#piperwrites

The first mistake the Night Court made was assuming you were decoration.

Not intentionally or obviously.

They were too polite for that.

But you saw it in the way their eyes moved over you when they entered the meeting room.

Briefly, if not dismissively.

A female beside Eris Vanserra.

Something ornamental, perhaps.

Something placed at his side to soften the image of Autumn’s new High Lord.

You did not correct them.

Eris noticed.

Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth shifted just barely. 

You didn’t look at him.

“Try not to look so pleased,” you murmured.

“I am not pleased.”

“You are nearly smiling.”

“That would be unbecoming.”

“Then by all means,” you said softly, folding your hands in your lap, “continue suffering.”

Across the table, Cassian’s brows rose.

Azriel’s shadows shifted once behind his shoulders.

Rhysand, to his credit, noticed the exchange for what it was.

A warning.

Mor noticed something else entirely.

Her gaze lingered on Eris with the same familiar disdain it always held.

Cold and sharp. Nothing if not practiced.

“You’ve redecorated,” she said, glancing around the council room. “How charming. I almost forgot where we were.”

Eris did not respond.

He only looked down at the treaty papers in front of him.

You watched the movement.

The restraint it took him not to bite at her.

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“We’re here to discuss the border villages.”

“Then let us discuss them,” Eris said.

His voice was smooth.

It always was in rooms like this.

The meeting began as most meetings did.

With maps and numbers. Along with men pretending history had not shaped every inch of land they were negotiating over.

Rhysand spoke well.

You would give him that.

Azriel said very little, but missed nothing.

Cassian shifted in his chair like diplomacy physically pained him.

And Mor…

Mor watched Eris like she was waiting for a monster to show its teeth.

You let it continue for twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-three minutes of clipped words. Quiet tension. Little glances that held nothing but daggers. Along with subtle jabs dressed up as moral certainty.

The last straw was when Mor finally said, “Forgive me if I find Autumn’s sudden interest in protecting vulnerable people difficult to believe.”

Eris’s fingers stilled on the paper.

Only for a moment.

You gently set down your tea.

The cup barely made a sound against the saucer.

But somehow, the room noticed.

Mor’s eyes flicked to you.

You smiled.

Not warmly. Not cruelly. Politely.

The sort of smile court ladies were taught to wear even if swallowing poison.

“Difficult to believe,” you repeated.

Mor lifted her chin.

“Yes.”

“How interesting.”

Cassian leaned back slightly.

Azriel’s shadows went still.

Eris did not move beside you.

He knew better.

Mor’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have something to say?”

You tilted your head.

“I was deciding whether it would be rude.”

“And?”

“Oh, it’s terribly rude I’m afraid.”

Rhysand’s attention sharpened.

You turned your cup once, slow and deliberate, before looking back at Mor.

“But since we are clearly past the point of pretending this room is governed by courtesy, I suppose I might as well.”

Eris exhaled once through his nose.

Almost amused.

You continued.

“You speak of Autumn’s cruelty as though anyone at this table intends to dispute it. We do not. Autumn has teeth. It has always had teeth.” Your gaze swept briefly toward Eris. “Some of us have spent years removing them one by one.”

Mor’s mouth tightened.

“But what fascinates me,” you went on, voice still calm, “is the Night Court’s remarkable talent for selective outrage.”

Cassian straightened.

Rhysand’s face went very still.

There it was.

The shift.

The moment they realized you were not decoration.

You smiled again.

Softer this time.

“You condemn Autumn for what it allowed to happen beneath Beron’s rule. Fair. You should. But I do find it curious how rarely that same scrutiny turns inward.”

Mor’s eyes flashed.

“Careful.”

You looked at her then.

Truly looked.

“I would advise caution, Morrigan,” you said softly. “Not because I fear what you might say, but because I know what you have chosen not to.”

The room went still. 

You leaned back slightly in your chair.

“Careless would be asking why the Court of Dreams feels entitled to sneer at every cruel tradition in Prythian while still ruling over the Hewn City.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed.

Azriel said nothing.

Rhysand did not look away from you.

Good.

At least one of them understood where this was going. 

Mor’s voice was low. “You know nothing about the Hewn City.”

“No,” you agreed. “I know what survived the retelling.”

You tilted your head slightly before continuing 

“Interesting that you speak so confidently for someone whose version of events requires several omissions to survive.” 

Mor stood slowly.

“You have no right to speak to me about what I survived.”

There it was.

The part you had been waiting for.

Your smile faded.

Not because you were afraid.

Because some things deserved seriousness.

“No,” you said. “I do not.”

The room stilled.

Even Eris glanced at you then.

You met Mor’s gaze without flinching.

“What was done to you was monstrous. No one in this room should deny that. I certainly will not.” Your voice lowered. “But your pain does not make every omission holy.”

Mor went utterly still.

“You have allowed them to believe one version of the story because it is easier than dragging the whole thing into the light,” you said. “And perhaps you had reason. Perhaps silence was all you had. I will not fault a girl for surviving the only way she could.”

A breath.

Then another.

“But I will fault a court for building policy around half a truth and calling it justice.”

Rhysand’s eyes flicked, briefly, toward Eris.

Eris remained expressionless.

But his hand had shifted closer to yours on the table.

Not to stop you.

Not to guide you.

Just there.

Mor’s voice was colder now.

“And what truth do you think you know?”

You folded your hands again.

“The kind men leave out when the facts are inconvenient.”

A sad smile played on your lips. 

“The kind women bury because being believed costs too much.”

For the first time, Mor had no immediate response.

Good.

You had not wanted to hurt her.

Not really.

But you were very tired of watching Eris bleed quietly under everyone else’s certainty.

“You may hate my mate,” you said, and only then did your tone sharpen. “That is your right. Hate him forever, if it comforts you.”

Eris’s gaze moved to you.

You did not look at him.

“But do not sit in his court, at his table, beneath laws he bled to change, and pretend your hatred is the same thing as truth.”

Silence pressed against the walls.

Cassian looked between you and Mor, unusually quiet.

Azriel’s shadows curled close to his shoulders.

Rhysand leaned back slowly, expression unreadable.

You picked up your tea again.

It had gone cold.

Mor did not sit.

Not immediately.

Her face was pale with anger, but beneath it there was something else.

Something older. Something less certain.

Eris finally spoke. Calm and measured.

“My mate raises a wonderful point.”

Rhysand looked at him.

Eris’s eyes did not leave Mor.

“Do you intend to discuss the border villages,” he said, “or continue mistaking personal history for governance?”

Your mouth twitched.

Only slightly.

Mor saw it.

Cassian definitely saw it.

Rhysand looked as though he was reevaluating several decisions at once.

Good.

That meant they were listening.

You took one careful sip of cold tea and set it back down.

“Now,” you said pleasantly, as though you hadn’t just gutted the room and asked for the next topic. “Shall we return to the villages, or would anyone else like to confuse emotion with policy first?”

Cassian muttered something under his breath.

Azriel looked down.

Rhysand looked at you for a long moment.

Then, finally, he said, “The villages.”

You smiled.

“Excellent.”

Beside you, Eris reached for his wine.

Not to drink.

To hide the fact that he was smiling.

You leaned toward him just slightly.

“Poorly done,” you murmured.

His gaze slid to you.

“What was?”

“Hiding your amusement.”

Then, so quietly only you could hear:

“I wasn’t trying very hard.”

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@illyriassweetheart

A shortcut. That’s what you were told. This is very clearly not a shortcut.

Trying to get from one side of Basgiath to the other should have been easy, but the path you’re on is so long and winding it might as well take you across the entire continent.

By the time you reach the end of the tunnel, you nearly sag in relief. Finally,

You push the door open and light floods your vision. You squint, blinking rapidly. “Didn’t think it was that bright in the dorms, but okay,” you mutter under your breath as you step inside, pushing the door shut behind you. You give your eyes a second to adjust, then take another step forward.

Only to walk straight into something solid.

You freeze.

That is not a wall. Walls are not warm. And they are definitely not scaled.

Slowly, very slowly, you tilt your head up just enough to catch a glimpse of piercing yellow eyes. Your stomach drops.

Not the healers’ dorms.

Right. Mira said something about this. Don’t look them in the eyes.

You drop your gaze immediately. “Sorry about that,” you say, like you just bumped into someone in a hallway.

You step around the dragon carefully, giving it space as you move past. If it decides to torch you, honestly? That would be fair.

You keep walking. Don’t run. Running feels like a bad idea.

It’s only when you hear another dragon somewhere off to your left that it clicks.

Threshing.

You just walked into the middle of threshing.

“Great,” you mutter. Just fantastic.

No time to panic. Just time to leave.

You pick a direction and keep moving, hoping there’s another exit somewhere that does not involve dragons.

After what feels like far too long, at least half an hour, you come across a small clearing. Mostly flat, rocks scattered across the ground.

And that’s not a rock.

You move closer, faster now.

It’s a boy.

He’s on his side, barely moving, a deep gash carved across his hip.

You drop to your knees beside him immediately. “Hey, hey, can you hear me?”

No response.

You don’t wait.

You tear the sleeves from your uniform and press them hard against the wound, applying pressure. The fabric soaks through almost instantly, so you fold it over and press harder.

The boy groans.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Stay with me.”

Alive. Maybe not for long but alive.

You keep pressure on the wound until the bleeding finally starts to slow. Your mind races as you glance around, trying to orient yourself.

Think.

There has to be a way back. There has to be.

You look up 

and freeze.

Dragons.

Dozens of them.

The flight field.

Help would be there.

You look back down at the boy, then toward the edge of the clearing. It’s a drop. A steep one.

You could maybe climb it.

Maybe.

But not with him. Not like this.

You swallow.

You’re not making it back without help.

You glance back toward the sky.

A dragon.

“It would be unwise to try and move him.”

You jump, head snapping up as you scan the clearing. Nothing. No one. Your heart starts to pound.

“Okay… dehydration,” you mutter under your breath. “That’s the only logical answer.”

Silence.

Then the voice returns.

“It is always amusing what you humans think when being bonded for the first time.”

You freeze.

Nope. Absolutely not. You are not hearing voices. You have officially lost it.

“Cool,” you whisper. “That’s fine. That’s great, actually.”

A heavy thud sounds behind you.

That is new.

You turn slowly.

There is a shadow large, massive.

A dragon.

On the ground. Behind you. In front of you. Everywhere, really.

You tilt your head up and meet those same piercing yellow eyes from earlier.

“You again,” you breathe.

You hadn’t noticed the color before. Too busy not getting burned alive.

Blue.

Of course it’s blue.

“Could you… move him?” you ask, gesturing toward the boy, not entirely convinced this is real.

No. He is not worthy of a dragon.

Your shoulders slump a little. “Yeah,” you murmur. “That tracks.”

Do not feel pity, young one. He is not worthy, but if you make it to the flight field…

Your eyes widen. “Could you get me to the flight field?”

The dragon huffs not annoyed, just unimpressed.

Can you hold on long enough?

You glance at the boy, then back at the dragon. “No idea,” you admit.

Then you stand anyway.

Because there isn’t another option.

You secure the makeshift bandage as best you can, then move toward the dragon. Climbing is easier than it should be. There’s a place near its neck almost like a seat.

