#rhaen

An overwhelming urge to comfort them hits me. I want to reach out and caress their cheek, tell them it’s going to be okay. Even if I die, they’ll be alright.

My body fails me again though, and when the unknown tells me to hold onto them, we jolt, and the sharp movement causes a cry of agony to rip from the back of my throat. I barely recognize it through the ringing in my ears, but it is coming from my own lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” they whisper against my hair, tucking me into the crook of their neck, “You’re going to be alright, I’m going to get you taken care of. I’m so sorry, Princess.”

The feeling of the wind making my hair whip around my shoulders finally penetrates through the torturous tenderness in my muscles. Then the name they called me sinks into my subconscious, sparking my past back to life.

It warms my insides, comforting me. A deep, soothing timbre that takes me back to my childhood. Learning to fly with my Mother and Rhysand. Being chased around by Cassian when I would practice my sneakiness by stealing his favorite dagger off him. Having Morrigan over for sleepovers and makeovers and crawling out of my bedroom window to go to Rita’s. Attempting not to stare at Azriel while we sat silently in the library, pretending to read until he’d smirk at me and tauntingly whisper, “Careful, Princess. You’re not subtle enough to go undetected by the Spymaster.”

An uneasy gasp of epiphany fills my lungs much too quick for my injured chest to tolerate. But it’s him, it’s his voice.

The Shadowsinger found me…

“A-Az…” I can only manage to choke out the one syllable of his name, but I know he hears it. His body tenses, and I wince.

“Rhaen,” he says, his tone still filled with anxiety, but there’s a hint of relief, too, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, Rhaen, I’m taking you home.”

“Ho-me,” I drawl out raspily, and then I go limp against him as everything fades back into darkness.

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3rd Person POV

Azriel sits in a chair right beside her bed at Madja’s, one hand under his chin, and the other gripping Rhaen’s hand. The one connected to an IV and a couple other types of wires or tubes that he doesn’t really know the function of, but when Madja hooked her up to all of these different machines, he didn’t protest. He trusted the healer, who’d stitched him up more times than he could count, and stood by in an unexpressed panic.

He wasn’t sure how he remained so neutral, he’d never felt this type of dread before. It was damn near impossible to keep his emotions in check when it came to the Princess, it had always been that way since the day he first met her. And now, seeing her again, especially in the state he’d found her in, it took every ounce of willpower to stay on the sidelines and let Madja work. Although he felt helpless the entire time, he somehow managed to keep it together until she let him know she would pull through.

Then, and only then, did he let Rhys know what was going on. He didn’t want his brother to lose her a second time. He was more than willing to carry that burden alone.

As he sat there, waiting for his High Lord and High Lady to arrive, he considered all the possibilities that could have played out in the years Rhaen had been presumed dead. If she’s been alive this whole time, where had she been? What had happened to her? What had she gone through? Who was she with? And who the hell left her for dead near the border of the human realms and Spring Court?

His first thought was Tamlin. Surely nothing would happen so close to his territory without his knowledge. Then again, there wasn’t much left of it since Feyre completely burned it to the ground under the pretense of no longer being mated to Rhys. After the war with Hybern, Tamlin withdrew into his beast form, and he hasn’t been heard from or seen much since. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him. Even so, he was partially responsible for whatever had happened to her and her Mother. There had to be something he wasn’t telling Rhys.

The Shadowsinger had half a mind to send his shadows out there to track him down and send him a message. Preferably a bloody one. He was smarter than that though, knowing it would start some mindless civil dispute, and things were only just starting to settle down among Prythian.

There were more important matters at hand, like making sure Rhae didn’t wake up alone. Making sure she would wake up period.

He inhales a slow breath, letting her scent consume his senses and pacify the doubt of her being real. The scent he was certain he’d never smell again. But she was here, right in front of his eyes, still the most breathtaking sight he would ever see. The relief he felt from her being alive was tinged with guilt. Guilt for what had happened to her. Guilt for not being able to stop it. Guilt for never telling her how he’d felt about her. Guilt for never truly revealing himself to her when that was all she had ever done with him.

The door swings open abruptly, pulling Azriel out of his thoughts and causing him to stand up so quickly, he knocked over the chair behind him. His hands went to Truthteller on his hip, immediately going into protection mode. Rhysand and Feyre were revealed once his shadows receded, and their terror struck expressions disarmed him.

