Unbetitelt

AU- Elriel Month 2026

Cassian was sprawled dramatically across the couch, remote in hand, sulking like a teenager grounded from a party.

“I should’ve been there,” he muttered for the fifth time in as many minutes. “A girls’ night out isn’t complete without me.”

Azriel didn’t even look at him. “That’s the point.”

Rhysand, perched in his usual armchair with his phone, smirked. “They’re probably having a better time without you.”

Cassian shot him a glare but before he could come up with a retort, Rhys shot out of his seat strolled to Cassian with a smug grin and his phone in hand. “Well, gentlemen, our services have been requested.”

Cassian sat up instantly. “Wait, what?”

“Feyre texted.” Rhys held his phone aloft like it was a sacred relic. “Quote: We need a ride. Do not laugh when you see us. Bring water. End quote.”

“I knew it!” Cassian jumped to his feet, suddenly feeling energized. “Something went down. What happened? Did Amren start a fight? Did Mor make them all do tequila shots?”

Rhys’s grin widened and Cassian was moving and already grabbing his jacket. “I knew Feyre couldn’t keep up with them! Let me get to my girl.”

Rhys arched a brow. “You do realize you’re only the chauffeur, right?”

“Chauffeur, rescuer, hero of the night…I’ll take all the titles,” Cassian declared, already halfway to the door.

Az pocketed his phone, expression deceptively neutral but the corners of his mouth tugged up. “I’ll drive. You’ll scare them if you show up behind the wheel in this state.”

Cassian ignored him, too busy bouncing with anticipation and high on energy drinks.

The SUV purred down the street, Azriel’s hands steady on the wheel and his eyes locked on the road. He was silent as ever, but the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth. Rhys was lounging in the passenger seat, phone in hand and typing furiously. The blue light lit up his smug face.

Cassian, wedged in the back asked “How bad is it? Tell me. Did Nesta fall off a barstool? Did Mor try to bribe a bouncer? Did Amren get us blacklisted from another place? Come on, I need details.”

Rhys didn’t even glance back, his thumbs moving quickly across his screen. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes, then leaned forward like a kid craning to see someone’s test answers. He caught a glimpse of Feyre’s text thread.

Feyre: Where are you? Feyre: Miss you. Rhys: Two minutes away, darling. You look beautiful even drunk, by the way.

Cassian exploded into laughter. “Miss you? Are you kidding me? We’ve been gone, what, an hour? Two?”

Rhys finally turned, slow and imperious, but his ears were faintly pink. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Cassian.”

“Jealousy? No, no, this is straight up secondhand embarrassment. You’re whipped. Completely, utterly whipped.”

Azriel coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. “Oh, don’t you start smirking, mister. I know that cough.”

Azriel just kept his eyes on the road, “Focus on your own humiliation.”

What Cassian didn’t notice was the way Az’s grip tightened just slightly on the steering wheel as they drew closer to the bar and his heart started beating a fraction faster. Because Elain was there and even though no one knew it yet, she was his.

Cassian had his elbows hooked over the front seats, leaning forward like a gossiping aunt. “Okay, okay, hear me out. Worst-case scenario: Amren started a fight with the DJ. Best-case scenario: Mor sweet talked them into free drinks, Nesta challenged someone to shots, Feyre tried karaoke, and Emerie is now carrying three of them out over her shoulders.”

Cassian tapped the headrest of Rhys’s seat impatiently. “Or—OR—it’s Elain. It has to be Elain.”

Rhys hummed distractedly, still scrolling his phone.

“Think about it,” Cassian pressed on, warming to the theory. “Every male who looks at her falls flat on his face. Remember Lucien? Classic example. Or that male in who nearly walked into traffic because she smiled at him? She doesn’t even try! She just exists and people trip over themselves.”

Rhys sighed. “Cassian—”

“No, no, listen. She never really goes out. She’s like a… a delicate houseplant. You only see her in the sun sometimes, and everyone goes oh wow. But tonight? Tonight she decided to bloom.” He jabbed a finger at Rhys’s shoulder, grinning. “What if she’s finally ready? What if she’s out there finding herself a man to take home?”

Az’s hands flexed minutely on the wheel, but his voice was calm. “You’re overthinking.”

Cassian snorted. “Overthinking? This is a fact. I bet she’s already got the whole bar circling her like a vulture. I give it thirty seconds after we pull up before some idiot tries to carry her off like a prize.”

Rhys glanced sideways at Az, catching the faintest tension in his jaw. He smirked. “Cassian might actually be right for once.”

“Ha!” Cassian slapped the seat with triumph. “See? Even the smug bastard agrees. Elain’s probably the reason Feyre texted for backup. She’s the wild card tonight.”

Azriel didn’t answer. He just pressed the accelerator a little harder as finally the neon glow of the bar came into view.

The bass from the club hit them the moment they opened the door. Cassian inhaled deeply like it was oxygen. “Ahh, yes. The smell of spilled beer, bad decisions, and regret.”

Inside, it was a battlefield. Mor was standing on a table, hair wild and glitter clinging to her like she was the human embodiment of confetti. She was shouting along to a song only she seemed to know, a half empty cocktail glass held dangerously lose in one hand.

Emerie stood below her like a loyal soldier, arms crossed and glaring daggers at anyone who came too close to Mor’s personal stage. At her feet were at least four empty shot glasses.

Amren was perched at the bar like a small, terrifying queen. The bartender looked about two seconds from tears as she waved an empty glass at him. “Do you even know how to make a proper Negroni? Children shouldn’t be allowed behind bars.”

Nesta was beside her, slouched against the counter, perfectly sober except her glare was directed at an entire group of men who were pretending very badly not to be staring at her sister.

“Beautiful,” Cassian muttered taking everything in. “Absolute carnage.”

Rhys scanned the room, spotted Feyre waving from a booth, and his expression softened instantly. She was tucked into the corner, giggling helplessly as Elain tried to braid her hair out of her face. Elain wasn’t drunk but laughing at something Feyre was saying as she gestured wildly with a glowing drink in hand. Elain’s cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly mussed from the heat and the crowd, and her dress soft, floral, and far too pretty for the sticky floor made her glow like she was in her own little universe.

Cassian whistled low. “Called it. Every man in here is staring. Every single one.” He gestured broadly to the bar, and sure enough, at least a couple of males were tripping over themselves to get her attention. “I knew she’d be the wild card. Look at her simply smiling,  she’s practically summoning proposals!”

Azriel’s jaw ticked as he guided them toward Feyre’s booth. Cassian was too busy narrating like a sports commentator to notice Az’s darkening glare. “That one’s looking like he wants to make a move oh, no, wait, Emerie just body checked him on accident.”

As they reached the booth, Feyre threw her arms around Rhys, murmuring something only for him.  Elain caught sight of Azriel before he even made it to her. Somehow, through the pulsing lights and Mor’s chaotic table dancing, her gaze locked with Azriel’s like he was the only person in the room. Az’s heart stuttered at her smiling at him, but his face stayed carefully neutral.

“Hi,” she said when he reached her, her voice calm despite the chaos around them.

“Hi.” His tone was steady, low, as though this were the most ordinary moment in the world.

“You came.” She tilted her head, her curls brushing her flushed cheek.