You pause. “Well,” you say, slightly breathless, “this feels important.”

Then you blink. “Oh. Right. That was rude.”

You steady yourself. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Sorrengail.”

I am aware of your name, young one.

“Cool,” you mutter. “Great. Love that.”

You brace yourself just as the dragon launches into the air.

The ground disappears.

Your stomach does not come with you.

Your grip tightens instantly.

And that’s when it hits you.

Bonded.

“Bealith.”

You blink. “What?”

There is no need to yell. I can hear your thoughts.

A pause. Calm. Measured.

I will say this once more. Bealith is my full name. You will give it to the scribe once we reach the flight field.

Your brain is barely keeping up. “I… okay. Yeah. Got it. Bealith.”

A beat.

“I think I like Bea better.”

You feel the irritation. If a dragon could roll its eyes, this one just did.

Without warning, Bealith drops.

Fast. Very fast.

Your stomach absolutely does not come with you.

“Okay, nope. Don’t like that.”

Then the ground rushes back up.

The flight field.

Dragons everywhere.

Before Bealith even fully lands, you’re already sliding down its front leg. “Thank you. Appreciate you. Don’t kill me later.”

You hit the ground running, straight for the healer’s tent.

You spot Professor Kaori and immediately freeze.

Right. Healers are not supposed to be here.

Too late.

He’s already looking at you, eyes wide. “You are not supposed to be on the flight field, and what happened to ”

“Boy,” you cut in, breathless. “Threshing. Hip wound. Won’t make it.”

The words tumble out between gasps.

Another healer grabs your arm, guiding you down into a seat, pressing water into your hands.

You barely notice. Your chest is still heaving.

“As for me being here…”

You lift a hand and point your thumb behind you.

Toward the massive blue dragon.

“Dragon.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before the energy on the flight field shifts.

It’s subtle but it’s there.

Heads turn. Even the dragons seem to still, just slightly.

Professor Kaori follows the direction of your thumb.

And then he freezes.

Not completely, but enough. Enough that the healer beside you goes still too.

“…you bonded.”

It’s not a question.

You blink up at him. “Yeah, I think so.”

A shadow falls over you.

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

But you do anyway.

Xaden Riorson.

He’s already looking at you, not confused, not surprised. Just focused. Like he’s trying to figure something out and not liking the answers.

His gaze flicks past you, to Bealith, then back.

“You,” he says. “Stay seated.”

You don’t move mostly because you’re still trying to catch your breath, but also because something in his tone says that moving would be a bad idea.

Riders start to gather near the edge of the field. Whispers start. All of them looking at you.

Another dragon lands somewhere behind Bealith, but no one looks away.

Because now this is the problem.

A healer.

On the flight field.

Bonded.

Professor Kaori exhales slowly before turning and heading toward General Sorrengail.

Xaden’s eyes flick back to you. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

And there it is.

You blink. “I ”

“You crossed the parapet.” He takes a step closer. “Then the gauntlet.” Another step. “And now threshing.”

He stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“I told you to stay away from threshing.”

There’s no heat in his voice.

That’s what makes it worse.

You swallow. “I didn’t mean to.”

That sounds weak even to you.

“I got lost,” you add quickly. “There was a tunnel, and I thought it was a shortcut, and then there was a door, and then there was a dragon, then there was a boy and he was bleeding and ”

You stop.

Because you’re rambling.

And because he’s staring at you.

Not interrupting.

Not mocking.

Just… watching.

You take a breath. “He was going to die.”

That lands.

Something shifts in his expression, small, almost unnoticeable, but it’s there.

“And the dragon?” he asks, quieter now.

You glance over your shoulder.

Bealith is still there. Watching. Very aware.

“He said the boy wasn’t worthy,” you answer honestly. “But he’d help me if I made it to the flight field.”

A pause.

Then, softer 

“And then he… didn’t leave.”

I did not “not leave.”

You are mine.

You blink.

“…right,” you mutter under your breath.

Xaden’s jaw tightens.

Of course he didn’t.

Sgaeyl’s presence brushes against his mind.

You told her not to come here.

He ignores her.

“You understand,” he says, looking back at you, “that this changes things.”

You blink. “I figured that part out when I got launched into the air.”

A few riders nearby choke back laughs.

Xaden does not.

“You’re not a rider,” he continued, not unkind, just stating facts. “You weren’t trained for this.”

You lift a brow slightly. “I did the gauntlet.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “That doesn’t count.”

“I didn’t fall.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It kind of does.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then something shifts again.

Not gone, the irritation is still there but it’s… different now. Less sharp. More focused.

Like he’s recalculating.

“You bonded a blue dragon,” he says finally. “That doesn’t happen by accident.”

You open your mouth. “…I mean.”

You gesture vaguely. “I walked into a door.”

Someone behind him actually laughs this time.

Xaden doesn’t turn. Doesn’t acknowledge it.

His eyes stay on you.

“You’re going to be watched,” he says. “Closely.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

“And if you get yourself killed,” he adds, voice dropping just slightly, “I’m not explaining this to your sister.”

That almost sounded like concern.

Almost.

You tilt your head. “I thought you said I wouldn’t last two days.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“We’ll see if you survive tomorrow then.”

After he walks away, you make your way over to the scribe.

Your mother stands beside them, glare already locked on you.

Impressive, honestly.

You give the scribe your name, then Bealith’s. They write it down quickly, but you can feel the weight of your mother’s stare the entire time.

You do not look at her.

Not even once.

The second you’re done, you turn and head back to the dragon.

Your dragon.

That feels strange.

“You do know I’m not a rider, correct?”

That feels important to say out loud.

That fact is not something I care about, young one.

You open your mouth to argue because that feels like something worth arguing about but before you can get a word out, Bealith shifts suddenly.

One second you’re standing there, the next you’re being nudged out of the way by his talons.

You stumble, catching yourself.

“What was that for ”

You look up.

And stop.

That is the largest dragon you have ever seen. Possibly the largest dragon in existence.

Your brain struggles to process the size of it.

“He is,” Bealith’s voice cuts in calmly. “Koda is the only one who rivals him in size.”

You nod automatically, even though he probably can’t see you.

Then you see who’s on his back.

Your breath catches.

“Violet?”

It comes out as a whisper.

Then you’re moving.

You don’t think you just sprint.

She barely has time to hit the ground before you’re wrapping your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

Alive.

She’s alive.

You pull back just enough to look at her.

Her brows furrow immediately.

“Why. Are you. On the flight field.”

Each word is sharp. Measured. She’s already scanning the area like someone’s about to drag you off.

“Dragon,” you answer simply. “Long story.”

“But you need to check in. Then go to the healer’s tent.”

She stares at you for half a second longer, then nods and does exactly that.

You watch her go, just to make sure.

Then you turn back.

And promptly sit down, leaning your back against Bealith’s front leg.

It’s warm. Solid.

Comforting, in a strange way.

I am not a chair, young one.

You laugh softly. “I don’t see you moving. And I’m exhausted anyway. It’s been a day.”

If you are this tired after one day, then perhaps the wing leader is correct and you will not make it to tomorrow.

You lean forward, craning your neck to look up at him, rolling your eyes.

“I can’t believe you would side with Xaden of all people.”

Silence.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Wow. Betrayal.”

Still nothing.

A few minutes pass. The field starts to shift again, energy building, tension rising.

Then dragons begin launching into the air, one after another.

You barely have time to react before Bealith moves.

You lean forward quickly, trying not to get scraped as his body shifts 

and then he takes off.

After the dragons return and announce that not only will Violet be allowed to keep both dragons, but that you are allowed to keep yours as well 

chaos ensues.

Riders shout. Leadership whispers.

All because you thought you found a shortcut.

Why can’t I do anything right?

The thought hits harder than anything physical could.

Bealith’s head tilts slightly.

“Dragons do not make mistakes. I choose you. That is final.”

You nod.

It doesn’t fully settle the feeling but it helps.

A little.

Then you turn and head toward your new room.

Gods.

What are you supposed to tell Sofie and Cortland?

The three of you were supposed to stick together.

The following weeks are rough.

Battle brief. Flying lessons. Sparring matches.

Avoiding Xaden.

The only consistent problem is Xaden.

You’re sitting in battle brief, staring at the board but not really seeing it when 

“If you do not pay attention, you will get us both killed.”

You roll your eyes. “I am paying attention.”

“Thinking about the wing leader is not paying attention. Focus.”

You shake your head slightly, catching Violet’s attention.

You tap your temple.

She gets it immediately.

Of course she does.

She scribbles something down and slides the note to you.

Is everything alright?

You smile faintly, writing back.

Dragons apparently know everything we think. It is incredibly annoying.

She huffs quietly, amused, before both of you turn your attention back to the front.

Later that night, you find yourself sprawled across Rhiannon’s bed with her and Violet.

You’re halfway through a drink when Rhi turns toward you. “So how much longer are you going to play cat and mouse with Riorson?”

You choke. Actually choke. Water goes down the wrong pipe and you sit up quickly, coughing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Violet gives you a look.

The look.

The one that says she knows you better than you know yourself.

“I’ve known you my whole life,” she says. “You have never avoided someone the way you avoid him.”

You try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “He’s brooding. And shadowy. Definitely not my type.”

“And I can’t tell if he wants me dead or if he’s trying to run me out of the quadrant.”

Rhi laughs. “That is not the look he gives you.”

You blink between them. “What look?”

Violet leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “If you haven’t seen it, you’re missing out.”

She leans back like that answers anything.

It does not.

“I would kill,” she adds casually, “to have someone track my every movement the way he tracks yours.”

You stare at her. “He does not.”

“He walked you to the healer’s wing after sparring,” Rhi cuts in. “Xaden Riorson. Willingly.”

You open your mouth 

“Or,” she continues, “the time your dragon dropped you in the lake and he just happened to be there.”

“That doesn’t count,” you argue. “He was already there.”

You push yourself up on your elbows. “I do not control where Bealith drops me. We are supposed to be doing basic maneuvers and he insists on ‘real movement.’ That is not my fault.”

They both just stare at you.

Like you’ve completely missed something obvious.

Which you probably have.

Outside the door, the hallway is quiet.

Mostly.

Xaden had not meant to stop. Had not meant to listen.

But your voice he recognizes it instantly.

Then he hears his own name.

And he stills.

“…definitely not my type.”

That should be enough. Should be the end of it.

He should walk away.

He doesn’t.

“I can’t tell if he wants me dead…”

His jaw tightens.

“…or if he’s trying to run me out of the quadrant.”

That lands harder than it should.

Sgaeyl hums quietly in the back of his mind.

Amused.

He ignores her.

“I would kill to have someone track my every movement the way he tracks yours.”

Silence follows.

Then your voice 

“He does not.”

Xaden exhales slowly.

He does.

More than he should. More than is necessary. More than is smart.

“…definitely not my type.”

The words echo.

He should leave.

Instead, he shifts slightly just enough to hear the rest.

The lake. The healer’s wing. All the moments he hadn’t thought twice about.

Apparently not as subtle as he thought.

He leans back against the wall, staring at nothing.

Then closes his eyes briefly.

“…damn it.”

Sgaeyl’s amusement spikes.

He ignores that too.

Because the problem is not that you noticed him.