“Rhaen,” Rhys whispers hoarsely, simultaneously hurt and relieved, then he addresses his Spymaster without taking his eyes off her sleeping face, “How? When? Where?”

Feyre moves in closer to him and laces their fingers together, the rims of her eyelids silver with tears, as Azriel answers all of his questions, “I found her at the borderline of Spring and the human lands about five hours ago. I came straight here. As for the how, I’m not sure. She was barely conscious when I found her, and as soon as she realized who I was, she passed out. Madja worked on her nonstop for three hours, and she only confirmed she would pull through about twenty minutes ago. She wants her to rest until tomorrow, so she gave her a sleeping tonic along with the fluids in the IV for rehydration.”

The muscles of Rhys’ neck ripple as he swallows, and he squeezes his mate’s hand tighter.

“So… she’ll be alright?” he asks hesitantly.

Azriel nods once. “I wouldn’t have told you if Madja wasn’t sure she’d come back from this.”

This doesn’t settle well with Feyre, whose eyes snap to Azriel in outrage, “You wouldn’t have told him?”

As stoic as ever, even though there was no part of him that felt that way inside, he replies, “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“What?” she responds icily, but Rhys cuts her off before she can give him a thorough tongue lashing.

“It’s alright, Feyre Darling. He was only trying to protect me.” Her confused gaze finds the side of his face, and he finally looks away from his sister to give her a reassuring glance. “Imagine someone telling you your Father was alive, unsure of whether or not he’d survive. You would drop everything to come and see him, only to have him die before you arrived. I’m not saying it would be the right choice, but it would be better than causing your heart to break a second time.”

The High Lady’s posture softens, along with her eyes when they make their way back to Az. “I understand your reasoning, and I appreciate you wanting to protect him, Azriel. I don’t condone keeping things like this from us, but it doesn’t matter now anyway. She’s going to be okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He only nods once more in acknowledgment. “So now we just wait?”

Rhys keeps their hands joined as he leads them to the opposite side of the bed from where Azriel stands and asks, “Did Madja say when she’ll wake up?”

“Should be out of her system in about twelve hours,” he answers, “The swelling has gone down a lot already, but she’ll come in to check on her periodically throughout the night. She says the cuts and scrapes will be gone by the time she’s awake, but she’ll be bruised and sore for a while yet.”

“Good,” Rhys sighs.

Az tightens the leathers that his siphons are attached to around his wrist and begins to walk towards the door.

“You’re leaving?” Feyre calls out to him.

Instead of making contact with her stare, his gaze locks onto Rhys’. “I’ll be back before the tonic’s cycle ends.”

Everything the Shadowsinger needs to know is conveyed through the expression on Rhysand’s face. He has the High Lord’s permission to make heads roll until he unravels the mystery of what happened to the Night Court’s Princess. He knows the limits. He knows the lengths he’s allowed. And that, along with his shadows and Truthteller, are all that he needs.

Within a second after he gets that confirmation, he’s gone, fading into the darkness he commands and on his way to find an explanation.

“I don’t think you truly want me to slip into that territory, Rhys,” he finally answers the question, “but I can do anything else.”

With a sigh, he nods slowly, “Right. Almost forgot about how absolutely feral you become when it comes to my sister.”

“What?”

It isn’t easy to surprise the Shadowsinger. He is the Night Court Spymaster for a reason, and it’s because very little can make it passed his intensive attention. He’s also a little too good at keeping things to himself, making it hard for his family to truly see him. He isn’t a vulnerable person, and although he’s shown romantic interest in not one, not two, but three other females since Rhaen’s death, or I suppose disappearance would be a better word now, none of them have made him as weak as she did. Which means he’s never tried to hide something as hard as he’s tried to hide those feelings for her. Especially from Rhysand.

“Azriel,” he says with a bit of a laugh, “I know you. I see more than you might think. Of course, I’m not quite as attentive as you are, or else I would be doing my own espionage. That doesn’t mean I miss the way you look at her, the way the tension leaves your body when she’s near, the playful glances and words you give to her. I’ve always seen it, even when we were younger. I also see how you’re so fiercely protective of her. I saw the way you immediately grasped onto Truth Teller when we came into her room. And let’s not forget how you were barely considered a living being after we heard the news about her. You love her, Az, and not in the same way that Cass and I love her.”

