’s presence among them seemed to gradually become a part of the rhythm of their interactions. Despite her earlier uncertainty, she began to relax, her answers to their questions becoming more genuine, her laughter joining the mix of voices. But Azriel noticed how she seemed to study each of them when she thought no one was looking, as if trying to memorize every detail of this new life.

“Is it always like this?” she asked softly after a while, a hint of wonder in her voice as she watched Cassian animatedly recounting a story from training. “The way you all are with each other?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, considering her question. “It’s not always this peaceful,” he admitted with a faint smile. “But yes, we’ve been through enough together to know how to enjoy the quiet moments when they come. Trust is something we value—something we’ve fought hard to earn.”

She nodded slowly, looking down at her plate, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. Azriel caught the way her shoulders tensed at the mention of trust, a shadow passing across her expression. He knew that look too well—knew what it was to carry the weight of isolation, even among others. It made him wonder what kind of life she had left behind when she’d made that desperate bargain, what losses she carried beneath her polite smiles.

His shadows stirred with his curiosity, brushing against her like a whisper, but he pulled them back, keeping his face impassive. He couldn’t afford to let his interest show—not when there were still so many unanswered questions. But he couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered on her when she wasn’t looking, drawn to the way the candlelight played across her face, softening the lines of her uncertainty.

Elain noticed his distraction, her gentle gaze catching his as she tilted her head in silent question, as if to ask what he was thinking. Azriel gave her a small, barely perceptible shake of his head, signaling that now wasn’t the time. She smiled softly, understanding, but he could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes, as if she had caught on to more than he had intended.

“Did you find anything that surprised you about Velaris?” Amren’s voice cut through the chatter, her tone sharp and direct as she fixed her silver gaze on Sy.

Sy blinked, as if startled by the question, but quickly recovered. “More than I can say,” she admitted with a small, hesitant smile. “It’s like seeing a dream come to life.”

Mor leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way. There’s nothing quite like Velaris when you first see it.” Her smile was genuine, but there was an edge to her words that made it clear she wasn’t entirely ready to trust Sy yet.

Nesta’s gaze was cooler, her expression unreadable as she studied Sy’s face. “Dreams can change,” she said, her voice low, a hint of warning threading through the words. “And so can the people living in them.”

Cassian nudged her playfully with his elbow, breaking the tension with a wink in Sy’s direction. “Don’t mind her—Nesta just likes to make sure everyone knows she’s keeping an eye on things.”

Sy managed a small laugh, but Azriel could see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes, the way she still seemed unsure of her place among them. And yet, there was a strength in the way she held herself, a quiet determination that made him think she wouldn’t back down easily, even in the face of so much doubt.

Rhysand, ever attuned to the undercurrents of a conversation, finally spoke up, his voice carrying a note of amusement. “I think our guest’s appetite is louder than her words, judging by the way her stomach keeps growling. Perhaps we should let her enjoy her meal before Cassian scares her off with another story.”

Sy’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she shot Rhysand a grateful, if embarrassed, look. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint smirk at her response, and when she glanced at him, he made sure to keep his expression neutral. But he couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind—how she had slipped into their lives so unexpectedly, how she seemed to tug at something within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He knew better than to let it show, but as he watched her across the table, he couldn’t deny that her presence intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

As the meal continued, and the conversation turned to lighter topics, he let himself watch her just a little longer, wondering what secrets she still held—and what it might mean for them all in the days to come.

SY

Dinner continued in near silence, the only sounds being the soft clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional babbling of little Nyx, who sat in his high chair, making contented noises as he played with a piece of bread. My hunger, which had been gnawing at me all day, seemed almost unnatural now, considering I’d grown so used to going without food back in my world. I was surprised by how ravenous I’d become, and as I finished the last bite on my plate, I sank back into my chair, feeling the uncomfortable fullness settle in my stomach. A part of me worried that my new clothes, snug as they were, might start to feel tighter after such a hearty meal.

Rhysand’s voice broke the quiet, drawing my attention back to the table. “Sy, earlier Feyre asked if you had any powers in your world. You said you didn’t, but what about here?” His violet eyes studied me intently, a shadow of concern crossing his expression.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. I hadn’t thought about it—hadn’t even considered the possibility. It was obvious that I wasn’t a High Fae, but I knew that some humans in this world had been granted powers under unique circumstances. My brows furrowed as I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice uncertain. “If I do have any abilities, I have no idea what they might be... or if I’d even know how to use them.”

My words seemed to stir something in Rhysand, his thoughtful expression deepening as he turned over the implications. Around the table, the others exchanged glances, their expressions varying from curiosity to concern. It was clear that none of them had considered this possibility before—not until now. The thought of me possessing some unknown power must have made them uneasy, especially considering that I hadn’t been brought here by the Cauldron, but by something much older, something ancient.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted to Amren and Nesta, a decision forming in his eyes. “Tomorrow, I want you both to work with Sy to see if there’s any way to determine whether she has latent abilities,” he instructed, his tone firm but calm. “If she does have any talents, it’s better for her to know—”

“—and better for us to know,” Nesta cut in, her voice sharp with a hint of disdain. Her words carried an edge that made her feelings clear—she wasn’t thrilled about my presence here, and she wanted to make sure I knew it. The hostility in her eyes was like a slap, but I kept my expression neutral, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing how it affected me.