The problem is you didn’t.

Not the way he wanted.

Not the way he’s starting to realize he wants.

And that is new.

The training rings are loud metal, boots, grunts.

You’re currently regretting every life decision that led you here.

Imogen circles slowly. Violet stands across from you, rolling her shoulders.

“This was your idea,” Violet says.

You nod once. “I know. I hate it.”

Imogen snorts. “Focus.”

Right.

Focus.

You shift your stance, adjusting your footing.

Bealith is quiet for once.

Which is suspicious.

“Again,” Imogen says.

Violet moves first. Fast.

You react on instinct, stepping in instead of back.

Your fist connects.

Solid.

Too solid.

There’s a sharp crack.

Everything stops.

Violet blinks.

Then there’s blood.

“Oh no.”

You freeze. “Oh no, no, no”

“I’m fine,” Violet says immediately, though her voice is slightly off.

Her nose is definitely not straight.

“I broke your nose.”

“You did,” Imogen confirms, far too calm about it.

“Okay, hold on, don’t move,” you say quickly, stepping closer.

Your hands come up instinctively, cupping Violet’s face gently. “Do not move,” you repeat, softer now.

You close your eyes for half a second.

Think.

There’s swelling. She needs pressure.

You need something to reduce it.

Your fingers tighten slightly.

There’s a shift.

Something cool brushes your palm.

You blink.

Look down.

An aloe leaf.

Fresh. Cleanly cut.

You stare at it.

“…okay.”

That is new.

“Bea?”

Silence.

“Unhelpful.”

Imogen leans in slightly. “What did you just do?”

“I don’t ” you stop, not trusting it. “I think I… needed it.”

That sounds ridiculous out loud.

You press the aloe gently against Violet’s nose.

She hisses slightly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she mutters. “Keep going.”

You adjust your hold, more careful now.

The swelling already looks like it’s starting to slow.

That shouldn’t be happening that fast.

“You’re going to the healers after this,” you tell her.

“That was already the plan.”

From the edge of the ring, Xaden watches.

He had not planned to stop. Had not planned to stay.

But then you stepped into the ring.

And that was the end of that.

He watches the hit. The crack. The immediate shift in your expression.

No panic.

Just action.

You move without hesitation, hands steady, voice calm.

And then the leaf.

He sees it appear.

Sgaeyl goes still in his mind.

Xaden’s gaze sharpens.

You don’t react like it’s power.

You react like it’s a tool.

Like this is normal.

Like you’ve always done it.

“That is not a standard healer ability,” Garrick mutters behind him.

No.

It isn’t.

His jaw tightens slightly.

Later, battle brief is quiet.

Too quiet.

You’re writing.

Or trying to.

Your quill slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

You stare at it for a second, debating if it’s worth the effort of bending down.

It is not.

Before you can move 

It lifts.

Just slightly.

Then settles back onto your desk.

Right in front of you.

You blink and look around.

No one is looking at you.

Except…

You glance across the room.

Xaden is already looking away.

Like he wasn’t just watching.

You look back at the quill.

“…okay.”

You pick it up slowly.

“That’s not normal,” you whisper under your breath.

“Nothing about this place is normal,” Bealith replies.

Fair.

You glance back toward Xaden.

He hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t looked at you again.

So probably nothing.

Right.

Xaden doesn’t look at you again, not directly.

But his shadows linger.

Just slightly closer than they should.

And when your quill slips again later 

it doesn’t hit the floor.

The second year is bigger than you.

Sparing days are, by far, your most unlucky days.

The boy lunges.

You move but too slow this time.

His arm hooks around your neck, locking you in place.

Tight.

You grab at his forearm, trying to pull free.

It doesn’t work.

“Tap out,” he mutters.

“Not happening.”

Your voice comes out strained.

Air is becoming a problem.

Think.

You shift your weight, bringing your hand up blindly.

Your fingers find his face.

His nose.

You shove hard.

He jerks back slightly.

Just enough space.

You inhale sharply 

and think.

Pain. Distraction. Something that will make him let go.

Something blooms in your hand.

You don’t question it.

You shove it straight into his face.

“Hey what the hell ”

He lets go immediately, coughing, stumbling back as he tries to wipe it away.

You drop to your knees, dragging in air.

“Do not,” you start, voice rough, “touch your face ”

Too late.

He blinks rapidly.

Unsteady.

“What did you ”

He sways.

Then drops.

The entire ring goes quiet.

You stare at him.

“…okay.”

That might be bad.

Imogen steps forward immediately, crouching beside him. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” you say quickly. “I mean, I do but I don’t ”

“You grew that.”

You look down at your hand.

The plant is still there.

There in your palm is a small, white flower.

“…yeah.”

“That’s not normal,” someone says from the edge of the ring.

“No,” Imogen agrees. “It’s not.”

Footsteps cut through the silence.

Professor Kaori.

He takes in the scene the downed cadet, the plant, you.

“Explain.”

You swallow.

“He had me in a chokehold,” you say. “I couldn’t breathe. I needed him to let go.”

Kaori’s gaze drops to your hand.

Then back to your face.

“And so you grew a toxin.”

It’s not a question.

You hesitate.

“…yes.”

The cadet groans slightly.

Kaori nods once.

“Controlled growth. Intent driven. Knowledge based.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“A botanical signet.”

The words settle over the ring.

“Well,” you say quietly, “that sounds official.”

After that, it becomes obvious.

There’s no hiding it anymore.

Plants show up when you need them. A salve leaf when someone’s burned. A binding vine when someone won’t stay still. A sedative bloom when pain gets too sharp.

People start noticing.

Watching.

Giving you just a little more space than before.

You notice other things too.

A book appears on your desk one morning, thick and worn, full of botanical diagrams and poison properties.

You stare at it. “…I did not bring this.”

“I did not either,” Bealith replies.

“If you could fit in my room, I’d treat you like a pet.”

You glance around.

No one is paying attention.

You open it anyway.

Shadows linger more now.

You tell yourself it’s normal.

This place is full of strange things. Dragons. Signets. People who can kill you without blinking.

So shadows following you down the hall?

Probably fine.

It is not fine.

Night settles over the quadrant.

You slip out quietly.

You know the path now, the one that leads to the flight field.

Sofie and Cortland are already there when you arrive.

“You’re late,” Sofie whispers.

“I got distracted.”

“You always get distracted,” Cortland mutters.

“That’s not true.”

It is.

A low rumble draws their attention.

Bealith lands a moment later, wings folding neatly at his sides.

Sofie freezes.

Cortland goes completely still.

“That’s”

“Yep,” you say. “That’s him.”

Bealith lowers his head slightly, studying them.

“They are small,” he comments.

“Please do not say that out loud,” you whisper.

“I am not speaking out loud.”

“Still counts.”

Sofie takes a hesitant step forward. “…he’s huge.”

“I’ve been told,” you reply.

From the shadows at the edge of the field, Xaden watches.

Of course you snuck out.

He tells himself he’s here to make sure you don’t do something stupid.

That’s all.

Nothing else.

“Following her now?”

Violet’s voice cuts in beside him.

He doesn’t flinch. “I’m not following her.”

“You are literally hiding in the shadows watching her.”

“I’m observing.”

Violet snorts. “Right. Observing.”

She crosses her arms, watching you laugh with your friends.

“You know,” she says casually, “she’s not going to figure it out.”

Xaden doesn’t look at her. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

“Oh please.”

She gestures toward you. “You track her like she’s the only thing in the room.”

“I don’t.”

“You do, and yet she thinks you’re trying to kill her.”

“She avoids you,” Violet continues. “Not because she’s scared. Because she thinks you don’t like her.”

Xaden exhales slowly. “That’s not my problem.”

Violet turns to him fully now. “Yes, it is.”

Silence.

“You might be subtle,” she adds, “but she’s oblivious.”

“I’m not being subtle.”

Violet laughs. “Exactly my point.”

They sit in silence for a moment before she continues, “If you don’t tell her, she’s not going to see it.”

Xaden’s gaze drifts back to you.

You’re smiling.

“…I’m not telling her anything.”

Violet just hums. “Sure.”

Then she turns, heading back toward Tairn.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Xaden stays where he is.

Because for the first time, this isn’t just curiosity anymore.

It started as a stupid comment to your dragon, that comment now becoming a full on argument on the flight field.

“You are wrong.”

You don’t even look up from where you’re sitting on the ground, pulling small rocks out of Bea’s talons.

Bea, unlike Tairn, doesn’t mind being fussed over. At least, according to Violet. Tairn hates the checks you are supposed to do.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Bealith huffs behind you. Low. Annoyed.

“You continue to insist on being incorrect.”

You finally turn, glaring up at him.

“He does not like me.”

“He watches you constantly.”

“He watches everyone.”

“He does not follow everyone into hallways when they drop things.”

You pause.

“…that happened once.”

“It has happened more than once.”

You narrow your eyes.

“That proves nothing.”

Bealith goes quiet for a moment.

Thinking.

Which is never a good sign.

“Very well,” he says finally. “We will make this interesting.”

You immediately regret everything.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“If I am correct, I will choose the next training exercise.”

You freeze.

“…you always choose the worst ones.”

“Correct.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Then we will fly with the group.”

You blink.

That’s…

actually reasonable.

Suspiciously reasonable.

“You’re that confident?”

“Yes.”

You sit there for a second, thinking it through.

There is no way.

No possible way.

“…fine.”

His satisfaction is immediate.

“Go on, then,” he says.

You hesitate.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

You stare at him.

Then groan quietly.

“Fine.”

Sgaeyl is insufferable.

Xaden knows this.

He has always known this.

But lately it has become a problem.

Bealith and I have a running bet.

He doesn’t respond.

Doesn’t even acknowledge it.

That usually works.

Not today.

You will go find the young one and help us settle it.

His jaw tightens.

“No.”

He says it out loud.

Because maybe that will make it more final.

It doesn’t.

You will.

“I’m not doing this.”

You are.

Silence stretches.

He focuses on the courtyard below.

Cadets moving through their routines.

Predictable.

Manageable.

Unlike this.

You have been avoiding it.

That gets his attention.

Barely.

“I haven’t been avoiding anything.”

You have been circling it.

His eyes narrow slightly.

“I don’t circle.”

Sgaeyl hums.

You watch her.

He doesn’t deny it.

There’s no point.

You follow her.

“I observe.”

You intervene.

He exhales slowly.

Through his nose.

“That is strategic.”

You are a poor liar.

That almost earns a reaction.

Almost.

“She thinks I’m trying to kill her,” he mutters.

Yes.

Sgaeyl sounds pleased about that.

Which is concerning.

“She’s avoiding me.”

Yes.

“That’s not my problem.”

It is now.

He goes still.

There’s a shift in the bond.

Bealith insists she does not understand.

“Good.”

I disagree.

Of course she does.

Go find her.

He closes his eyes briefly.

Counts to three.

Opens them again.

Still there.

Still thinking about you.

Go.

He exhales.

“…fine.”

He doesn’t have to look far.

Of course he doesn’t.

You’re exactly where he expected.

The courtyard.

Looking like you’re about to argue with the air.

He stays in the shadows for a moment.

Watching.

Because that has become a habit.

One he has not broken.