Again, all that Azriel can do is blink at him. Rhys isn’t angry, thank the Cauldon, as made clear by the smile that stays on his lips while he speaks. However, that’s not exactly the reassurance he needs from him in order to pursue Rhaen. He would never do such a thing without his blessing.

The High Lord shakes his head a bit when he realizes he’s not going to get confirmation or denial. Which is really the only confirmation he needs to know his assumption is and always has been correct.

He places a hand on his brother’s shoulder and asks, “You said you’ll do anything I need you to, right?” Az nods. “Okay. What I need is for you to get her to open up to you. You have always been closer with her than anyone else, so I know she’d tell you before she’d tell me. Though that’s never made much sense to me considering you’d do more damage on her behalf than I ever could because like I said, you go feral when it comes to her wellbeing. But I digress…”

“Rhys,” Azriel speaks as Rhys trails off, “I’m not sure what you think she’ll tell me, but I don’t feel comfortable romancing your sister into giving me information.”

“I’m not asking you to report anything back to me. I trust you’ll bring any dire needs to my attention, but what she needs is for you to be her friend. Rekindle the relationship you two once had and get her to share what happened to her. Not for my benefit or yours, but because whatever she went through left a wound that she’ll need to let breathe before it can heal. Feyre told me that when she started to wake up earlier, her hands were glowing purple. We both know that’s a sign of her losing control. It looked like something triggered her, and whatever was going on in her head made her angry enough that she would have turned the whole building into rubble had Feyre not gotten her to open her eyes. Something bad happened to her while she was gone. Something that could cause her to destroy the entire continent if she doesn’t let it out.”

Az takes a deep breath before doubtfully clarifying, “And you actually think I’m the one to bring it out of her?”

A smirk appears on Rhys’ face, as if he knows more than he’s letting on. “I do. Be her friend.”

Many thoughts passed through the Shadowsinger’s mind at his assuredness. Did Rhaen have feelings for him all those years ago? If she did, would she still have them now? So much had happened that irrevocably changed him since she’d last known him.

Then again, plenty of things must’ve played out for her that he had no clue about either, but there was no doubt in his mind about what he still felt for her. Feelings he hadn’t felt in her absence and probably never would for anyone but her. No matter how hard he’d tried.

Either way, Rhysand was right. She needed someone to talk to. Whether or not it was him.

Azriel’s doubts were suddenly clouded by the need to help her get better, so he tucked them away and replaced them entirely with the resolve to be whatever Rhaen needed him to be.

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1st Person POV - Rhaen

Madja said I was healing wonderfully. I only had to stay one more night before we could return home, just so she could be one hundred percent certain there were no signs of internal damage.

Thank the Mother she didn’t possess the ability to search my mind, or she would’ve never let me leave.

Rhys had communicated with Nuala and Cerridwen to prepare me a room at the River House, the new property he’d bought specially for him and Feyre. When we arrived, it was just as lavish as I expected. Night Court colors enveloping every nook and cranny. A huge bed, covered with the most beautiful black and silver embroidered silk sheets. Midnight blue curtains with shimmer that sparkled like diamonds, imitating the night skies of home I’d missed so much. Ornate artwork and vases on all the walls and tabled surfaces.

My favorite part by far was the bathroom. Everything was black marble aside from the cream colored porcelain tub that was big enough for three people and equipped with messaging jets that I couldn’t wait to unleash on my sore muscles. Every type of earthy smelling soap imaginable, along with salts and sprays and lotions. All of my favorite hair products and oils. Everything I used when I was younger.

The fact that he remembered those details from my childhood made my heart melt.

Scents that I favored, books I grew up reading over and over again, pictures of our family, our friends, including the new additions I’d yet to meet. Everything about it screamed home. It was perfect.

The only thing that felt out of place was me. Yes, I loved everything he picked out and prepared for me, but it was more like a shrine built for the little girl I used to be. I felt different now. Rougher. Battered.

Broken.

Even so, I said nothing in hopes that I could readjust. Perhaps living as I used to would bring back that innocent little girl I was. I truly wanted nothing more.

Now, we’re all gathered together for dinner, finally eating after what felt like hours of reuniting hugs and introductions.