“Of course.” He leaned in, close enough that only she could hear. “I always will.”

Her blush deepened, and her hand brushed his arm lightly, so subtly that anyone watching would’ve thought it accidental, but Azriel felt it like a brand on his skin. Azriel exhaled slowly and angled himself just enough to block her from the greedy eyes still watching her.

Getting everyone to leave the bar was like trying to herd cats.

Cassian had his arms full of Mor, who was insisting she had to dance to “just one more song.” Emerie looked like she was considering throwing her over her shoulder just to get it over with. Nesta stalked ahead, muttering something about killing them all if she had to wait another second.

Amren, of course, was still perched at the bar with her half-empty glass, lecturing the poor bartender on the ratio of vermouth.

“We said we’d leave,” Rhys called, holding Feyre by the hand as she swayed dangerously close to his side.

“Five more minutes!” Mor hollered from her table-stage, clinking glasses with strangers like she was the life of the party. She hopped down only when she saw Azriel’s thunderous look from across the room. “Oh, fine, dad.”

Somehow, impossibly, they managed to shuffle toward the door. But before they could make it out Rhysand grabbed Feyre by the waist, kissed her, and then didn’t stop.

Cassian groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re in public.”

Mor snorted. “Please. You think they’re actually going home? I give it five minutes before they’re christening the nearest bathroom.”

Nesta made a disgusted noise, dragging Cassian toward the exit before he could respond with something vulgar.

That was when a slightly drunk male stumbled out from the crowd, honing in on Elain. His hair was mussed and his shirt untucked, but his grin was bold as he blocked her path.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” he slurred. “Haven’t even had the chance to talk to you yet.”

Elain blinked at him, polite as ever. “I’m afraid we are leaving.”

The man leaned closer, ignoring the warning shift of a shadow that suddenly darkened the space around them. “Just one drink. One conversation. That’s all I’m asking—”

Azriel moved before Elain could answer, stepping up so close his shoulder brushed hers. His stance was loose and casual to anyone watching, but the set of his jaw and the quiet menace in his eyes screamed otherwise. His shadow loomed and the drunk’s grin faltered for half a second.

“She said she’s leaving,” Az said smoothly, his voice low enough to make the man flinch.

But the drunk, bolstered by liquor and arrogance, puffed his chest. “What, she can’t speak for herself?”

Elain touched Azriel’s arm lightly before he could take another step. Then she smiled at the man, sweet and luminous, the kind of smile that disarmed entire rooms. “It was lovely meeting you,” she said gently, though they both knew it wasn’t. “But no, thank you. Goodnight.”

The man blinked at her, caught off guard by her grace, and finally backed off with a muttered curse.

Az stayed close until the man melted into the crowd. Elain slipped her hand from his arm, though the warmth lingered. She looked up at him with a small, knowing smile.

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“I know,” he answered quietly, eyes still tracking where the drunk had gone. “But I don’t like people thinking they can try.”

For a heartbeat, the noise of the club seemed to dim around them, just shadows and vines between the two.

And then Amren shouted from the doorway, “If you two are done with your little murder flirting, we’re leaving before I start charging babysitting fees!”

“Move aside, people, don’t you see we’ve got a queen of the night here?” Cassian bellowed, gesturing toward Nesta, who rolled her eyes dramatically while Emerie shoved Mor forward with a smile on her lips. As they moved, Elain let her hand slip back ever so slightly, fingers brushing the air. It was subtle and careful, an invitation she could deny later if anyone noticed.

Az’s lips curved into a fleeting smile almost no one ever saw. He lifted his hand just enough that his fingers brushed against hers, warm and steady. Her hand curled slightly in response, the smallest acknowledgment, and that was enough to steady the ache in his chest. The closer they got to the exit, the crowd surged and pressed closer. Azriel moved instantly, closing the space between them and his chest brushed her back. He let his hand rest lightly on her hip, steering her gently. His breath stirred her hair as he leaned in. The way she subtly leaned into him made his blood boil and his hand on her hip flexed in response.

By some miracle, they made it outside without losing anyone. Rhys and Feyre were nowhere in sight and Mor cackled that they were “absolutely defiling a bathroom right now” so the rest of the group piled toward Azriel’s and Nesta’s SUVs.

Immediately, the fight began.

“I get the front,” Cassian announced, practically lunging for the passenger door.

“You had it last time,” Mor argued, heels clicking faster as she tried to beat him there. “Shotgun is mine.”

“No, I’m the tallest,” Cassian shot back, puffing his chest. “Leg room is a right, not a privilege.”

“You’re also the loudest, which means you belong in the back,” Amren said dryly, shoving him in the ribs as she strode past.

“Amren! Betrayal!”

In the end, Amren solved the problem by yanking open the passenger door and sliding into Azriel’s car without a word. Cassian stood there, slack jawed, as she buckled herself in.

Cassian took the opportunity to sprint to Nesta’s car and sat triumphantly in the passenger seat, grinning broadly. Mor and Emerie, who were already plotting their post club snack raid, climbed into Azriel’s back. Nesta gave Elain a look and steered her by

Azriel pulled smoothly into the driveway, cutting the engine while Mor dramatically sang the last line of whatever song she and Emerie had butchered. Nesta had arrived before him, since he had to make a detour to get greasy food for the wannabe singers.

When everyone had spilled into the house and the evening was staring to quiet down, Azriel stood on the porch and enjoyed the silence. After a few minutes, Elain appeared with two steaming mugs in her hands. She settled onto the porch swing and put the mugs down on the railing.  “I thought you might want one,” she said softly and nudged the tea towards him. Azriel sat beside her, the swing creaking under his weight. He accepted the tea, his fingers brushing hers and for a long moment they just sat contently in each other’s presence, while the swing rocked gently under them.

Elain sipped her tea, eyes on the stars, but Azriel wasn’t watching the sky. He was watching her. Each minute, he found himself leaning closer, first his shoulder brushing her, then his fingers grazing hers when he reached for his mug, or his knee nudging.

Finally, he spoke, voice low and rough. “I hate it.”

Her brows lifted gently. “Hate what?”

“The way other men look at you. The way they think they can just…walk up. Talk to you. Touch you.” His jaw flexed. “As if you’re something anyone can have.”

Elain’s smile widened, teasing, though her cheeks flushed. “And how would you fix that?” She turned her head and her eyes glinted with quiet challenge. “How would you show the world that I’m yours?”

For a beat, Azriel just looked at her and he saw the softness of her mouth, the curve of her neck and the unshakable trust in her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t tentative or restrained, it was fire breaking through stone or shadows spilling into light.

Elain melted instantly, her free hand curling into his shirt, pulling him closer. She kissed him back with a sweetness that made his head spin, and a smile tugged at her lips even as their mouths moved together. The kiss broke for only a breath, both of them panting softly in the cool night air. Elain’s cheeks were flushed and her lips parted, and Azriel swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

He leaned in closely, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice rough and low enough to make her shiver. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’m yours.”

Elain’s breath hitched, eyes flicking up to meet his. Heat swirled there as well as need, trust and something deeper that had been waiting all along. The kind of look that burned straight through his shadows.