One he is not going to examine.

Not now.

You shift slightly.

Glance around once.

Twice.

“I know you’re there.”

His mouth tightens.

Of course you do.

Shadows give him away.

He steps out anyway.

“You know,” he says, voice low, “if you’re caught out here, there are consequences.”

You gesture toward him without missing a beat.

“Right back at you.”

His mouth almost moves.

He stops it.

“What do you want?”

Straight to the point.

He does not have the patience for anything else tonight.

You clasp your hands behind your back, rocking slightly on your heels.

He notices that.

He notices everything.

“I need help settling a bet.”

Of course you do.

He says nothing.

Waits.

You continue.

“Bea thinks you like me.”

There it is.

Finally.

“I think he’s insane.”

Something in his chest snaps.

Weeks of this.

Watching you.

Being watched.

Being questioned.

Being wrong.

He is not wrong.

He knows exactly what this is.

You just don’t.

He steps closer.

You don’t move.

You don’t understand what you just said.

You don’t understand what you’ve been doing.

You don’t understand what you’ve been doing to him.

“Your dragon,” he says quietly, “is not entirely wrong.”

You blink.

Confused.

Still not getting it.

Of course you’re not.

That’s the problem.

He closes the distance.

One hand lifts.

Fingers brushing lightly along your jaw.

You go still.

Finally paying attention.

Good.

Then he kisses you.

It’s quick.

Not hesitant.

Not soft.

But not lingering either.

Like he made a decision.

And already moved past it.

When he pulls back, your expression is exactly what he expected.

Wide-eyed.

Stunned.

Silent.

“You asked,” he says.

And then he steps back.

Like it didn’t happen.

Sgaeyl hums.

Satisfied.

You take the steps two at a time. There has to be a better way between the Healers and Riders Quadrants. There just has to be.

At the top, you almost run straight into two people. You recognize one of them. Xaden Riorson. That thought gets pushed aside just as quickly as it comes. The book in your arms matters more.

You slip between them with a quiet “sorry,” already moving. No hesitation. You step onto the parapet like it’s just another path, like it’s meant to be used.

Wind pulls at your skirt. You adjust it without thinking. One foot in front of the other, light and quick.

You almost make it the whole way without issue. Almost.

Your foot slips once, a small misstep but your body corrects before your mind even catches up. Years of dance kick in as you steady yourself and keep going.

By the time you reach the other side, you’re already scanning the crowd. Cadets everywhere. Too many.

You shift the book in your arms. “Okay… think.”

“Dain. Find Dain.”

It takes a second. Then you spot him.

Which means Violet.

Relief hits first.

You weave through the crowd, slipping past people until you’re right behind her. You tap her shoulder.

She spins so fast it almost startles you.

“What on earth are you doing here? How did you even get in here?”

You blink, then shrug, pointing back over your shoulder.

“I didn’t think there was another way in, so I just… used that.” A small pause. “Pretended it was a balance beam. Well. Jogged it. But the same idea.”

Violet doesn’t say anything. Her face goes pale. Slowly.

“You walked the parapet.”

You nod, like that’s the least interesting part of this conversation. Dain looks about the same as she does.

You don’t really have time to unpack that.

You hold the book out to her.

“You forgot this.”

Utterly stupid.

That’s what this whole day is. More cadets. More deaths. More responsibility he doesn’t have time for.

At least it’s over. The last of them have already crossed the parapet.

Xaden turns, ready to head across and deal with the rest of the squad leaders and someone shoves past him.

Gone before he can properly react. A quiet, “sorry.”

He turns.

The girl is already stepping onto the parapet. Alone. With no pack. With zero hesitation, just a book clutched in her hands.

Is she…

She is.

She’s walking the parapet like it’s nothing.

She’s going to fall.

Halfway across, her foot slips. A small misstep enough to kill most cadets.

She corrects it before it becomes a problem. Doesn’t even stop. Just keeps going like it never happened.

He moves to the courtyard with the others, but his eyes don’t leave her. Not once.

She hits the other side and immediately starts scanning the crowd. Not for help. Not for approval.

For someone specific.

Xaden finds Imogen beside him.

“Did she give you a name?”

He tilts his chin toward the girl. She’s weaving through the cadets now, slipping between them until she stops behind Sorrengail.

Something clicks.

Not identical. But close enough.

The silver at the ends of her hair gives it away curled, pinned back with small gold pieces.

“No.”

He doesn’t look at Imogen. “Didn’t stay long enough to give one.”

Imogen watches her for a second longer.

“If you ask me, she won’t survive two minutes here.”

That should be the end of it. Should be easy to agree.

The Riders Quadrant eats people like her alivesoft, unprepared, out of place.

He glances back to where she stands, holding something out to Sorrengail like none of this matters. Like she didn’t just walk the parapet for it.

“…maybe.”

But she didn’t fall.

And she should have.

You leave before formation. Dain helps. Apparently there’s a safer way in and out of the Riders Quadrant. Something about that feels wrong, but you don’t question it. You just… go.

The dragons torch the cadets who tried to run. Screams don’t last long. They never do.

Xaden watches it without flinching.

But as the line forms, something is off.

His gaze drags over the crowd once. Twice.

She isn’t there.

The girl from earlier.

Gone.

Maybe she did fall. Maybe she made it halfway back and misstepped. Maybe the dragons got her after all.

Wouldn’t be the first. Wouldn’t matter.

She’s not here.

The thought is quiet. Annoying. Unwanted.

The girl is a healer. She didn’t stay for the demonstration.

Sgaeyl’s voice cuts cleanly through his mind.

Xaden’s jaw tightens.

Then why the hell did she cross the damn parapet.

That remains to be seen.

He exhales sharply through his nose.

Of course it does.

They head toward the dining hall, boots against stone, voices low around them. Garrick falls into step at his side.

“You’re brooding.”

Xaden doesn’t look at him. “I’m not.”

Garrick huffs a quiet laugh. “You are.”

A beat.

“The girl from earlier. Didn’t see her in formation.”

Xaden glances over then, just briefly.

So Garrick noticed too.

Good.

That makes this less…

No.

It doesn’t make it anything.

“Healer,” Xaden says, flat. “If Sgaeyl’s right.”

Garrick lifts a brow. “A healer walked the parapet for fun?”

Xaden looks ahead again, jaw set.

“She didn’t do it for fun.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. Doesn’t know why he’s certain.

But he is.

It’s during sparring that he sees you again.

He wasn’t looking for you.

He tells himself that, at least.

A first year nearly loses his arm, and Xaden is the one who gets stuck escorting him to the healer’s wing.

Annoying.

You’re moving between beds, quick and light on your feet. Not rushed. Not panicked.

You laugh at something one of the other healers says.

And that smile,

it doesn’t leave your face.

Xaden stills.

No.

Absolutely not.

He is not about to stand here and be distracted by some first year healer with a pretty smile.

You step up to the injured cadet without hesitation. Hands steady. Voice calm. You assess the damage, already working as you speak.

Clear. Confident.

Like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

By the time he’s processed what you’re doing, you’re already finishing.

You glance up just for a second.

Your eyes meet his, just for a second.

Then you’re looking back at the cadet like he doesn’t exist.

“No sparring,” you say, voice firm and unyielding. “Don’t care if it makes you look weak. If you want to keep both arms, stay off the mat.”

The cadet nods immediately.

Smart enough to listen.

He slides off the bed and heads for the door.

Xaden doesn’t move.

Doesn’t realize he hasn’t moved until

“Did you need fixing, wing leader?”

He blinks.

You’re looking at him now, head tilted slightly, that same easy expression, but there’s something under it. Recognition. You knew he was staring. Of course you did.

He steps closer before he can stop himself.

“Why cross the parapet if you’re a healer?”

The question leaves his mouth sharp. Unplanned.

Your brows pull together, confused only for a second. “Oh.” It clicks for you, that smile shifting just slightly. “Is that what you call the giant balance beam?”

He knows you know what it’s called. He heard you that day. He doesn’t call you on it.

You continue like it’s nothing. “Violet forgot her book. I just wanted to make sure she got it.”

A small shrug, like that explains everything.

“Was I not supposed to do that?”

You weren’t. You both know that. But you say it like you genuinely don’t care about the answer.

Xaden studies you. Really looks this time.

You’re soft, put together, completely out of place in the Riders Quadrant. And yet, you walked the parapet. Didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t fall.

He exhales slowly. “…most people don’t survive it.”

Your expression doesn’t change much. Just a small blink.

“Good to know for next time.”

There shouldn’t be a next time. There won’t be a next time. He tells himself that immediately.

But something in his chest tightens anyway.

Because if there is,

he’s not entirely sure you wouldn’t do it again.

The next time he sees you is after he finds Violet in that damn tree.

He’s heading back to the dorms. Done with the day. Done with the chaos.

That’s when he spots movement in the courtyard.

Three figures. Hoods up. Moving like they don’t want to be seen.

So he does the only logical thing.

He follows.

They don’t stop until they reach the flight field.

Xaden is already over it. Whatever this is, it’s not worth it. 

The hoods come down.

And there you are.

With two other healers. In the middle of the damn flight field.

He stills, slipping back into the shadows instead, watching.

Probably doing something stupid.

It doesn’t look stupid.

Not exactly. Not once he actually pays attention.

You’re climbing, up boulders, through trees, using anything you can get your hands on like it was made for training.

Deliberate. Controlled. Not clumsy in the slightest.

The humming starts a second later. Soft. Barely there.

It takes him a moment to realize, 

it’s you.

Of course it is.

He exhales slowly.

No.

He’s not doing this.

He’s not about to stand here and feel something. Not for a Sorrengail. Definitely not for one that looks as breakable as Violet.

Breakable isn’t how I would describe her.

Sgaeyl’s voice is quiet. Measured.

And you don’t either, not if your thoughts are anything to go by.

His jaw tightens. “She’s breakable,” he mutters under his breath. “She wouldn’t last two days here.”

Sgaeyl doesn’t argue. Just a low huff.

Then silence.

Movement draws his attention back to you.

You’re in the trees now, walking from branch to branch like it’s the ground, balanced, making it look almost easy. Like you’ve done it your entire life.

That’s how she did it.

You slip.

Just slightly.

Enough for his body to react before his mind does.

One step forward

He stops himself.

You catch yourself. Just barely. Then drop to the ground, rolling into your feet like it was intentional. Like it didn’t almost go very wrong.

You laugh.

Like it’s nothing.

“I swear, for someone who bumps into everything and apologizes, you weirdly have balance.”

He freezes.

That… tracks.

Of course it does.

You grin, brushing your hands off. “I only did that once.”

Your friend snorts. “Yeah, once just today. I saw you bump into a tray and say sorry to it.”

“A tray.”

You shake your head, glancing up at the sky. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

Just like that, the three of you slip off the field, disappearing toward one of the hidden entrances.

Like you were never there.

Xaden stays where he is. In the shadows. Not moving.

He didn’t follow you.

There was no reason to.

…

His shadows shift anyway, curling and restless as they slip after you.

But unlike you,

they always come back.

“Should we really be out here?”

Sofie’s voice comes from your right.

You don’t stop walking. “Sofie, we’re fine. Nolan said we have the day off.” You gesture vaguely ahead of you. “And I don’t see anyone out here to tell us otherwise.”