“Okay, hold on…” I raise one hand to Nesta, who isn’t nearly as scary to me as they made her out to be. It’s more like she feels everything so strongly, and she isn’t sure how to handle it, and that’s something I can relate to. “You changed her entire reproductive anatomy? And then proceeded to do it to yourself?”

She smirks at me from across the table and Rhys rolls his eyes, surely never going a day without the reminder she saved his mate’s and son’s lives. “I did,” she says.

“You were not joking about the last ten years, Feyre,” I comment, “The Archeron sisters are a different breed entirely. Completely flipping Prythian upside down. A High Lady with the powers of all the High Lords, a death god who can control the Troves, and a seer that needs nothing else to leave me utterly impressed. I’m blown away.”

“Don’t give her a bigger head than she already has, little one,” Cassian chimes in.

Nesta lifts one brow at her mate. “You weren’t complaining about my head this morning.”

Lucien, who I recognized from Tamlin’s court and nearly beheaded on sight had it not been for Azriel holding me back while Rhys explained his presence, spits out the smallest amount of wine and looks around sheepishly. “Apologies. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how you are all so… open with each other.”

Elain, Feyre’s other sister, smiles softly at her mate and pats his shoulder lovingly.

“You’re in and out so much, I’m not sure how you ever could be,” Mor replies to him, “That’s alright though, Luc, now that you and Elain finally accepted the bond, I’m sure you’ll acclimate in no time. Officially part of the family, which means more family dinners, which means more lewd family conversation.” She winks and lift her drink to him.

“Wait, you only just accepted your mating bond?” I blurt out curiously.

Azriel stiffens next to me, and Elain’s eyes widen a bit as they take me in. Lucien clears his throat, and all the others grow uncomfortably quiet except for Cass, who looks more annoyed than anything.

After a moment, Elain sobers up enough to answer me, “I had a hard time coping with becoming fae. Being thrown into the Cauldron was traumatic enough, but as soon as I came out, Lucien was exclaiming that I was his mate. It was all too much for me all at once, so I had a rough time being okay with it for a while.”

I glance around, but they’re all trying a little too hard to avoid meeting my eyes. “So what aren’t you all telling me then?”

“Perhaps yet another discussion to have at a different time, sister,” Rhys declares, “All that matters is that Elain and Lucien are happy together now. You’re home, safe and sound. We all are.” He reaches out to grab Feyre’s hand, and she gives him an intensely adoring grin.

Slowly, everyone began to speak again, picking much different topics to talk about. With the exception of Az and I. When I gather the courage to look up at him, his golden eyes are already on me, and it causes my heart to stutter.

It’s clear to me that something went on between the two of them, and his regret is just as obvious based on the pleading gleam in his gaze. Silently requesting me to let him explain later.

The problem is, I’m not sure why he thinks I’m owed an explanation. We were nothing more than friends before, and for all intents and purposes, I was dead to him for centuries. Even if something had gone on between us, I would have wanted him to move on from me.

However, if I’d messed around with someone’s mate, I suppose I’d want to be the one to tell my friends about it, too.

He’s so blatantly ashamed of it, and I can see he’s worried about what I might think of him. So I reach under the table to squeeze his knee in reassurance and try to convey my own words through our eye contact.

‘It’s alright. I would never judge you. We all make mistakes in our desparation. I know I have…’

I turn back to my plate and continue to eat. As I’m about to pull away, I feel the softest brush of his rough fingers against me, and then his scarred palm settles on top, keeping me there.

Heat flushes across my cheeks, but I ignore it and the reminder of Feyre’s suggestions at the clinic that play on a loop in my mind…

You guys are the most wonderful beings in the universe, and I feel so loved. Thank you for your encouragement. This part is a little shorter, not too much happening, but I’m trying to setup for the good stuff, so I hope you bear with me.

I love you all so much, you’re the best 🤍

When I pull back to get a better look at her, I tuck a stray hair behind her pointed ear. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she begins to bring her arms back.

“I stole this…” She holds her hands up in front of me, and I try to make out what it is.

It shimmers a bit in what little moonlight shines in the cavernous space. It’s metallic, I realize, but it’s coated in something wet that I can’t really see. I reach for it, but Dahlia snatches it back quickly.

“No!” she yells, tears flowing faster sown her face, “Don’t touch it, you can’t! It will hurt you, Rhaen.”