Az’s hand slid up, cupping the back of her neck, fingers threading into her soft hair. He tugged her toward him again and crushed her mouth to his in a raw and consuming kiss..

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless and their noses brushed affectionately, smiles tugging at their swollen lips. They sat there for a long while foreheads pressed together and their fingers intwined.

Azriel had been the Spymaster for centuries and finally, it seemed, the time had come where his skills were paying off for him privately. After Rhysand had given him the order to stay away from Elain, it had taken him exactly 0.00001 second of her looking at him across the table for Azriel to send everything he was ever told to do to hell and for once, do what ever the fuck he felt was right. Rhysand wanted him gone and sent Azriel on many missions away, which just played him right into his cards.

Nuala and Cerridwen coordinated him with whenever the moment was right to bring Elain to him. They had been sneaking around for a while, going on undercover dates across the continent, without anyone ever suspecting anything. He almost had to chuckle at how easy it had become and loved every moment he got with Elain. Since most dates were rather short visited, since Rhysand kept a close eye on his sister-in-law, he and Elain had not been intimate yet. It was something he was genuinely looking forward to but simultaneously felt a jitter of nerves. Regardless, he immensely enjoyed getting to know the quirks and thoughts of the female he was head over heels for.

Azriel learnt that Elain moved and muttered a lot in her sleep and the first nights had been an interesting experience, but he loved hearing and feeling her drift towards him. She made soft, restless motions, small turns and quiet sounds like an occasional hum beneath her breath. This female also had an affinity with his hair, her fingers always find their way into them, massaging his scalp or simply playing, which made him purr internally, every single time. Whenever they had the opportunity to spend a night sleeping in the same bed, it had become natural for Azriel to gather Elain close. Either her back settled against his chest, his arm secure around her waist or her facing him and kissing softly until their breathing slowly found the same pace. This night, however, seemed to be different. He could taste it in the air.

Silver light spilled through the open window from an almost full moon and the world outside was hushed. Azriel wasn’t fully asleep but neither completely awake. His body felt heavy and the warmth of Elain’s body against his made his awareness sharpen. On the soft rise and fall of her breathing and on the way her fingers had woven themselves through his, holding on tightly. Elain shifted again, slowly turning and humming in his arms, until she faced him. She was still deep in sleep and his arm adjusted automatically, pressing her gently into his chest. Azriel exhaled softly and relaxed further into the bed. A few seconds of bliss passed when Elain nuzzled into his chest and inhaled deeply. Immediately, something in Azriel awakened and sharpened. Her body stilled for just a brief second before she inhaled again and a soft sound escaped her, barely more than a whisper. Her head tilted and she brushed along his throat, and goosebumps rose along his skin, every nerve alert at once.

Elain’s fingers tightened slightly in his tunic as she shifted closer still and she nestled her face at the curve of his neck. Heat erupted in his body and his wings twitched and started to open. She breathed him in again deeper and a quiet and content sound slipped from her lips.

Azriel’s breath caught and his deeply ingrained instinct rose within him. Slowly, almost without thinking, he tilted his head back and exposed more of his throat to her. It was a silent, instinctive gesture of trust and an offering.

Still half lost in sleep, Elain followed the line of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Azriel’s heart started beating faster and harder. She inhaled once more, lingering this time and then he felt the faintest brush of her lips.  He shuddered and then her tongue darted out, barely grazing his heated skin.

A quiet, involuntary sound escaped him, low and rough and his grip on her tightened while something deep in his chest coiled and snapped taut. Elain’s hands moved and glided upward, finding purchase in his hair, tangling in its strands like she loved to do.  Then her teeth grazed his skin, followed by a more daring lick and that was enough to shatter his control.

In a single swift motion Azriel rolled them and he pressed Elain onto her back. He hovered above her with an uneven breath and wings started to half unfurl behind him. Elain was still dazed, caught between sleep and waking and looked up at him with half-hooded eyes. Her hands remained in his hair and gave a slight pull which created a rumbling sound in his chest.

Now it was his turn. Drawn by instinct, by scent and by something far deeper than conscious thought, Azriel lowered his head and pressed his face into the space between her neck and shoulder. He, this time, inhaled deeply and her scent flooded him. A low, primal growl left him as he breathed her in and everything in him awakened out of its slumber.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut for that moment and she tuned her head to the side, baring her neck for more access. She didn’t dare move or speak but her body became blissfully aware of his heavy weight above her. Warmth spread and an unbearable coiling sensation in her belly made her exhale a shaky breath. The moment Azriel’s teeth grazed her skin, something in her snapped and her hands tightened in his hair, pulling him down to her lips.

Their kiss was anything but hesitant. It was heat and trust and something long building finally breaking free. Azriel made a low sound against her mouth, as he kissed her back harder and deeper. His hand came up to cradle her face and he leaned closer, draping his body over hers. Elain arched into him, her hand sliding from his hair over his shoulder and she pressed her fingers into his muscles as she kissed him with everything she had.  Their kissing grew more heated with every passing second, every shared breath and every shift of their bodies. Azriel’s wings unfurled behind him instinctively and stretched wide behind him in the moonlight. Elain wiggled against him, eliciting a pleased growl from Azriel.

They were completely lost in their kissing frenzy that they didn’t register the sharp knock at the door. The second one, however, was undeniable. A loud and insistent hammering made Azriel whip his head towards the sound and his shadows flared violently around them. A snarl, raw and feral, tore from his throat and his entire body was coiled and ready to strike. The sound bounced around the room and Elain stilled and stared at the male above her.

The knocking stopped and silence followed, except both were panting hard and Elain stared at Azriel’s chest which was rising and falling rapidly. She licked her lips and something primal snapped at the sight. Before Azriel could turn back, her hands shot into his hair again and she pulled him back towards her for a fierce, demanding and unapologetic kiss.

He grunted softly as she shifted and rolled them over with surprising determination until she was above him. She straddled his hips as she kissed him like she intended to consume him whole.

Azriel responded instantly and his hands landed on her waist, holding her tightly as he kissed her back just as fiercely and urgently. Elain took advantage of her new position and started grinding herself on him to release some pent up tension. Azriel growled encouragingly and guided her movements with his hands while they lost themselves in each other again.

Suddenly the window burst open with a loud bang and shadows spilled inward, twisting into form as Nuala stepped into the room.

“Elain,” she said quickly and urgently. “We have to go. Now!” Azriel sat up and a knife appeared in his hand, ready to strike at the intruder. Elain’s hand had shot out and was now wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place with a steady strength. Both their pupils were blown wide and Elain was very tempted to lean in for another kiss at the sight of him.

“Rhysand is coming,” Nuala explained tightly. “He’s close.”

Ceridwen appeared beside her sister a heartbeat later, reaching immediately for Elain’s hand.

Elain hesitated and her gaze flicked back to Azriel. Everything unsaid passed between them in that look, but she reluctantly took her friend’s hand. Shadows wrapped around them and then they were gone.

The room felt instantly colder.

Azriel stared at the empty space where she had been and something sharp and feral rose in his chest again. A low snarl slipped from him and he closed his eyes inhaling their mixed scents deeply. He held his breath and counted the seconds before he let out a long exhale. His control returned in pieces, the primal urge to go after his female was pushed down and his logic and duty emerged to the forefront of his mind.