She gives you a look.

You know that look.

The this is a bad idea and you know it look.

You ignore it.

“Besides,” she says, nodding toward the structure in front of you, “we don’t have the strength to even do…”

She hesitates, like saying it will make it worse.

“The gauntlet.”

You pause. Tilt your head. Then smile.

“Obstacle course,” you correct. “If you give it a name that sounds like it’s going to crush you, then it will.”

Cortland snorts from your left. “I can’t tell if your ego’s too big or if your confidence is overcompensating.”

You glance at her. “Why not both?”

That earns a quiet laugh.

You look back up at the course.

It’s… tall. More than tall. Complicated.

But not impossible.

Not really.

“Relax,” you say, stepping forward. “We watched Sawyer do it the other day.”

You reach for the first hold without hesitation. Grip. Pull. Your body follows, natural, like you’ve already decided this is happening.

“Besides,” you add, climbing, “we can just use the ropes to get down. Not that big of a deal.”

Behind you, your friends go quiet, sharing a look you can practically feel.

But a second later, you hear them move to follow anyway.

Because if you’re doing it, 

they’re not letting you do it alone.

It’s when the three of you reach the top that you notice it.

People.

A lot of people.

Riders gathered below the gauntlet.

Watching.

Your stomach drops just a little.

“…oh.”

Cortland leans forward beside you, squinting. “The guy in the back looks ready to kill you,” she mutters.

You follow her line of sight.

Yeah, you see him.

Xaden Riorson.

Even from this high up, you can feel it.

You can’t tell if he’s surprised…

or if he’s about to climb up here and drag you back down himself.

“I think,” you say slowly, “that might be because we just did the gauntlet.”

A beat.

“And didn’t die.”

Which feels important.

Did you almost slip halfway up?

Yes.

Did you actually fall?

No.

And that’s what counts.

Right?

You glance at your friends. All three of you are breathing a little heavier but steady. Fine. More than fine.

Because the truth is, you’ve been training.

Not like riders. Not officially.

Long enough that this didn’t feel impossible.

Just… difficult.

The three of you sit on the edge for a second longer, catching your breath. Pretending the crowd below doesn’t exist.

A throat clears behind you.

All three of you freeze.

Slowly, you turn.

Professor Devera stands a few steps back, watching. Almost amused.

That’s… worse than angry.

“Causing quite the stir today, are we, ladies?”

Heat creeps up your neck instantly.

You push to your feet, stepping away from the ledge. All three of you move just a little closer together.

“We weren’t aware we couldn’t climb it,” you say.

And even to your own ears, it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

Her brow lifts. Just slightly.

You wince.

“…okay, so maybe it’s a little unorthodox,” you add quickly. “But we didn’t die.”

A small, hopeful pause.

“So that has to count for something… right?”

It’s when you reach the Rotunda that Devera finally stops.

The three of you nearly run into her when she turns.

“You do realize,” she says, looking between you, “that outside of sparring, you’re very close to qualifying as riders.”

That gets your attention.

You blink.

“What?”

Devera doesn’t answer right away.

Your stomach drops.

Just a little.

“You crossed the parapet,” Devera continues. “Then the gauntlet.”

Her gaze settles on you.

“Neither of those is taken lightly here.”

He shouldn’t be here.

This has nothing to do with him.

And yet, Xaden doesn’t leave.

He watches you.

Really watches this time.

You don’t look proud. You don’t look like you’re trying to prove anything.

You look…

confused.

Like this wasn’t intentional. Like you didn’t realize what you were doing.

That doesn’t make sense.

No one accidentally does both.

Sgaeyl hums low in his mind.

You already know that isn’t true.

His jaw tightens.

You shift on your feet, not steady now, not like earlier. Fingers fidgeting slightly at your sides.

And yet, you walked it. You climbed it. Didn’t fall, and certainly didn’t break.

“…she shouldn’t be able to do that,” Garrick mutters behind him.

Xaden doesn’t respond.

Because he’s starting to realize you didn’t do it to be impressive.

You did it because you wanted to.

And that is far more dangerous.

It’s when the three of you are halfway down the Healers Quadrant’s main hallway that he makes himself known.

“You keep that up,” he says from behind you, “you’ll end up with targets on your backs.”

All three of you turn. Too fast.

Nervous.

He can feel it. Rolling off you in waves.

Good.

That’s how it’s supposed to be.

“Try not to wind up on the threshing field,” he continues. “You might’ve managed the parapet and the gauntlet, but threshing isn’t for the weak.”

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows.

Since when do you toy with female emotions?

Sgaeyl’s voice is dry.

Since now, he snaps back. And since when do you care what I do with them?

The day you stop thinking about the Sorrengail healer is the day I assume you’ve gone mad.

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t think about you that often.

…does he?

Shields slam into place. Hard.

He’s not doing this. Not here. Not about you.

“I’m sorry, did you just call us weak?”

He looks at the other two first.

Predictable.

Defensive.

He opens his mouth

“Some nerve you have.”

You.

Of course it’s you.

“You think just because it’s ‘oh, I’m Xaden Riorson, I’m big and scary and my dragon’s scary’ that you get to be a dick?”

There’s no hesitation. No fear in your voice.

Just clear, unfiltered annoyance.

“News flash,” you continue, stepping forward just enough to close the space between you, “no one asked for your opinion.”

“And if I want it”

You pause. Glance around like you’re genuinely considering it.

Then smile.

“I’ll throw my shoe at you.”

Silence.

Behind you, your friends look like they want to disappear into the floor.

You don’t wait for a response.

You just turn, link your arms with theirs, and walk away.

Like that was nothing.

You mocked him.

Him.

Of all people.

And it wasn’t even a good impression.

Not accurate.

Not threatening.

Barely passable.

…

He huffs a quiet breath, something dangerously close to a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He lets it happen.

Just this once.

Gathering in Autumn was risky. 

Especially for Eris, who was currently looking at the 3 Illyiarn males across the table. 

“She’s been quiet.” 

Yes the informant that Azriel had in Autumn. 

Eris knew Azriel had people in each court. 

He did as well. 

But accoring to the 3 males this informant in particular had been quiet for days. 

Much like Eris’s own. 

That’s when Eris speaks.

“I know someone who can us information.” 

Rhys glances at him. 

“You have a contact here?” 

Eris raises his eyebrow. 

“It is my court after all, my father might be high lord but, loyalty doesn’t always sit with the current Lords.” 

Rhys nods. 

“They’re reliable as well. Usually.” 

Cassian huffs. 

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

Eris almost smiles. 

Before pushing up and out of his chair. 

Turning to Azriel. 

“I assume you know where the tavern is?” 

Azriel nods before the four men winnow out. 

The tavern is loud.

Messy.

Alive.

And wrong. 

Azriel feels it first.

His shadows slip out. 

Like they’ve found something.

And lost it again.

Eris scans the room.

Once.

Twice.

“She should be here.”

Azriel’s head tilts.

“She.”

“My contact.”

The tavern owner spots them.

And waves them over. 

“Haven’t seen your girl in days.”

Cassian blinks.

“His what?”

Eris doesn’t react.

“How long.”

“Three. Maybe four.”

Too long.

Azriel’s shadows visibly tighten. 

Eris only nodds and closes his eyes.

When he feels it the tug in his chest. 

His gaze flicks upward

At the same moment Azriel’s shadows surge.

“There,” Azriel says.

Movement.

Up the wall.

Fluid and effortless.

She drops onto the bar.

Grinning.

Already mid-trade.

“Pleasure doin’ business.”

The female looks up and makes eye contact with each male, before hoping down from the bar top. 

“Well,” she says, bright, “This is convenient.”

Gone.

Cassian blinks.

Hands cover Eris’s eyes.

“Guess who.”

Eris doesn’t move.

“Remove your hands.”

You laugh.

Lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Missed you too.”

You step around him.

Like you’ve always been there.

Azriel steps forward.

“You’ve been quiet for days….”

You nod and turn to face the shadowsinger. 

“I was busy is all.” 

Rhys blinks at you, before recognition crosses his face. 

Your Azriels contact he’s seen you in Valaris from time to time. 

“How do you know Eris.” 

The question comes from Cassian. 

You pause.

Look at him.

Then Eris.

And light up.

“Oh,” you say.

“Oh this is fun.”

You hop up onto the table behind you. 

Boot hitting a glass.

You don’t notice.

You lean forward

boop.

Right to Eris’s nose.

“What,” you say, mock offense, “fifty years and you say nothing?”

Cassian chokes.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We agreed,” he says, controlled,

“to wait until it was necessary.”

You grin.

“Nah.”

Cassian laughs.

“You mentioned that,” you add.

“I never agreed, good try though, hun.”

You start pulling things from your pockets, muttering as you pull out each item. 

A ring.

“Guard. Wrongfully taken.”

A pouch.

“Overtaxed.”

You pause.

Tilt your head, and whistle.

Someone moves across the tavern.

Cassian leans in.

“…no way.”

You don’t turn.

Just hold your hand out.

“Summer. Tuesday. Noon. You know where.”

They nod.

“Yeah. Medicine.”

The trade happens so quickly.

They leave.

You watch them go.

“Medicine,” you echo.

A beat.

“Suuure.”

You turn back.

Already reaching into another pocket.

“As I was saying”

You pull out a folded parchment.

Flicking it toward Rhys without looking. 

“Spring Court.”

He unfolds it.

“…when did you get this?”

“Got it last week,” you mumble. 

Like you maybe shouldn’t have said that like that.

“…was going to drop it off.”

A small shrug.

“Got distracted.”

Azriel’s shadows go still.

“You went into the Spring Court.”

You glance at the shadowsinger.

“Mm.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“She’s efficient,” Eris says flatly.

You glance at him.

The corner of your mouth twitches.

Just slightly.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose again.

“You were meant to wait.”

You hop down.

Walk up to him.

“You needed it. I saw the paper work in your office.”

You wait just a beat, before continuing. 

“You’re welcome.”

Azriel steps forward.

“So you’re working for both courts.”

You look at him.

Really look.

Then laugh.

“Culdron no, I do what I please.”

Silence settles around the table. 

“And if my loyalty’s in question”

Your gaze flicks to Eris.

Your mouth moves before you think too hard about it

“I love to disappoint you.”

You smile slightly looking at each male, before settling on Eris.

“My loyalty is with my mate.”

Silence.

They all exhale. 

You blink once after saying it.

Like maybe you hadn’t meant to say it out loud quite like that.

But you don’t take it back.

Cassian looks at Rhys. 

“…I think she might be the most terrifying person in this tavern.”

“Incorrect,” you say immediately.

You point lazily toward the bartender.

“That male waters down his liquor.”

Before they could question you anymore another whistle goes out in the tavern. 

You perk up a bit before turning and looking up at the second floor, and nod. 

“Well gentleman, I have trading to do.” 

Just like that your moving quick, and swift. 

It’s not even 10 seconds later that they can see you and another patron exchanging words and goods above them. 

Eris huffs. 

“Well at least we know where our contact went.” 

They turn and leave the tavern, heading back to the palace that houses the Autumn courts high lord. 

Dinner in the Autumnn Court is… polished.

Controlled.