“Hurt me?” I repeat, my brows wrinkling together, “Dahlia… Are you hurt?”

Big, green eyes look to mine in worry, so round, so reflective with the wetness gathered there, and the closer I look, the more they appear bloodshot.

“Tell me,” I demand desperately, and I grip her upper arms, shaking her lightly, “Dahlia, tell me what happened.”

She sniffles a bit, but she explains, “The mean man took your pretty ring, so I snuck into his tent and took something that looked pretty from him.”

No… No, no, no.

I pull her hands toward me and stand, dragging her outside, so I can properly look at what she holds.

My heart drops into my stomach like a rock when I take in the sight before me. Not only is she holding an arrowhead that is surely laced with faebane, but her hands are completely raw, sliced open painfully.

The glaze I noticed before, it was her blood.

“Come with me, quickly,” I take hold of her wrist as gently as possible and lead her down the side of the mountainous terrain in a rush.

Once we reach the base, I start screaming out for the treacherous men holding us captive. I’m still moving amongst them when the leader lifts the opening of his shelter, weapon already drawn.

“Hey!” he screams, pointing his sword at me, “Hold there!”

“You have to help her!” I shout back, holding up Dahlia’s hand.

His eyes widen at her injury, maybe what one could even consider a concerned wince if they hadn’t been trapped by Captain Dickhead for centuries. But not me. That look that passed through his dark features was not worry or the slightest bit of care. It was disgust at the bleeding little fae girl before him.

“What’s going on out here?” Sam appears from her tent.

She’s the only female anywhere near our camps that isn’t being forced to be here. She is what they refer to as a nurse to these evil men, the human equivalent of a healer. No magic, only what she calls medicine, but if anyone can help Dahlia, it’s her.

“Please,” I beg her, “You have to help her, Sam, she’s just a kid. She’s innocent, she doesn’t deserve to die…”

Sam draws nearer to us and takes the hand of Dahlia’s that I don’t keep hold on to examine her.

The shiny piece of weaponry glints at her, and she says, “Where did you get that arrowhead, child?”

Her sweet, pain-filled face looks to me before she looks back and answers, “I found it near the stream.”

“Bullshit,” Malik mutters from behind me, snatching the point-tipped metal from her and taking a closer look, “This is one of ours.”

“Malik,” Sam hisses at him, straightening out her stance, “Where would she have found our weapons?”

His seething gaze finds mine. “Where did the girl get this? And don’t you dare spout off some lie about how you were the one to retrieve it. If that were true, you’d be in the same shape as her.”

I stare down at Dahlia again. Her condition is worsening by the second. She’s getting paler, she’s shaking in a cold-sweat, and I know she doesn’t have much longer.

My eyes shut tightly, and my voice shutters, “Sam… Please help her.”

“I-” she begins to reply, but Malik cuts her off.

“She’s not who you should beg, Princess,” his voice full of amusement. I want to throw up at the condescending use of my title.

But I suck it up. For my little flower.

My eyes flash to his in an instant, and I stand to face him. “Let her save her. Please, I beg of you, Malik.”

“Tell me where she got this.”

“She told you, she found it down by the water-”

A crack sounds through the air, and I’m suddenly spinning. At first, it doesn’t register that it came from the contact of him slapping me across my cheek, but I gasp at the sting as it settles in. It’s the only thing I allow to come out of my gritted teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my pained whimpers.

“Rhaen!” Dahlia cries out, kneeling by my side.

Of course, I didn’t notice that I had landed on the ground either. The force of his hit sent me tumbling. However, it wasn’t out of his own strength, any bit of that he possessed as a human could never hurt me. It was that cursed ring on his middle finger, wherever it came from, and it had been the thing keeping me and the other fae from overpowering them all this time, so it was no surprise that it could hurt me physically like this. I was used to it by now.

I spit out some of the blood filling the side of my mouth and look up to Dahlia dizzily. “It’s okay…”

“Stop it!” she wails, “I took it, okay? I stole it from your tent after you went to water your horse this morning…”

“No…” I croak out, “She’s innocent, Malik, please.”

Slowly, he walks to the spot across from her looking over me, bending at his knees to hover there. “Seems your little friend is thief, Princess. To me, her punishment for touching what doesn’t belong to her is fitting.”