With a sharp motion, he pushed himself to his feet, his wings stretching wide before settling back as he ran a hand through his hair. The air still carried the ghost of her, her warmth, her scent and he could still feel the imprint of her body against his. His instinct surged back up and screamed at him to follow, to hunt and to find her again. While doing some breathing exercises, he sent his shadows out to dimmish every evidence of what had happened. He got dressed and shadow walked to the forest just outside the little inn he had been planning to stay with Elain.

Cold night air met him as he stepped outside, the almost full moon still high in the night sky. Azriel felt Rhysand long before he appeared. There was a shift in the air and slowly, he turned his head just enough for their gazes to meet.

A beat of silence passed. Rhysand began to circle him, slow and deliberate, his gaze dragging over Azriel in quiet assessment. He noted his disheveled hair and the faint scratch marks on his neck and collar. “Am I interrupting something?” Rhysand asked lightly and lifted a brow in question. “Or… someone?”

Azriel’s face didn’t show any emotion and he stayed silent. “What do you want?”

Rhysand cocked his head to the side and stared at Azriel, his violet eyes shining sharply in the moonlight. Cold ice slipped into his voice. “My favorite sister-in-law is missing,” he said. “You’ll forgive me if I’m less patient than usual.” More silence. “Have you seen Elain?”

Azriel didn’t miss a beat. “She lives with you and Feyre,” he said flatly. “Shouldn’t you know best about her whereabouts?”

“Aren’t you my Spymaster?”

Their silence stretched for a long period of time and Azriel’s shadows stirring agitated in answer to Rhysand’s pulse of power. The tension rose and became thick when a familiar presence winnowed next to the High Lord. Mor smiled at the males and sweetly announced, “She’s been found.”  

“She was out running,” she continued, her tone light. “With the twins. Elain couldn’t sleep, she said close to the full moon she gets restless and she had to burn some excess energy.”

Rhysand watched him carefully and pure assessment flickered in his gaze as he took in the tension still coiled in Azriel’s frame. He nodded and smiled “Well isn’t that great news.” With a flicker of power, he winnowed away. Then Mor turned to Azriel and gave him a knowing look, before vanishing as well.

Azriel was useless the rest of the next day. The decision was mutual that it was too risky for Elain to be brought back to him, after almost been caught by Rhysand. Elain was certain that the High Lord didn’t suspect anything, but Azriel couldn’t shake off his inner unrest.

No amount of training, no patrol and no duty could pull his mind away from her and from that night. Every quiet moment and every breath between tasks he took made his thoughts return to Elain. The way she had looked at him and the way she had taken the lead with what she wanted without hesitation. The memory burned through him, leaving him restless, sharp edged and unable to settle.

He had tried to find her once or twice, however each time, something or someone had intervened.

By nightfall, the restraint he prided himself on felt dangerously thin because his need to see her was too urgent. The full moon hung full and heavy in the sky when Azriel stepped into the townhouse, shadows curling around him as he arrived. Silence greeted him.

His shadows stirred, picking up the thread of her presence and slunk away from him like living things eager to please.

“Find her,” he murmured. They obeyed instantly and returned moments later whispering that she was outside.

The garden gave way to something wilder the farther he went. Carefully tended paths faded into overgrown edges, and beyond that it blended into the untamed and alive forest. He followed the faint traces of her scent, which led him to the first piece. It was a silk belt, which appeared to have been discarded carelessly along the path.  Azriel slowed and picked it up briefly before letting it fall again, his gaze sharpening. He could smell her excitement on the fabric, and it made his pulse quicken.

Further along were her slippers and his shadows flickered restlessly and eagerly. Some broke away and sprinted ahead, showing him the way to more items of clothing. Delicate fabric caught on a low branch, another half hidden in the grass and by the time he found her lacy undergarment, his control and anticipation were hanging on by a thin thread.

The trees opened and a meadow stretched before him. A still lake lay at its heart, reflecting the sky like glass and the full moon shone down on him. In between there she was. Elain stood barefoot on the meadow, moving slowly across the grass. Her skin glowed ethereally under the moonlight and her presence seemed almost unearthly, as if she belonged to this wild place than the world he had stepped out of.

Elain turned as if she had felt him and when their eyes met, she smiled openly and abashedly. Her eyes were dark, blown wide in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His shadows reacted before he did and they slipped away from him, drawn to her like moths to a flame. They curled around her, brushed along her arms, her shoulders and her waist in quiet greeting.

Elain didn’t pull away but leaned into them slightly. She bit her lip and slowly took a step back at a time, drawing him in. Her fingers lifted to the thin strap of her nightdress, the only item she was still wearing. With a single, unhurried motion, she let it fall and the fabric slipped soundlessly to the ground.

Azriel’s breath left him at her invitation. Elain turned and walked towards the lake and step by step, glided into the water. He followed immediately; he couldn’t remember when he decided to move but his body reacted with instinct. The water rippled softly around them as Azriel stepped closer. The water was cool as it met his skin, but he barely felt it because his focus was entirely on her and the way she waited just a little deeper in, already turned to face him.

“Elain,” he said, her name rough on his tongue.

She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer until the water shifted between them. “You found me.”

“Of course. I always will.” Something in his tone made her inhale softly. Then Elain lifted her hand and slowly placed it on his chest. Her touch was warm despite the cool water and she pressed her palm lightly, feeling the powerful rhythm beneath. Elain’s fingers slid upwards, tracing the line of his collarbone and then higher into his hair.  Just like the night before but this time, there was no hesitation. She drew him down to her and their lips met. The kiss was immediately deep and consuming, charged with everything that had been building between them. Azriel responded instantly, one hand coming to her waist, pulling her closer because he couldn’t even stand the smallest distance between them.

Elain leaned into him and her other hand rested on his shoulder, fingers tightening as the kiss deepened. The water shifted around them as she moved and pressed closer, her body aligning with his.

Azriel broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, his forehead resting briefly against hers before his lips traced along her jaw. His hand moved at her back, steady and grounding, while hers remained tangled in his hair, keeping him close. Elain leaned into him again, her lips finding his once more, slower this time but no less certain. Azriel followed her lead and their at first gentle exchange didn’t stay; it deepened like a storm cloud about to break.

His mouth moved against hers with growing certainty, no longer restrained by hesitation or thought just instinct, need, and something far more dangerous that had been building since the since the first night she’d turned in his arms like she belonged there.

Elain made a soft sound against his lips that sent something sharp and hot through him. The water around them shifted as they moved together and his wings stirred behind him, half unfurling instinctively, their shadowed edges brushing the night air.

The world narrowed to touch and breath and the steady rhythm of water around them as Elain aligned her centre with his hard cock. They moved together through the lake’s quiet darkness and each shared touch, breath and stroke brought them closer to the edge. Elain and Azriel gave everything and opened their soul and hearts to each other as they tumbled into bliss and finished together.

It was hours later when Azriel finally made it back to the House of Wind. He moved slower than usual due to a deep, bone heavy exhaustion that settled into every part of him. And yet… there was nothing weary about the expression on his face.

He couldn’t stop the faint, roguish smirk that kept tugging at his mouth as his mind replayed the night over and over again… and the morning. Gods, the morning.

