#tamriel

Then realization struck. He noticed the thousands of tiny particles floating in the air. The ones he had just inhaled, the ones clinging to his skin and to the Shadowsinger’s armor.

Hydrangea veritas.

Fuck. Of all the possible scenarios…

“I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Azriel went unnaturally still—as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said the exact opposite of what he’d intended. His carefully constructed lie died on his tongue.

“What the hell? Are you using your magic?”

His anger sparked Tamlin’s. What right did he have to accuse him, when he was the one trespassing? Showing up uninvited, unannounced, without explanation?

“No. This isn’t my magic. Did Rhysand send you to spy on me?” Tamlin asked in return holding him in place with nothing but the weight of his stare.

Again, the truth slipped free, much to Azriel’s clear frustration.

“No. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Tamlin arched a brow. They hadn’t seen each other in years—and it had likely been even longer since they’d last spoken.

They had been friends once. A lifetime ago, before Tamlin was High Lord, when he could escape to spend time with three Illyrian boys—two of whom had welcomed him with vastly different degrees of warmth. Cassian had been easygoing and open from the start. Azriel…

Rhysand had insisted he was merely overprotective. But over time, Tamlin had learned the difference.

From that first wary, guarded glance to the rare day the Shadowsinger offered him a genuine smile, there was a world of difference. Tamlin had taught himself to read every subtle shift.

Now tension pulled at the corners of Azriel’s mouth.

“If it’s not your magic,” Azriel said quietly, “what’s going on?”

Tamlin pointed to the plant the Shadowsinger had unknowingly crushed beneath his boot.

“Veritas. Its spores force the truth.”

The bronze of Azriel’s skin went abruptly ashen. The Shadowsinger—master of secrets—laid bare, unable to lie?

But Tamlin didn’t care at all about Night Court secrets. Azriel standing here in his lands, had stirred something inside him. Something buried and old.

“I should go.”

Azriel turned, ready to vanish...yet Tamlin’s voice stopped him cold, his shadows stirring restlessly around him. He wished he could claim it was High Lord magic. But he knew better.

“Don’t.”

If he were wise, he would leave. He should leave, before he said something he couldn’t take back. He couldn’t afford that. And yet, he remained, rooted to the spot.

“Azriel…”

He exhaled and finally turned around, defying the last fragments of his better judgment. The question escaped before he could stop it.

“Why? Why do you want me to stay?”

They had been more than friends once, and Tamlin had forced himself to bury the memory. But in Spring, nothing ever truly stayed dead. Feelings weren't the exception. Even if he refused to acknowledge them—even if they weren’t the same anymore—there was something neither of them would name, lingering beneath years of distance, betrayal, and regret.

“I miss you.”

A dangerous admission.

Azriel wet his lips, weighing his options. He was here, Tamlin had already caught him. But if he was bound to the truth, then so was the High Lord. His shadows drifted across the clearing, inching closer to Tamlin, as if already knowing the decision their master would make.

“I miss you too.”

He stayed.

I wasn't sure whether to tag y'all since it's not Azris, let me know if you only want me to tag you in Azris related things.