“Sam…” I choke on more blood and spit again, and her weary gaze bounces between the three of us.

“I’m sorry, Rhaen,” she speaks, genuinely sorrowful, “I don’t have a cure for faebane. I’m only here to help the men.”

“I have a cure of sorts,” Malik says cheerfully, “Won’t keep her from dying, I’m afraid, but it will surely put her out of her misery.”

“Don’t!” I scramble to my feet, but I’m too late.

With one swift movement, Malik flicks his arm out above me, making contact with Dahlia, a thick, squishing noise resounds in result.

“NO!” I roar, “Dahlia!”

Her body lands on the dirt in front of me with a thump at the same time her head does, but it rolls away, severed from the rest of her. It’s looking directly at me though, mouth and eyes wide open. Full of fear as they stare at me, just as they did in the cave.

Hands shaking, I reach for her head and bring it back to where it should be attached to her neck. I smooth her hair back, force her jaw shut, and then I run my fingers along her eyelids to close them as well.

I swallow before I finally stand, a numbness washing over me as I do. Then I let the hatred take root in my core, peering back at Malik. His figure is blurred by my tears and tinged with a shade of violet. The quicker I breathe, the more vivid the color grows.

For the first time in two hundred years, I see the fear in his face that I’ve been craving, and I bask in it.

I let out a blood curdling screech and hold my palms up towards him before a loud crash pulls me out of my nightmare. Immediately, my surroundings change into comforting items. The colors of home, soft, plush pillows around my head, twinkling starlight coming through the open curtains. I force myself to cling to the dark comforter cocooning me to ground my mind back into the present.

Someone groans from across the room, and I shoot up to my feet to find the intruder.

Azriel lies crumbled up against the wall next to broken vase, and I gasp.

“Shit,” I breathe out, racing towards him and bending down in front of him, “Are you okay?”

He rubs the back of his head with a barely noticeable wince as he meets my terrified gaze. Slowly, he blinks, trying to shake off the blow, and then he pushes off the drywall to reveal a crack behind him. I groan miserably at it.

“I can’t say this is the first time you’ve ever kicked my ass,” he tries to lighten the mood, “You’ve done worse damage in the past though, so I’ll live.”

“I did this?” I ask incredulously.

He nods once, eyes softening up a bit. “I think you were having a bad dream. It’s alright though, Princess, just got the wind knocked out of me. Like I said, I’ve taken harder hits from you.”

“I’m so sorry…” the apology flies out despite his insisting.

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. As for the decor…”

His gaze falls to the shattered ceramic at the floor, and his shadows make quick work of sweeping it into a pile further away from us.

“You don’t have to do that, let me,” I protest and start to stand.

“Rhaen,” he grabs my wrist to stop me, “It’s okay. Let them do it, so you don’t accidentally cut your hands.”

I flinch at his choice of words, visions of Dahlia’s bloodied palms still fresh in my mind.

“Hey,” he whispers, focusing on me intently while brushing my dark curtain of hair away from my face and pressing the tips of his fingers to my cheek, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I back out of his touch, and that’s when I fully register his appearance. “Um… why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

His lean but defined chest is on full display, giving me a completely unveiled view of his ribbed abdomen and tongue tempting nipples.

It’s strange to me, how much he’s changed and yet stayed the same. He’s filled out his adolescent attractiveness and turned into a full on mouthwatering male. All man. But when he looks at me like he is right now, I still see that scared little boy my brother asked our Mother to take in all those years ago…

His lips twitch in the most subtle hint of amusement. Which might as well be considered an over dramatic belly laugh in Az’s case.

“I’ll let you change the subject, Princess,” he says, “This time anyway. You should know that you’re still terrible at it though.”

He lays his hands on the floor, and all the muscles in his torso tense and ripple under his ink and scar covered skin, making me dizzy for a moment.

All man, indeed.

Once he’s standing, he reaches out to help me. I take it as he talks again.

“You were screaming in your sleep,” he tells me softly, like he was worried I’d have a breakdown if he’d said it any firmer, “I came straight in here from my room. I don’t wear a shirt to bed.”

“Oh…” I reply lamely, trying and failing not to picture him shirtless in his quarters now, “I’m sorry.”