Every movement is measured.

Every word weighed.

Which is why when you walk in it throws the entire room off.

No longer in the leather and boots from the tavern. 

A dress of Autumn tones. Elegant, and effortless. 

Two of the smokehounds at your sides. 

Cassian chokes on his drink.

“…that’s the same person?” he mutters.

Azriel doesn’t answer.

He’s watching you.

Rhys is too.

But differently.

Calculating.

Eris doesn’t look surprised.

Of course he doesn’t.

“You’re late,” he says.

You smile.

“I was busy.”

A glance passes between you and eris, just long enough to be anything more than casual. 

The other heirs of Autumnns thrown sit at the table. 

Being told that Barron was in Summer, and that Eris was handling the treaty with the Nightcourt. 

You float from brother to brother on your way to your seat. 

Eris tracking your movements the whole way. 

Light conversation.

Easy smiles.

A hand on a shoulder here.

A quiet laugh there.

No one questions it.

Why would they?

You look like you belong.

One of them frowns before turning to you. 

“Strangest thing,” he mutters. “I had a vial earlier.”

Another scoffs.

“You lose everything.”

You tilt your head slightly, before taking your seat at the table.

“Oh?” you ask softly. “What kind of vial?”

He shrugs.

“Nothing important.”

You smile, one that almost shows concern.

“Then I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

You move on before he can think too hard about it.

Cassian is staring now.

Really staring.

“…she’s doing something.” It’s muttered low enough that only Rhys and Azriel hear it. 

Azriel’s shadows drift lazily after you.

Watching.

Tracking.

Rhys notices the pattern second.

Each brother you speak to something shifts.

A weight added.

A weight removed.

And none of them notice.

Not one.

The youngest brother at the table leans back in his chair.

“I’m heading into town after dinner,” he says casually.

Your gaze flicks toward him for half a second.

Then you smile.

“Of course you are.”

Conversation continues, treaties, borders, trade routes. 

It’s not long after that the youngest leaves. The other 2 brothers followed shortly after. 

Something about needing air. 

You wait.

A breath.

Two.

Then reach for your napkin.

Not a napkin.

Cloth.

You tear a small strip free.

Cassian leans forward immediately.

“Oh no.”

You ignore him.

Already scribbling quickly across the fabric.

Azriel’s shadows curl closer.

Trying to read it.

You fold it before they can.

Then whistle softly.

One of the Shadow hounds lifts its head from the corner of the room.

Trotting toward you immediately.

You crouch.

Tie the strip carefully to its collar.

“Go on.”

The hound takes off without hesitation.

Gone down the hall in seconds.

Silence settles behind it.

Cassian looks between you and the doorway.

Then to Eris, then back to you.

“…you’re using his brothers as delivery routes?”

“My love,” Eris says, voice already exhausted, “you have to stop putting things on my brothers simply to bring items into town.”

You straighten slowly.

“We talked about this.”

“We did,” he agrees.

A moment passes before you speak “I disagreed.”

Cassian breaks first.

Laughing into his drink.

Rhys watches you carefully now.

Not amused anymore.

But curious and calculating.

Azriel finally speaks.

“I found a pouch in an alley in the Summer Court last week.”

You don’t react immediately.

“Oh.”

Your head lifts slightly.

“Gold?” you ask. “Purple sparkles?”

Azriel nods once.

You point at him immediately.

“Can you get that to Ivy for me?”

Your smile slips for half a second before it’s back. 

“Her kids need it.”

Too quick.

Like you don’t want questions after that part.

Silence settles again.

Different this time.

Rhys leans back slowly.

“…you’re running routes in each court.”

You shrug lightly.

“I’m solving problems.”

A pause.

“Someone should.”

Across the table Eris watches you quietly.

Like he’s trying very hard not to look as fond as he does.

And failing a little.

Dinner drags on a little longer after that.

Not awkward.

Just…careful.

Rhys is thinking too hard.

Azriel’s shadows keep drifting toward you.

Cassian has stopped pretending he isn’t entertained.

You finish your drink.

Standing up smoothly.

“Well,” you say lightly, “This has been enlightening.”

Cassian snorts.

“For us maybe.”

You grin at him.

Then start toward the door.

Eris’s gaze follows immediately.

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m busy.”

“Shocking,” Cassian mutters.

You make it three whole steps before stopping.

“Oh.”

You snap your fingers.

Everyone looks at you again.

You point lazily toward Azriel.

“Those documents you wanted?”

Azriel straightens slightly.

“At the townhouse.”

Silence.

You glance toward Eris your smile widening just a fraction.

“And you.”

Eris already looks tired.

“Yes, love.”

You fight a grin and fail.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Cassian immediately starts choking on air.

You continue like nothing happened.

“So you might want to wrap this up.”

A wink.

“Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Then you turn and walk out.

No rush.

No hesitation.

Like you already know nobody’s going to stop you.

The door shuts behind you.

Silence lingers for exactly two seconds, before Eris is up and moving after you. 

Leaving the three Illayrins at the table. 

“…that,” Cassian says slowly, “was not a document tone.”

Rhys exhales through his nose.

“…no,” he agrees

Azriel’s shadows shift suddenly.

Curl tighter around his shoulders.

“My shadows confirm,” he says evenly,

“she put the papers on your desk.”

Rhys stills before Azriel continues.

“…in the townhouse.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Wait, hold on”

He points toward the door Eris and you just disappeared through.

“You’re telling me she made it into the townhouse between bartering in the tavern and terrorizing Eris’s brothers at dinner?”

Azriel nods once.

Rhys almost pales.

“Az,” he says carefully, “for the love of the Mother tell me she’s your contact here in Autumnn.”

Another nod.

“Didn’t realize she was his mate though.”

Cassian leans back in his chair slowly.

“…that feels like very important information.”

Rhys is already standing.

“So she’s your missing informant,” he says to Azriel.

“And Eris’s reliable contact,” Cassian adds.

“And she just walked through my wards,” Rhys finishes. “…and left something behind.”

Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly.

“She wanted us to know.”

Rhys nods once, before glancing at the door Eris had disappeared through. 

“And he let her.” 

Decision already made.

“Then let’s go see what she left us.”

Cassian stands with a groan.

“And figure out how she got in.”

The townhouse is silent when they arrive.

Still.

Untouched.

Rhys checks the wards first.

Instinct.

Everything is intact.

That makes it worse.

Cassian notices the shift in Rhys’s expression immediately.

“…that bad?”

“You cannot winnow into the townhouse,” Rhys says quietly.

Azriel moves toward the study.

Fast.

Focused.

The others follow.

The door opens.

And there—

on Rhys’s desk—

sits a neat stack of papers.

Like they’ve always belonged there.

Azriel reaches them first.

Shadows brushing over the stack carefully.

“They’re real.”

Rhys steps closer.

Flips the first page—

then stops.

There’s a small scrap tucked beneath it.

Cassian leans over immediately.

“Oh no.”

Rhys pulls the note free slowly.

Reads it once.

Then silently hands it to Cassian.

My bad, wrong desk ;) 

Cassian makes a strangled noise.

“She knew.”

“She wanted us to know,” Azriel corrects quietly.

Rhys looks around the study slowly.

“She walked into my house,” he murmurs.

“Left what we needed.”

Another glance toward the note.

“And corrected herself.”

Cassian exhales a laugh.

Half impressed.

Half terrified.

“I liked her more when she was just robbing people.”

Rhys’s mouth twitches slightly.

“You liked her more when you understood her.”

Azriel says nothing.

Just stares at the desk.

At the untouched wards.

At the papers she wanted them to find. 

It wasn’t uncommon for the entire Inner Circle and their mates to join Rhys and Feyre when they had official business in the Winter Court.

Especially considering it was the perfect excuse the girls needed to see Viviane.

The new treaty had been signed hours ago.

The guys were sitting around the fireplace, talking.

The girls were gathered at a larger table.

It had been Mor’s idea.

Ice skating.

Since Feyre and Nesta never really had the chance before becoming fae.

Of course, the guys got dragged into it.

Cassian had claimed it couldn’t possibly be harder than flying.

Only to receive a quiet chuckle from both Azriel and Rhys.

The ice stretches wide.

Endless.

Silver-blue under a pale winter sun.

You stand at the edge with Feyre and Nesta, your boots crunching against frost as you tighten the laces.

“Again,” you tell Feyre gently.

She huffs.

“I am the High Lady of the Night Court.”

“And currently,” you say, stepping onto the ice with ease, “you are about to fall.”

She narrows her eyes.

Rhys snorts from behind her.

Cassian is already down.

Flat on his back.

“I hate this court,” he announces to the sky.

Nesta steps past him without a word.

She lasts three seconds.

Then she hits the ice hard, teeth clenched, pride somehow still intact.

“I meant to do that.”

Mor laughs, already gliding past all of you like she was born here, arms out, spinning once just because she can.

Snow kicks up behind her.

Graceful.

Effortless.

You reach for Feyre’s hands, guiding her weight, steadying.

“Slow,” you murmur.

Rhys hovers behind her, ready to catch.

“Careful,” he says.

She glares over her shoulder.

“I am being careful.”

She immediately slips.

Rhys catches her.

Barely.

They both laugh.

Soft.

Warm against the cold.

“Where’s Azriel?” Feyre asks after a moment, breath fogging in the air.

You don’t look up.

But you feel it.

That familiar pull.

That quiet awareness of him.

Rhys follows your gaze.

Then smiles.

Small.

Knowing.

Cassian props himself up on his elbows.

“He’s probably trying to stay off the ice to preserve his ‘perfect’ image.”

You laugh softly before stepping further onto the ice.

Alone.

For a moment.

The world quiets.

Snow falls in slow, drifting flakes.

A shadow curls around your ankle.

Gentle.

Familiar.

You don’t startle.

Never do.

“Late,” you murmur.

A hand finds yours.

Warm against the cold.

“You started without me,” Azriel replies.

His voice is low.

Soft.

Like the snow itself.

No one notices either of you.

Not really.

Because you and Azriel aren’t doing anything impressive.

You’re just… skating.

Side by side.

Like it’s easy.

Like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before.

Which you have.

Your hand brushes his.

Then lingers.

Then stays.

A quiet rhythm between you.

Push.

Glide.

Turn.

Nothing flashy.

Nothing that draws attention.

Just natural.

Behind you on the ice.

Chaos.

“Why is it moving?” Cassian demands as the ice shifts beneath him.

“You have to move with it,” Feyre says, arms out, wobbling.

“I am moving, Feyre”

He goes down again.

Hard.

Nesta doesn’t help him.

Mostly because she’s too busy refusing to fall.

Which somehow makes it worse when she does.

“I’m fine,” she snaps, already getting back up.

She is not fine.

Eventually

They give up.

Or, more accurately, they’re forced off the ice by dignity loss and frozen fingers.

Inside

Warmth.

Firelight.

Boots abandoned by the door.

“Wait,” Morrigan says suddenly.

She’s standing by the window.

Still.

Watching.

“…what are you two doing?”

They follow her gaze.

Out across the ice.

You’re still there.

With him.

It’s quieter now.

Snow falling softer.

The world pulled inward.

And you’re still just……

Skating.

Like before.

Easy.

Unbothered.

Like it never occurred to you to stop.