Every moment came back in fragments, Elain’s laughter, soft and breathless and the way neither of them had been able to stay still for more than a few minutes before reaching for the other again. They had tried to sleep, truly tried. Multiple times but every single time, it had failed.

A shift of a leg, a brush of skin or a quiet sigh was enough and then they were right back where they started.

Azriel huffed out a quiet, disbelieving breath as he walked the corridor, dragging a hand through his already disheveled hair.

At one point, they had separated and decided to lay on opposite ends of the bed like it might help finally get some rest and sleep. It hadn’t. He could still hear Elain stretching and that soft, content sigh left her as her back arched slightly.  His restraint had snapped instantly, and he had been across the space between them in a heartbeat, hauling her back against him by the waist and both of them laughing softly before everything had spiraled all over again.

Another memory flashed and this time he had been half asleep and had just barely started to drift off. He’d rolled his neck, cracked it, let out a low hum of satisfaction and then shifted his wings in a more comfortable position. The thin and soft membrane had grazed Elain’s arm, and she had shifted closer immediately and curious, letting her fingers brush along his wing.

And that had been enough to end any hope of rest. They simply… couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It hadn’t been about urgency anymore; it was pure need.  The thought sent a flicker of heat through his already exhausted body, and he exhaled slowly, trying to rein it in.

Azriel’s mind urged him to turn around, go back and find her again. His mind knew that they both needed some rest.  He was still thinking about their time together when a door opened down the hall. Cassian took a step out and whistled loudly. “Well, damn.”

Azriel turned his head and saw his brother standing in the doorway, his arms folded in front of him as he took in the sight. His eyes travelled from the ripped clothes to the disheveled hair and to the unmistakable faint scratches and bruises along Azriel’s arms, shoulders and neck. Cassian also noticed the way his wings hung just a little heavier than usual.

“If I didn’t know better,” he mocked, “I’d say you got into a fight with a hellcat.”

Azriel didn’t answer but the grin that spread across his face said everything.

It was bright and unrestrained, almost boyish in a way Cassian had never seen on him. He barked out a laugh. “You had a good night, huh?”

Azriel’s smirk turned downright wicked. “The best.” A beat passed when he added quietly, “And the morning.”

Cassian’s brows shot up, and another whistle followed, louder this time. He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Gods above… then why are you here?”

Azriel pushed open his door with his shoulder, pausing just long enough to glance back.

“Need to rest,” he said simply, amusement still threading through his voice. “So I can go again.”

Cassian bellowed a laugh at that. “What, you getting old on me?”

Azriel huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. I nearly hit my limit.”

Cassian doubled over slightly, laughter booming through the hall. “Either you’re out of practice,” he shot back, “or she’s one hell of a female to wear you down like that.”

Azriel couldn’t stop the smile from spreading and he stepped into his room, shaking his head.

“Good night!” Cassian called after him, still chuckling.

Azriel shut the door behind him with a quiet click and then he let himself drop onto his bed, face first.  Every muscle in his body sighed in relief, exhaustion finally catching up in full. Even as his eyes closed, his mind lit up again with the memories of them together and he felt giddy, satisfied and restless, even in his fatigue.

When sleep finally pulled him under, one thought lingered clearly above all the rest: he couldn’t wait to see and be with Elain again.

Nesta had faced monsters, queens, and the unbearable smugness of the Inner Circle, but apparently nothing could have prepared her for the Summer Court’s weather.

The heat clung to her skin like another layer of clothing as she stalked down the hallway toward Elain’s room, sweat dampening the back of her training leathers, making her shift uncomfortably. Outside, the sea breeze drifting through the palace windows did absolutely nothing, the hot air just agitated her more. Tarquin’s court was all sunlit marble, endless blue water with a humidity so thick Nesta felt as though she were breathing through silk.

She shoved open Elain’s door without bothering to knock and strode to her sister’s wardrobe without a second thought. “Elain,” Nesta called, already peeling off her fingerless fighting gloves,“do you have anything I can borrow that won’t make me melt alive?”

From the adjoining bathroom came the sound of splashing water. “Take whatever you’d like,” Elain answered easily. “I’m just getting out of the bath.”

Nesta muttered a thanks, already deep into the wardrobe.  The moment she had opened it, Elain’s floral scent drifted out. Of course, Elain’s wardrobe looked immaculate even after traveling.; her dresses were arranged by color, the shoes lined neatly beneath them and her ribbons lay folded in perfect rows.

Nesta grimaced at the sight of her own dark leathers reflected in the mirrored wardrobe door, she had absolutely underestimated the hot weather and internally cursed and kicked herself for stubbornly ignoring everyone’s advice to pack light and breathable clothes. Her own dresses, which had remained crushed in her bag were too thick and warm and just the thought of wearing them sent droplets of sweat glide down her back. So Nesta began rummaging through Elain’s wardrobe and culled.  Too soft. Too bright. Too many flowers. The eldest Archeron sister sighed heavily at the thought of wearing one of her sister’s too colourful dresses surely, she would look absolutely ridiculous in them. Only Elain could pull them off effortlessly.

A tiny pile folded neatly atop a cushioned bench caught her eye clearly what Elain had chosen to wear for the afternoon tour through the city. A light blue dress rested there, airy enough and absolutely perfect for the occasion.

Nesta was about to turn back to Elain’s dresses she hadn’t scrutinized yet when a scrap of pale pink lace peeked from beneath the folded dress.

Frowning, she walked over and picked it up. She blinked in confusion. It was…underwear. Apparently.

Though Nesta could scarcely understand how and she bunched her eyebrows and scoffed.  The thing was practically transparent, all delicate lace and one absurdly thin strip of fabric. She turned it over once. Then again.

“What in the Cauldron…”

There was no obvious front… or back. Or enough cloth to preserve anyone’s dignity, really.

“Elain?!” Nesta barked loudly. “What is this?!”

The bathroom door swung open and Elain stepped out wrapped in a towel, with her damp golden brown hair hanging over one shoulder. She froze mid step the second she saw what Nesta was holding. Color flooded her cheeks but with lightning speed she stood before her sister and snatched back the lace, giving her an incredulous look.

“That,” Elain said tightly, “is underwear.”  Nesta let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Hardly. There’s no fabric here to cover anything!” Elain huffed appalled and let out an indignant sound of protest. The sisters stared at each other, each one not believing and understanding the other’s reaction.

“Where did you even get this?” Nesta demanded, staring openly now. “Did you lose a bet?”

“I bought it,” Elain snapped, clutching the offending scrap to her chest. “Because I like it.”

Nesta’s brows nearly disappeared into her hairline and she looked at her younger sister with crazy eyes.

“You like having a shoestring between your arse cheeks?”

“Elain scowled. “It’s comfortable.”

“It cannot possibly be comfortable. It offers less coverage than a handkerchief!”

“Well, it is.”

Nesta stared at her sister in genuine horror and took a step back at Elain’s stubborn posture. Elain rolled her eyes dramatically.

“I feel good in them,” she said. “And I am not forcing you to wear them, so you may continue wearing your enormous terrifying grandmother undergarments in peace.”

Nesta gasped and shot back, “My undergarments are not enormous!”

“They are old fashioned.”