I offered a silent nod of agreement to Rhysand’s request, even though unease prickled at the edges of my mind. It wasn’t as if I had a choice—if there was a chance I had powers, it was better to understand them than to stumble blindly through whatever challenges this world might throw at me.

Rhysand then turned his attention to Azriel, who had been quiet throughout most of the meal, his shadows a restless presence around him. “And Azriel, I’ll need your help to teach Sy how to defend herself,” Rhysand added, his voice carrying a note of authority that brooked no argument.

For a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Azriel’s face, so fleeting I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely. He ran a hand through his raven-black hair, adjusting his posture before responding. “Wouldn’t Cassian be better suited for that task?” he asked, his tone measured, though I sensed a hint of reluctance beneath it.

“No,” Nesta interjected, her voice firm as she leaned forward, fixing Azriel with a fierce glare. Her hand landed on Cassian’s leg under the table, her fingers digging into his thigh as if to underscore her point. “He’s not the right person for this.”

Cassian winced at the pressure of her grip, letting out a hiss through gritted teeth. “Nesta,” he muttered, clearly pained by her display of possessiveness. But her gaze remained locked on Azriel, her expression daring him to argue further.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding the tension crackling between them. Studying the intricate patterns carved into the wooden table suddenly seemed like a safer option than meeting anyone’s eyes.

Rhysand’s gaze lingered on Nesta for a moment, as if weighing her unspoken reasoning, before he gave a slight nod. “Very well. Sy, you’ll train with Azriel after lunch each day. Mornings will be spent working with Nesta and Amren on discovering if you have any abilities.”

Nesta’s expression tightened, but she didn’t object. Perhaps she understood that pushing back would only lead to Cassian being assigned to work with me instead, and she seemed determined to avoid that outcome.

I hesitated, glancing around the table before voicing the question that had been gnawing at me since this discussion began. “And what if... what if I decide I want to leave?” I asked softly, barely more than a whisper.

Rhysand set down his wine glass, his brow furrowing as he considered my words. “If you truly wish to leave, Sy, you are free to go,” he replied, his tone even but tinged with a hint of warning. “But sending you out into Prythian as you are now, untrained and defenseless, would be no better than sending you to your death. And we don’t know what consequences your departure could bring—either for you or for us.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table, his expression serious. “So, for your sake and ours, I think it’s wise for you to stay as our guest for now. Learn the basics—learn how to protect yourself. Then, if you still want to leave, at least you’ll be able to survive beyond our borders.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. It was a logical argument—one I couldn’t easily dismiss. And yet, there was a part of me that bristled at the thought of being tied down, even temporarily. But looking around the table, at the faces of those who were reluctantly offering me a chance, I knew that staying was the smarter choice.

Notes: I had a few of you asking me for Azriel’s POV during Wings Flames & Shadows and eventually the idea stuck! This is set at the end of the fic, when Azriel finds Cassian at the Winter Court to address the fact that Nesta is Cassian’s mate. I loved writing this and I really hope you like it, too. It was strangely easy to get into Azriel’s head for this one <3

For those of you who want to refresh your memories of what happens in WF&S then you can descent into this smutty pit of hell here. 

Let me know what you think! And just a friendly reminder that if you like what I write I’d love you to reblog so it can reach more people--thank you <3

Wings & Shadows Azriel POV

Despite being alive for over half a millennia, Cassian had never truly learnt to master his emotions. Whilst Azriel had honed the true art of a cold, blank mask from a young age, the general’s hazel eyes had always been a pathway straight to his heart if you knew where to look. But since the war—since living with Nesta—those underlying expressions had become something else entirely. Something stark and intensely sad. Something more distant and troubled as he worried over the ghost of a girl he had once known and loved.

That was not to say that Cassian did not attempt to hide the torment that wanted to wrangle its way across his features whenever he was forced to leave Nesta. Usually he laced over the agonised expression with barked, easy laughter and arrogant, drawling banter, but for the entirety of their trip to Kallias’s Winter Court, Cassian was… not present. Oh, he still plastered on his carefully orchestrated blend of fake, wide smiles and deathly calm as he usually did—a combination that should not be possible (although Azriel supposed Cassian had always defied the impossible)—but it was as if a light had flickered out somewhere and none of it rang true.

Thank you—I’m glad you liked it.

Do you know what, I desperately want the next book to be Azriel’s but I have very few expectations for it largely because I don’t know much about Az. I know I’m going to love him. I know I’d quite like to see the Gwynriel pairing explored. I desperately want us to meet his mother... but I’m very open-minded otherwise.