Until…. 

Azriel lets go of your hand.

Just for a second.

And spins you.

Clean.

Controlled.

You don’t even think about it

You just follow.

Landing back into him with a soft laugh.

Like it’s muscle memory.

Cassian leans closer to the glass.

“…since when does Az know how to do that?”

Rhysand doesn’t look surprised.

Not even a little.

“Well,” he says, almost amused, “considering they come here every year…”

“…this is what they do. Skate until he can’t feel his wings, and she’s too tired to say no to coming back inside” 

Outside you’re still moving.

But now

There’s a shift.

Subtle.

Another spin.

This one faster.

His hand firm at your waist.

You pivot

Turn

Your skates carving clean lines into the ice like you belong there.

And then

You’re not just skating anymore.

You’re dancing.

Not dramatic.

Not exaggerated.

Just

Perfectly in sync.

Like breathing.

Like instinct.

Azriel steps into you,

You step back.

He guides

You follow

Then reverse without thinking.

Your hand slides up his arm.

His shadows curl at your waist

Not needed.

Just there.

Like they always are.

Inside

No one speaks.

Because it doesn’t feel like something they’re supposed to interrupt.

It builds.

Quietly.

A turn.

A lift.

Not high.

Not showy.

Just enough to make you laugh as he sets you down again.

He spins you again.

Slower this time.

Drawing it out.

Like he’s not in any rush to let go.

By the time you both finally slow

You don’t even notice the audience.

Not until later.

When they come back out.

You’re back to casual again.

Mostly.

Gliding.

Laughing.

Less precise now on purpose.

Feyre makes her way toward you.

Carefully.

Very carefully.

Still wobbling.

“What,” she says, slightly breathless, “the hell was that earlier?”

You blink.

“...what?”

“The dancing,” she says, gesturing vaguely.

You freeze.

Just a little.

Then glance at Azriel.

Then back at her.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.”

Cassian barks a laugh from somewhere behind her.

“Oh, we definitely saw it.”

You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.

“We thought everyone went inside.”

“We did,” Mor says sweetly.

Feyre tilts her head.

Genuinely curious.

“Where did you even learn how to do that?”

You shrug.

Like it’s nothing.

“It’s just skating.”

She stares at you.

“That is not just skating.”

You glance back at Azriel, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“You’ve seen us dance before. It’s almost the same thing.”

It is not the same thing.

And they all know it.

Azriel steps back into you again.

Subtle.

Instinctive.

Your hand finds his without looking.

A small turn.

Nothing like before.

But still

There.

He fumbles.

Just slightly.

His grip slipping.

Your balance tipping with him. 

You catch yourself, hitting his chest with a laugh.

“What the hell was that?”

You squint at him.

“I know you’re better than that.”

His shadows flicker.

Amused.

And Azriel smirks.

“Am I?”

You shove at him lightly.

He catches you anyway.

Of course he does.

Behind you

Cassian groans.

“Oh, so he can fall, he just chooses not to?”

Rhys just watches.

Arms crossed.

Smiling.

Because now

everyone else sees it.

Not just the skill.

Not just the control.

But the way Azriel looks at you when you laugh.

And the way he never

not once

lets you fall.

Tag list

The sky is painted in gold and orange when you finally sit still.

For the first time all day.

Bealith is stretched out behind you, wings relaxed, head resting just enough for you to lean against him.

You do.

Without thinking.

Like he’s a pillow.

A very large, very warm, very sentient pillow.

“You are treating me like furniture again.”

You hum softly.

“You’re not moving.”

“That does not make me furniture.”

“It kind of does.”

He huffs.

You feel it more than hear it.

The silence settles again.

Comfortable.

For about five seconds.

“He kissed you,” Bealith says.

“You have not spoken about it all day. Are you ill.”

You blink.

Slowly.

Turn your head just enough to look at him.

Then look back at the sunset.

“No,” you say quietly.

A pause.

“I just… I…”

The words don’t come.

Which is new.

You are not someone who loses words.

Bealith watches you.

You can feel it.

His stare, heavy but patient. 

“You are thinking too much.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

You huff softly.

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

“That is because you are avoiding it.”

You press your lips together.

“That’s not fair.”

“It is entirely fair.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter,

“You like him.”

You scoff.

A little too quickly.

“He is tolerable.”

“That is not what I said.”

You shift slightly, adjusting against his scales.

“I just… don’t see the point.”

That gets his attention.

You feel the shift immediately.

“What point.”

“He’s graduating,” you say. “In what, eight months?”

You stare out at the horizon.

“That is not a long time.”

“Exactly.”

Your voice tightens slightly.

“And before that? What if he’s sent somewhere. What if something happens.”

You swallow.

“And I’ve seen how this ends.”

Bealith doesn’t interrupt.

Good.

Because if he does, you might not say it.

“Haldon cheated on Violet,” you say quietly.

“There’s always something. Always someone who leaves or lies or just… doesn’t stay.”

Your fingers curl slightly in your lap.

“I don’t want that.”

The words sit there.

Bealith is quiet for a long moment.

“You are comparing him to someone he is not.”

You shake your head.

“I’m comparing outcomes.”

“That is not the same.”

“It is to me.”

Silence again.

“He kissed you.”

You close your eyes briefly.

“Yes okay, he kissed me, can we move on.”

“And you have said nothing.”

Your jaw tightens.

“He hasn’t either.”

That's the part that’s bothering you.

More than anything else.

You open your eyes again.

Staring straight ahead.

“Like it didn’t happen.”

Your voice is quieter now.

Smaller.

“I’m not chasing after someone who might not even mean it.”

Bealith goes very still.

“You are being stupid.”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“No,” he continues, voice sharper now. “You are choosing fear over fact.”

“I’m choosing not to get hurt.”

“You are choosing to assume.”

You don’t respond.

Because he’s not entirely wrong.

Which is irritating.

Deeply irritating.

“You want him to say something,” Bealith says.

You don’t answer.

“You are waiting.”

Still nothing.

“That is also stupid.”

You shove lightly at his scales.

“Can you not call me stupid while I’m having a moment.”

“No.”

You sigh.

“…great.”

Bealith is quiet for a second.

“I will handle it.”

Your head snaps up.

“No.”

Too fast.

Too immediate.

“Absolutely not.”

“You are clearly incapable.”

“I am capable,” you argue. “I am choosing not to.”

“A poor choice.”

“Bea”

But he’s already gone quiet. Shields up as to not hear you. 

Which is worse.

Much worse.

Across the field, Tairn lifts his head.

Annoyed.

What.

Bealith’s voice is calm.

Retrieve your rider.

There is a pause.

Then

Why?

She is required.

Another pause.

Longer.

More suspicious.

This is not my problem.

It is now.

Tairn huffs.

But he calls Violet anyway. 

Violet spots you before you see her.

Which is not unusual.

You’re stretched out across the flight field, back against Bealith’s foreleg like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

She slows slightly.

Eyes narrowing.

“Tairn, why can’t you be like that.”

Tairn huffs.

I am not a pillow.

“Tragic,” she replies, already heading toward you.

You don’t move when she approaches.

Of course you don’t.

You’re staring at the sky like it personally offended you.

“Spill it.”

You blink.

Turn your head slowly.

“…hello to you too.”

“Spill it,” she repeats, dropping down beside you.

Closer this time.

You stare at her for a second.

Then your hands come up, covering your face.

“Oh gods.”

That’s all the warning she gets.

“He kissed me,” you say into your palms. “And my dragon is trying to play matchmaker.”

Silence.

“What.”

You peek through your fingers.

Violet is staring at you like she just won something.

A big something.

“How did you not lead with that?”

“I just did.”

“You buried it,” she argues. “That’s burying it.”

You drop your hands, groaning softly.

“I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“You celebrate,” she says immediately.

You give her a look.

A very pointed look.

She pauses.

Actually pauses.

Then her expression shifts.

“Wait.”

You don’t like that tone.

“Why are we not happy about this?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t”

“You’re lounging on a dragon like you’re avoiding something.”

You blink.

“That’s just how I sit.”

“That is not the point.”

She leans in slightly.

Eyes narrowing further.

“I haven’t seen him around you today.”

Your stomach drops.

Just slightly.

You try to ignore it.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does to me.”

You look away.

Back at the sky.

“He didn’t say anything,” you admit quietly.

There it is.

“He kissed me and then just… left.”

Violet’s expression goes completely still.

“Oh hell no.”

You wince.

“That sounds worse out loud.”

“You think?”

She pushes herself up slightly, turning fully toward you.

“You like him.”

You don’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

“And instead of doing anything about it, you’re sitting here convincing yourself it meant nothing.”

“I’m not”

“You are.”

Her voice softens just a little.

Not much.

Just enough.

“This is the first guy you’ve actually liked that isn’t completely unbearable.”

You huff quietly.

“He’s still a little unbearable.”

“Broody and moody, yes,” she says. “But not a complete asshole.”

You glance at her.

She’s serious.

Which is… new.

“He’s graduating,” you say.

You don’t mean to.

It just comes out.

“And?”

“And what’s the point if he’s leaving.”

Violet stares at you.

Then shakes her head.

“You are unbelievable.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re self-sabotaging.”

The words land.

You don’t argue.

Because you can’t.

“And for the record,” she adds, standing now, “if Xaden Riorson kissed you, it was not meaningless.”

You look up at her.

Uncertain.

Then she crosses her arms.

Expression shifting back into something sharper.

More familiar.

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

Your eyes widen.

“No”

“Too late.”

“Violet”

She’s already walking away.

“Absolutely not,” you call after her, pushing yourself up. “Do not do that”

She doesn’t even turn around.

“Too late,” she repeats.

And keeps going.

Leaving you mortified, but too exhausted to go after her.

Xaden barely registers her approach.

Not until she stops in front of him.

Arms crossed.

Expression already annoyed.

“You need to fix it.”

He blinks.

“…what.”

“She thinks you’re playing her.”

That gets his attention.

“What.”

“She thinks the kiss didn’t mean anything,” Violet continues. “That you’re just… messing with her.”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not”

“I know that,” Violet cuts in. “I’ve known you long enough to know that.”

“She doesn’t.”

Silence.

“She’s on the flight field,” Violet adds. “Fix it.”

Then she turns and walks away.

Like she just dropped a problem directly in his lap.

Which she did.

Xaden stands there for a second.

Processing.

Then exhales slowly.

Annoyed.

Not at you.

At himself.

Because of course you would think that.

Because he didn’t say anything.

Because he thought.

He stops that thought immediately.

And heads for the flight field.

He finds you exactly where Violet said you’d be.

Of course he does.

Flight field.

Bealith stretched out behind you.

You leaning against him like none of this is a problem.

Like you didn’t spend the entire day avoiding him.

His jaw tightens slightly.

That stops now.

He steps forward.

Not hiding this time.

No shadows.

No distance.

“You’re making a habit of being somewhere you shouldn’t.”

You look up immediately.

Eyes locking onto him.

And there it is.

That flicker.

Surprise.

Something else underneath it.

Gone just as quickly.

“Pretty sure you don’t get to use that line anymore,” you reply.

Your voice is steady.

Too steady.

Like you practiced it.

He stops a few steps in front of you.

Close enough.