“They cover things!”

“They could double as battle banners.”

Nesta opened her mouth, scandalized. Elain pointed toward the door before she could reply. “Out. I need to get dressed.”

Nesta planted her hands on her hips. “And what male exactly is supposed to appreciate this piece of decorative floss?” With that Elain gritted her teeth and let out a sound which almost sounded like a snarl. The oldest Archeron sister was caught off guard at her display and Elain used that precise moment to shove her sister with her hands into the hallway and slam the door in her face.

Nesta stared at the carved wood in utter disbelief. Then she muttered to herself, horrified, “A shoestring.” And with that she turned briskly and stalked down the corridor toward the suite she shared with Cassian, still muttering under her breath.

“Battle banners,” she grumbled. “At least mine don’t disappear into my spine.” Nesta opened the door with more force than was necessary. The room was blissfully dim compared to the blazing sunlight outside. In the center of the bathing chamber Cassian lay sprawled in the enormous marble tub filled nearly to the brim with ice water. One muscular arm dangled over the side of the bath while his wings drooped limply against the tiles. A chunk of melting ice rested on his chest. Cassian groaned dramatically as Nesta entered.

“If I die here in this heat,” he announced to the ceiling, “tell Rhysand I always thought his hair looked stupid.” Nesta barely glanced at him as she yanked at the ties of her leathers.

“Apparently,” she muttered darkly, “my undergarments are enormous.”

Cassian cracked one eye open. “What?”

Nesta ignored him, pacing instead. “And impractical, according to Elain, though at least mine contain actual fabric.”

Cassian blinked slowly. “Nesta,” he said carefully, “what are you talking about?”

She whirled toward him, her fury renewed. “I went to borrow a dress from Elain because this gods forsaken court feels like living inside a kettle, and I found” Nesta threw up a hand dramatically “whatever scrap passes for underwear these days.”

Cassian stared. “…Are you seriously talking about Elain’s underwear?”

Nesta crossed her arms but she could feel her cheeks blush at his question. Seconds passed and then Cassian barked out a laugh.   “I’m serious,” Nesta said. “There was barely enough cloth to polish a spoon.”

His shoulders started shaking and he laughed even harder. Nesta glared. “I fail to see what is amusing.”

Cassian held up both hands in surrender. “Hey, I am not the one snooping around my sister’s underwear and demand she explain herself.”

Nesta groaned at his words and let her head fall into her hands, mortified. “You’re right. When it comes to Elain, I just can’t help myself. I freak out when I catch her in one of her secrets.”

The Illyrian cocked his head to the side and waved her closer with his fingers. His mate slowly walked to the bathtub, all her fury dissipated. “What do you mean?” Cassian asked, genuinely curious. Nesta rarely spoke about her sisters and the relationship they had.

“Elain always kept all sorts of secrets. She used to sneak out of the house and go to the fare or balls when she wasn’t allowed to go. She waited patiently until we had all gone to bed and just slipped out and then came back before anyone noticed. I still don’t know how she did it.” Nesta shook her head at the memory and her eyes focused on something far away. “That’s how she met Grayson, on a night out where she had disappeared from home and that’s how we found out what she had been doing all along. I think I am more furious at never discovering her secret myself.”

Nesta smiled fondly and Cassian could tell that she was lost in a memory of her sister. He rubbed her arm soothingly. “Elain is a grown person, and she is allowed to have her life and make her own choices. Even when it comes to her underwear.”  

Nesta looked at Cassian and he saw the sisterly protectiveness in her eyes. She blinked and gave him a small smile. “Even when she wears lace held together by hope between her butt cheeks?”

The dust had settled on the training ring when Cassian rolled his shoulders and flexed his wings wide with a low groan of satisfaction. Behind him, Nesta lingered with Gwyn and Emerie, their voices a quiet murmur which gave him a sense of comfort. He walked to the water station and drank deeply to quench his thirst.

“Elain’s probably already here,” Cassian called over his shoulder, not bothering to turn. “You might want to hurry up.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled and so did he. He angled his head in questions and gave Cassian a curious look.

Cassian only shrugged. “What? She’s been coming by. Trying, you know… with Nesta.”

Azriel gave a nod and hummed to himself, looking at the ground lost in his own thoughts.  Footsteps approached and Nesta caught up to them, her expression cool but not unkind. “I can’t ‘hurry’ anywhere. I desperately need a shower otherwise I might chase Elain away.”

Cassian sniffed at his shirt, grimaced, and then grinned. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll do a quick wash and keep Elain company.”

Nesta smiled at her mate and rose onto her toes to press a brief kiss to his mouth. “Thank you. Don’t eat everything before I get there!”

“No promises.” He chuckled and together they entered the House, the doors opening and welcoming them home.

Azriel moved quickly, faster and more efficient than usual. The water was barely warm before he stepped out again, pulling on fresh and clean clothes. His shadows jittered about, trying to help him get ready faster.

By the time he reached the kitchen, the warm and sweet smell of baked goods hit him first and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had missed Elain’s baking a lot but underneath he detected her unmistakable jasmine and honey scent, and he forced himself not to fall to his knees.

He rounded the corner and there she was, Elain. She stood near the table, sunlight spilling over her hair which gilded it. It had been a while since they had seen each other. Too long if he was honest and that sent a stab to his chest.

Elain turned at the sound of his steps, and she gifted him with a smile which was small and polite.

“Azriel.” She gently said his name, soft as a secret.

“Elain,” he managed, his voice lower than he intended. They stared at each other for a while, the tension growing thicker by the second. His mind scrambled for anything to say but the words caught shamefully in his throat.

Before he could say anything more, the door banged open and heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“Elain!” Cassian boomed, smiling brightly. The middle sister barely had time to turn before he swept her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Elain laughed, the sound bright and warm, and something in Azriel tightened again.

Cassian pulled back and blinked. “You’re already here?” he said to Azriel, dropping into a chair. “You move fast. I was really trying to hurry. Nesta is getting ready and will be down soon.”

Elain nodded and they all took a seat at the table. Conversation came easily, Cassian filled the space, as always, talking about training, the city, really about anything and everything. Elain responded, her voice soft but engaged, asking questions and offering small observations that somehow kept Cassian talking.

A cake, light, golden and dusted with sugar was calling Cassian’s name and the scent alone was enough to make him groan in delight.

“Mother above, Elain it’s almost too pretty to cut!” He couldn’t wait any longer and cut himself a generous slice. Azriel took one piece, just one. He ate it slowly, each bite measured and controlled. When his plate was empty again, he didn’t reach for another slice, his brother, however, greedily served himself once more.

Elain noticed and she tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Why don’t you take another?” she asked softly while holding her teacup with both hands. “There’s more than enough.”

Azriel met her gaze and swallowed the lump in his throat at her direct question. “I wasn’t permitted sweets as a child,” he said lowly. “Old habits.”

Elain hummed and bought her cup to her lips to take a slip. “That time is long past,” she said, looking at him over the rim of her drink. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His fingers tightened slightly against the table. “Why not take something you want,” she added, her voice gentler now, “when it’s right in front of you?”

The air changed and crackled.  Azriel held her gaze and something dark flickered beneath the surface. “Some things,” he said quietly, “are not mine to take.”