He guides me to sit on the bed in front of him and glowers down at me. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“I only mean that to say I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know, and whatever you saw was out of your control; therefore, you shouldn’t apologize for it. Simple as that, Princess.”

He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt my head back, signaling to meet his eyes. I don’t fight it. In fact, I delight in the unease at my dismay. It almost makes his whiskey hued irises seem brighter.

“Alright,” I concede, “but that means you also shouldn’t apologize for whatever happened between you and Elain.”

His hand drops, and he closes his eyes on a sigh. “Perhaps you have gotten better at evading conversations.”

He moves to sit next to me as I continue, “Seriously, Az, I don’t know why you looked so tortured at dinner. You don’t owe me any answers if you don’t want to tell me. I don’t think any less of you, so long as you learned from it and moved on.”

“It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” he breathes out, “It was more like… a convenient inconvenience.” I squint up at him, confused. “I latched onto the idea of having three sisters be mated to three brothers. I enjoyed Elain’s company, she didn’t want to be around Lucien, and you know it isn’t easy for me to find someone I actually want to be around. While I won’t say there weren’t any inappropriate moments, nothing physical ever went on between us.”

My heart clenches. “I remember how hard it used to be for you to be comfortable with someone, but part of me was hoping that had changed without me…” We both turn our heads away from each other, and instead of dwelling on the time we spent apart, I let the relief of his confession seep in. “So it was more of a flirtation than a true affair?”

I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Yes. I regret it, too. I tried to force something to be there that wasn’t meant to be, and she did the same. Now, Lucien and I, we have a… tumultuous peace agreement.”

I nod as well. Unsure of what else I could say.

On the one hand, I won’t be dishonest by saying I’m not pleased, but I can’t tell him that. I’ve been home for all of a day, and I clearly have my own shit to work through. Adding irrational jealousy or any kind of romance would be catastrophic to my mental state.

Although, that line has always been blurred when it came to Azriel and I. It’s never been how it is with me and Rhys or even me and Cassian. There was a silent hope inside of me growing up that it would become more, but I knew he would never overlook the fact that I was his “brother’s” little sister. I’ve always believed that to be why he’s different around me because he’d never have to worry about our relationship being more than a safety net. And I will never turn away from what bits and pieces he’s willing to dole out to me.

After all, his face was the one I pictured every night while I drifted to sleep at the camps. His barely visible emotions, ones only I could decipher most days. His beautiful face and watchful eyes. His playful shadows that opposed his stoicism in my presence. His strong hands that he would never see as anything but weakness after what his brothers did to them. Those thoughts held me together all this time. Azriel kept me from breaking. My best friend. My something more.

My knight in shadow armor.

“Rhaen?” his voice pulls me out of my thoughts, “Do you want to tell me what scared you so badly that you threw me across your bedroom?”

I let out a humorlessly laugh. “Do I want to? No. The important question is, are you going to let it go because I obviously don’t want to?”

He let’s out a puff of air similarly to how I just did. “For now, Princess,” he relents, “But eventually, you’re going to need to talk about it with someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It just needs to happen before you lose control of your power and blow down the mountains.” He’s silent for a moment, letting the seriousness of his statement sink in before adding a joke to take the edge off, “They’ve been holding on by a thread ever since Rhys and Cassian found their mates.”

Real laughter pours out of me with a groan, “Gross, Az! Did not need to hear about my brothers’ frenzies, thank you very much.”

A low rumble echoes in his chest. “Well, it’s true.”

I shift backwards on my bed, still laughing lightly. I settle back under the covers again, and when I ask him to stay, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the armchair on the other side of the room and relax in it by my side.

I know he’ll be gone when I wake up, exactly like when we were young, but at least I know he’ll be here to chase away any lingering terror in my system. I’ll be able to sleep soundly for the first time in two centuries with his addictive and calming scent flooding my senses in its place.

So!! That was a doozy, and it took me a while to get it out. I’m so sorry! I live in Texas, so hurricane Beryl was not kind to me. Not to mention, my birthday was on Thursday, and it was pretty much put on hold because we didn’t have any kind of power at home or work. So, I finally made time to come to a Barnes and Noble nearby and chill in the cafe for a few hours!!! Thank you guys for being so patient. Hopefully everything will get fixed soon, and I’ll be able to get out more updates.

Again, you guys rock, and I love you so much!! Comment below to be added to the tag list! 🤍