Not close enough.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Straight to the point.

No patience left for anything else.

You blink.

Just once.

“I’ve been busy.”

“No,” he says quietly. “You haven’t.”

Silence stretches.

You look away first.

Back toward the horizon.

Of course you do.

“I didn’t think there was anything to avoid,” you say.

Your tone is careful.

Measured.

Like you’re testing the words before you let them go.

That confirms it.

Violet was right.

You didn’t think it meant anything.

His jaw tightens.

“That’s on me.”

The words leave before he can reconsider them.

You turn back to him.

Brows pulling together slightly.

Confused.

Good.

You should be.

“I should’ve said something,” he continues.

Still controlled.

Still quiet.

“But I didn’t.”

A step closer.

Now you don’t look away.

“You think I meant nothing by it.”

Not a question.

You hesitate.

That’s enough of an answer.

He exhales slowly.

Then drops down to be eye level with you. 

He reaches for you.

Not abrupt.

Not forceful.

Deliberate.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing lightly along your jaw.

You still.

Again.

Like earlier.

But this time you don’t look confused.

Just unsure.

Searching.

“I don’t repeat mistakes,” he says quietly.

And then he kisses you again.

Not quick this time.

Not just a point to prove.

Slower.

Intentional.

Like he’s giving you time to understand it.

Feel it.

Choose to pull away if you want.

You don’t.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t move far.

Still close.

Still there.

“Does that answer your question,” he asks.

Your brain is not functioning.

At all.

Bealith lets out what can only be a chuckle which sounds like he is entirely too pleased with himself.

Xaden’s mouth twitches slightly.

Just barely.

But his eyes never leave yours.

It’s been a few weeks since everyone is in the same place at the same time. 

The common room is loud.

It always is at this hour.

Riders talking over each other, boots kicked up on tables, someone laughing too loudly in the corner.

You’re half paying attention.

Which is generous.

Rhi is talking.

Ridoc is absolutely instigating something.

Violet is watching you like she’s waiting for something.

You pretend not to notice.

“I’m just saying,” Ridoc continues, leaning back in his chair, “if you can grow poison, you should absolutely weaponize that more often.”

“I’m not weaponizing anything,” you reply.

“You already did,” he counters. “That guy still won’t come near you.”

“That was an accident.”

“It was not,” Imogen mutters from somewhere behind him.

You roll your eyes.

“It was a necessary response.”

“That sounds worse,” Rhi says.

You shrug.

“Details.”

There’s movement behind you.

You don’t turn.

You don’t need to.

You already know.

The room shifts slightly.

Subtle.

But noticeable.

Voices quiet just a fraction.

Attention shifts.

You ignore that too.

Warmth settles at your back.

Familiar.

Solid.

An arm slides around your waist.

Easy.

Natural.

Like it belongs there.

You don’t react.

Not really.

Xaden rests his chin lightly on your shoulder.

Close enough that you can feel his breath.

Steady.

Calm.

Possessive without saying a word.

“Continue,” he murmurs.

Quiet.

Only meant for you.

You huff softly.

“I was talking.”

“Then keep talking.”

You do.

Because this, this isn’t new.

Not really.

He’s been like this for weeks.

Always there.

Always close.

A hand at your back.

Fingers brushing yours.

Standing just slightly too close.

Watching.

Not hiding it anymore.

You shift slightly against him.

Not away.

Just enough to get comfortable.

His grip adjusts immediately.

Like he was expecting it.

Of course he was.

Ridoc is staring.

Openly.

Blatantly.

“Are we just ignoring this,” he asks.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

“No,” he says at the same time.

You tilt your head slightly.

Glance back at him.

He’s already looking at you.

Of course he is.

“Pick one,” you tell him.

“I did.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

You roll your eyes.

Rhi is trying very hard not to smile.

Violet is not trying at all.

“This is new,” Ridoc says.

“This is normal,” you correct.

“For you?” he asks.

“For them,” you reply, nodding slightly toward the marked ones scattered around the room.

It’s true.

You’ve seen it.

Easy touches.

Close proximity.

Unspoken understanding.

This isn’t strange.

Not to them.

Not anymore.

Xaden’s hand shifts slightly at your waist.

Thumb brushing once.

Absent.

Intentional.

Both.

“You’re distracting her,” Violet says casually.

“I’m not,” Xaden replies.

You hum.

“He is.”

His grip tightens just slightly.

Not enough to stop you.

Just enough to remind you he’s there.

Ridoc leans forward.

Studying the two of you like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week.

“It’s a little intense,” he says.

“You’re a little loud,” you shoot back.

“Fair.”

There’s a pause.

“So you’re just… okay with this?”

You shrug.

“He hasn’t killed me yet.”

“That is a low bar.”

“It’s been working so far.”

There’s a soft huff against your shoulder.

Amusement.

“You’re insufferable,” Xaden mutters.

You smile.

Just a little.

“You’re still here.”

“I am.”

No hesitation.

No denial.

Just fact.

Your fingers tap lightly against his arm.

Thinking.

Not thinking.

Somewhere in between.

His chin shifts slightly against your shoulder.

You don’t move.

Don’t pull away.

Don’t question it.

You just keep talking.

Like this is normal.

Like he’s always been there.

The townhouse kitchen is warm.

Not just from the stove but from you.

There’s something playing faintly in the background. Not loud enough to focus on, just enough to give you a rhythm to move to.

And you do.

You always do.

Bare feet against the floor, hips swaying as you stir something that definitely requires more attention than you’re giving it.

You spin once.

Just because you can.

The wooden spoon stays in your hand.

“Careful,” a small voice says from the doorway.

You glance over your shoulder.

Nyx.

Watching you like you’ve just performed a full theatrical production.

“You’re supposed to be supervising,” he adds, very serious.

You grin.

“I am supervising.”

You gesture to the pot.

“This is me supervising dinner.”

He considers that.

Then walks in anyway.

Because of course he does.

He climbs up onto one of the chairs, kneeling on it so he can see what you’re doing.

“What can I do?” he asks.

And it’s so earnest, so him, that you don’t even hesitate.

You hand him a small bowl.

“Stir this,” you say.

“It’s very important.”

He takes it like you’ve just knighted him.

Both hands on the spoon.

Very focused.

Very determined.

You turn back to your own pot, humming now, the melody slipping out without thought.

A Day Court tune.

Soft and bright.

Something you picked up and never quite let go of.

Nyx hums with you.

Off key.

Completely confident.

And then he starts swaying.

Just a little at first.

Then more.

Then he’s fully committed, attempting something that looks vaguely like dancing and mostly like he’s trying not to fall over.

You laugh.

You can’t help it.

“Is that dancing?” you ask.

“It is,” he says, indignant. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh, am I?”

He nods.

Very serious again.

“You’re supposed to do it like this.”

He holds out his hand.

And there it is.

That tiny, dramatic invitation.

You don’t even question it.

You grab the small symphonia sitting on the counter, something glittering and golden from the Day Court, and give it a little shake.

Music swells.

Too grand for a kitchen.

Too dramatic for what’s about to happen.

Perfect.

Nyx beams.

You take his hand.

And the two of you attempt a waltz.

It is objectively terrible.

Your steps don’t match.

He keeps stepping on your foot.

You nearly spin him straight into the counter.

You’re still stirring the pot with your free hand half the time.

But you’re laughing.

He’s laughing.

And the symphonia keeps playing like you’re in the middle of some grand ballroom instead of a cluttered kitchen with dinner half-finished.

You spin him.

He squeals.

You catch him before he can tip backward.

And somewhere in the doorway, the Inner Circle has gathered.

No one says a word.

Because they can’t.

Cassian’s trying not to laugh.

Mor’s already gone soft, hand over her mouth.

Even Rhys is quiet, just watching.

And Azriel,

Azriel is ruined.

Completely.

Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, shadows still for once, just watching you.

The way you move.

The way you laugh.

The way you don’t even realize you’ve turned his entire world into something warm.

You spin Nyx again.

Barely save the food from burning.

“Multitasking,” you mutter.

“Very advanced skill.”

Nyx giggles.

Then suddenly, he stops.

Looks past you.

Eyes lighting up.

“Mom!” he calls.

Feyre steps forward, smiling softly.

Nyx immediately reaches for her.

“You have to dance with me.”

And just like that, you’re released.

Nyx is swept away into another set of arms, already trying to teach Feyre his very questionable version of a waltz.

The kitchen feels quieter.

But not empty.

Never empty.

You turn back to the stove, stirring again, breath still a little uneven from laughing.

You don’t even hear him move.

Not at first.

Just feel warmth at your back.

Arms sliding around your waist.

Solid and steady.

Azriel.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t need to.

Just rests his chin lightly against your shoulder, pulling you closer without interrupting what you’re doing.

You keep stirring.

Because of course you do.

“Careful,” you murmur, echoing Nyx.

“There’s a dangerous amount of chaos happening in this kitchen.”

His breath brushes your neck.

Soft.

“I noticed.”

His arms tighten just slightly.

Like he’s grounding himself.

Or maybe grounding you.

“You’re going to burn dinner,” he adds quietly.

You hum.

“Probably.”

Neither of you moves.

Not away.

Not yet.

The music still drifts through the room.

Nyx’s laughter carries from the other side of it.

And Azriel just stays.

Holding you like this moment is something he wants to memorize.

Like it’s something rare.

Something fragile.

Something his.

You lean back into him just a little.

Still stirring.

Still smiling.

And for a second, everything feels… right.

He doesn’t let go right away.

You’re still stirring.

Trying to focus.

Trying to pretend you don’t feel the way his arms are wrapped around you.

“Are you going to help,” you murmur, “or just supervise?”

“I’m helping.”

But he doesn’t move his arms.

Not yet.

Instead, his shadows do.

They slip off him slowly.

Not rushed.

Not sharp like they are in battle.

Soft.

Curious.

One brushes past your wrist.

Another reaches toward the counter.

You don’t even look.

“Salt.”

It’s there instantly.

Set beside your hand like it’s always belonged there.

You huff a quiet laugh.

“Show off.”

Behind you, you feel him shift.

Just enough to press a little closer.

Not possessive.

Just… there.

“You’re the one who asked for help,” he murmurs.

Now he actually moves.

One hand stays at your waist.

The other reaches past you, grabbing something before you ask for it.

He’s watching.

Paying attention.

Learning your rhythm.

You glance at him over your shoulder.

Suspicious.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Not like this.”

The shadows keep moving.

Grabbing herbs.

Sliding bowls closer.

Tugging open a drawer before you reach for it.

At one point, one brushes your fingers and lingers there.

Like it’s testing the warmth of you.

You don’t pull away.

You never do.

“You’re distracting them,” you murmur.

“They like you,” he says.

You smile a little at that.

Still stirring.

Still pretending your heart didn’t just do something stupid.

Behind you, his head dips slightly.

Not quite resting on you.

But close.

“You’re burning it,” he adds quietly.

You glance down.

You are.

“…we’re fine.”

His breath ghosts against your neck.

A hint of amusement.

“We are.”

And he doesn’t step away.

Not when the food is done.

Not when the noise in the other room swells again.

He stays there.

Helping.

Quiet.

Steady.

Like this, like you, is something he’s decided he’s allowed to have.