Elain laughed, a soft and breathy sound leaving her but there was an undeniable edge to it.

“You’re a famous Illyrian warrior,” she said and he knew she was baiting him. “A spymaster. I thought taking what you wanted was part of your training.”

His shadows stirred and he gave her a small smile. “I was taught not to steal.”

She hummed, considering that and then almost idly added, “Is it stealing… if the thing is willing? Waiting?” For emphasis Elain pushed the platter with the cake slightly closer to Azriel with her long and delicate fingers.

Silence stretched and their gazes locked again, a million unspoken words passing between them. Across the table, Cassian continued eating, blissfully unaware of the underlying conversation.

“Careful,” Cassian muttered around a mouthful of cake, glancing between them. “Don’t egg him on.” Elain’s eyes didn’t leave Azriel’s. “Why not?”

Cassian snorted and explained “Because he’s competitive and possessive as they come. Once he decides he wants something…” He shrugged. “He doesn’t let it go.”

Elain’s lips curved slightly and she looked down, her long lashes kissing her cheek.  “I doubt that…,” she said in challenge. Azriel didn’t look away and his gaze sharpened, focusing with predatory precision on Elain.

“Take it,” she said softly, but there was an edge beneath the sweetness now. A challenge was put on the table only for him. “If you want it.” Then, almost as an afterthought she added, “Unless you don’t, obviously.”

Elain lifted her eyes and raised a perfect eyebrow at him. She took another sip from her cup and cocked her head to the side in an almost playful manner.  

Azriel didn’t look away from her as he slowly and deliberately reached out. His fingers brushed hers as he took hold of the platter. The intention touch was enough to send a quiet spark up his arm. His eyes darkened when he saw her smile and then bit her lower lip.

He drew the plate closer and lifted his fork, taking his time as he tasted the cake directly from the platter.

“Don’t be a pig and hog the cake for yourself now!” Cassian said outraged at the loss of more dessert.

“I don’t share” he said, his voice quieter and slightly rougher. His gaze remained on Elain, “I was just told to take what I want.”

Cassian sighed loudly and threw his head back dramatically. “Great Elain, see what you’ve done!” He said, letting his fork clatter on the plate.

But Azriel and Elain barely heard him. They were still staring at each other intently and Elain gifted him with a bright and bold smile. Azriel returned it, smiling devilishly. This was definitely not the last thing Azriel would be tasting of Elain.

Cassian had known Azriel long enough to understand that silence was never just silence with him. Most people saw the Shadowsinger and thought of him being cold, unreadable and detached from the world around him. They mistook restraint for indifference and quietness for peace. But Cassian had stood beside Azriel for five centuries and he had learnt every shade of his brother’s silence as intimately as he knew the sound of his own heartbeat.

There was the brittle silence Azriel carried after interrogations, when his shadows clung too tightly to his shoulders and his siphons seemed dimmer somehow. The exhausted silence after weeks spent gathering intelligence in enemy courts, where he would return to Velaris looking carved out and hollow from the inside out. Finally, there was the dangerous silence, when his face went still and emotionless in a way that always made Cassian uneasy.

Those were the nights Azriel disappeared into the training ring until dawn, beating himself bloody against practice dummies as though violence might purge whatever horrors he carried home with him. Cassian had witnessed enough over the centuries to piece together fragments of what Azriel endured during those missions. The things he saw, the things he was forced to do and the cruelty he willingly walked into so others would never have to. Azriel, however, never really spoke of any of it.

He would come back to the House of Wind long after midnight with shadows wrapped around him like living armor, his shoulders tense beneath dark leathers. He’d pause at the doorway like he wasn’t entirely certain he belonged there anymore before quietly slipping inside and finally retreat. Either to the training rink, into his room or into the darkness.

Cassian remembered countless nights waking to the sound of boots pacing overhead because Azriel couldn’t sleep. A restlessness clung to him as permanently as his shadows did, even though he was exhausted beyond imagination.

The worst part, the part that haunted Cassian most, was how normal it had all become. Everyone, including himself, had accepted it. Accepted that Azriel carried pain like a second skin and that parts of him would always remain locked away in places none of them could reach.

Cassian still couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the change had begun but Elain had slipped through Azriel’s barriers with little to no resistance. It had happened gradually, in ways so small at first that they were almost impossible to notice.

When Elain was present, Azriel lingered longer after dinner instead of vanishing immediately. His shadows drifted lazily through rooms rather than curling tightly around him in warning. The occasional soft expression crossing his face when Elain spoke, so fleeting Cassian initially thought he imagined it.

The smiling was a fun and new discovery. Not the small polite smirk Azriel occasionally offered during Inner Circle meetings, nor the dry amusement he reserved for Cassian and Rhys. No, this was something entirely different. It was softer, warmer and genuine which transformed his entire face when he did it. For some apparent reason, it only happened when a certain middle Archeron sister was nearby.

The two of them had become almost impossible to separate whenever they managed to steal moments alone together. Quiet conversations in hidden corners or shared glances across crowded rooms that spoke more than words ever could. Azriel’s shadows always drifted toward Elain instinctively, weaving through her hair or curling around her wrists with clear affection.

One evening, after dinner Cassian went searching for Azriel with every intention of dragging him into the training ring for a late sparring session. The House of Wind was unusually quiet as he made his way down the corridor. As he approached Azriel’s room, Cassian noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Azriel never left doors open.

Curious, Cassian nudged it open and stopped at the threshold. Warm amber light bathed the room softly, illuminating the large bed tucked beside the windows. Elain lay propped against the headboard, a book resting forgotten in her lap as though she’d stopped reading long ago.

Azriel was curled tightly against her side, half sprawled atop. One arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her close even in sleep, while his face rested against her chest and he looked utterly peaceful. There was no tension which pulled at his features and no strain that lingered around his eyes. Even his shadows drifted through the room in slow, lazy currents rather than sharp restless movements.

Elain glanced up then, sensing him instantly and her expression softened into a smile so full of quiet affection that Cassian’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

Around her fingers, Azriel’s shadows danced playfully. Cassian watched in silence as one curled around her wrist while another slipped through strands of her hair. Elain laughed under her breath and gently tried to catch one between her fingertips, only for it to dart away teasingly before returning again.

“Hey,” Cassian said quietly, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace filling the room.

Elain’s smile widened. “Hello.”

At the sound of his voice, several shadows immediately stilled. Their playful drifting sharpened into alertness, dark wisps coiled protectively closer around the sleeping male in the bed.

Some, however, remained tangled affectionately around Elain’s hands.

Cassian tilted his head toward Azriel, lowering his voice instinctively. “Is he actually asleep?”

Elain lifted one hand from the shadows and slid her fingers gently through Azriel’s dark hair, smoothing it away from his forehead. “Yes,” she whispered softly, “He’s finally resting.”

Cassian nodded slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother’s relaxed face. “He needs it,” he murmured. “More than anyone.”

Elain’s expression turned sad for only a heartbeat, as though she understood far more about Azriel’s burdens than he had ever spoken aloud. When Cassian took a step closer into the room, the shadows reacted instantly.

They lashed outward with sharp hisses, dark tendrils snapping between him and the bed like striking serpents. A wall of shadows rose protectively around Azriel and Elain, warning clear enough that even Cassian barked a startled laugh.

“Alright,” he whispered, raising his hands in surrender. “Message received.”

As though sensing the disturbance even through sleep, Azriel shifted with a faint frown and instinctively tightened his hold around Elain’s waist. He pulled her closer against him and buried his face deeper into the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent and then relaxing again.

Finally, one massive wing unfurled and curved possessively around Elain, shielding her almost entirely beneath dark membrane and shadows until only the sound of her soft laughter escaped from underneath.

Elain peeked out from beneath the wing, her cheeks pink with amusement. “Sorry,” she mouthed silently. Cassian shook his head, warmth blooming through him so fiercely it almost hurt. As though after centuries of loneliness, violence and nightmares, Azriel had finally found somewhere safe and trusting to rest.

Cassian backed quietly toward the door, unwilling to disturb them another second. “Goodnight,” he said gently. Elain smiled at him from beneath the shelter of Azriel’s wing. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

The battlefield was silent now and no more echoes of screams and clashing steel were heard. It was all but replaced by a tense and trembling quiet. Their victory had come at a terrible cost, as always, it seemed after a war. Azriel stood amidst the wreckage and his chest was tight, while his eyes scanned the aftermath. Every muscle in his body was coiled and his shadows stretched out to probe the area, searching but not coming up with any results.

He felt a jolt in his chest, a cold and creeping dread sinking in. Azriel sent his shadows to sweep farther, flitting over broken soldiers, smoldering remnants of Koschei’s army while gliding over the remains of the battlefield but she was nowhere to be found. His pulse quickened and a tight pit sank in his stomach. “Elain,” he whispered, low and raw and his voice trembled slightly despite himself.

The shadows darted again, more desperate and frantic. Azriel closed his eyes briefly and concentrated on his breathing, biting down hard to not start screaming in frustration. He could hear Feyre’s and Rhysand’s low murmuring further away, someone’s blood dripping on the ground and the crunching of people dragging their battered bodies. His shadows whispered that Nesta was tending to Cassian’s wounds, both too much in their heads to speak about the battle. Azriel took another deep breath and focused on his inner magic and the teether of strength he normally found there. Excruciatingly long minutes passed when finally, a tendril of shadow announced that they had found her.

Elain lay among the rubble of the collapsed church which looked like a jagged scar of destruction which was cutting through the sacred space. Her body was still, too still as he surged to her bent body. The dust coated beams around her shifted with a groan, as he freed her from them, but the sight of her motionless form sent a violent spike of fear through him. Azriel dropped to his knees, cradling her frail and bloody form in his arms. “Elain! Please, please, no…you can’t leave me” His voice cracked, raw with terror and grief. He shook her gently, brushing the dust from her face, and willing her eyes to flicker open. “I…I can’t lose you. Not after everything. Please.”

Azriel’s lips trembled as he pressed a kiss to her temple, tears streaking down his face as he whispered over and over, “Come back to me… Please… Come back…” His shadows shivered and coiled protectively around them as if they could shield him from the cruel stillness of the world. Every part of him screamed that she had to still be alive, that this could not be the end but there was no movement. No breathing, no pulse, no nothing.

Azriel held her tighter to himself and started rocking her gently, murmuring promises he didn’t know how to keep, pledging to himself, to anyone who could hear that he would not let her go. He poured every fragment of hope and love into his heart in the hopes of turning back time, taking her place instead.  

However, slowly the horrifying possibility settled in like ice in his chest; maybe this was it, maybe she wasn’t going to recover. The realization slammed into him with a force that stole his breath. Azriel could feel himself starting to panic and he began to hyperventilate, each inhaling sharp and ragged and each exhaling trembling and weak. His wings twitched and his jaw clenched until his teeth ground together painfully.

Azriel’s mind was so loud that he didn’t hear Cassian approaching them. The burly Illyrian dripped blood from various wounds and reached out a gentle hand to Azriel’s shoulder. The moment he touched, Azriel snarled a raw and broken sound. He recoiled violently and curled over Elain’s limp body. His wings glared halfway before they drooped trembling and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. “Don’t,” Azriel rasped, clutching her closer, “Don’t touch us.”

Cassian froze. The shock on his face twisted into grief, but he obeyed as he slowly withdrew his hand, his palms lifted in surrender. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and backed away nodding once, his eyes shining.

Azriel barely saw him. His entire world had narrowed down to the still figure in his arms. He lowered himself into the dirt beside her, shifting until their bodies were aligned. Then he wrapped himself around her, one arm beneath her head and one arm across her waist while he pressed his forehead to her temple. His wings curved protectively over her like a broken shield, the tips dragging in the blood soaked earth.

“If she’s not with me,” he whispered, voice disintegrating, “then I don’t want to be here without her.” His shoulders shook violently. “I can’t… I can’t be without her again…”

Tears slipped from him silently at first with each drop landing on her cheek, on her hair and on the torn dirt beside them, mingling with their combined spilt blood.

His body curled tighter around her, instinctive and desperate and his shadows clung to them both as if trying to anchor her soul in place.

Across the field, the others felt it, the gut wrenching and visceral pain that rippled through the bond they’d forged through centuries of brotherhood and battle. Nesta let out a strangled sob like a wounded animal at the sight, her knees buckling and finally giving out. Rhysand, silent and stone faced, bowed his head and clenched his jaw so tightly it trembled. Feyre wept openly and burrowed into Rhysand as if she could hide from the ugly truth.

Azriel clung to Elain like a dying star to its last flicker of light.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, roots began to stir beneath the dirt. Slowly and deliberate, they curled and twisted gently like living fingers reaching out. They moved around Elain’s body, coiling gently but firmly, grounding her to the earth. Azriel’s fingers dug into her shoulders, his arms tightening, trying to pull her away from the encroaching roots. “No!” he begged, his voice hoarse but his strength was spent and his wings drooped further as the roots continued their silent and inexorable embrace.

White flowers began to sprout amidst the roots, delicate and fragile, blooming with an almost blinding purity. They threaded through her hair, spilled between her limbs, and surged around her body, creating a stunning and sorrowful canopy. It was like a grave, both beautiful and horrifying. Azriel pressed his forehead to hers and tried to burrow closer, refusing to leave her side. “Please, no…” he whispered again and pleaded to anyone who would listen to take him to her. He would follow her wherever she went but he couldn’t be separated from her again.

His shadows, dark and fluid, suddenly began to stir with a renewed intensity and rose up from the battlefield in response to his anguish. They twisted and swirled, merging with the shafts of sunlight breaking through the smoke and ash. The light and shadow spiraled together, a living stream of energy, all rushing to Elain’s body in a single, magnificent surge.

The others froze and none dared to move.  Only Azriel’s whispered pleas and the ethereal glow of light, shadow, roots and flowers wove together and created a cocoon around Elain and Azriel who seemed suspended in the tension between life and death.

Months had passed, and life, relentlessly and practically, had filled the space where something fragile had once tried to bloom. Azriel had thrown himself into duty, helping Cassian train the priestesses, spending long hours at the House of Wind, where discipline and purpose could drown out everything else. Elain heard of it only in fragments, in passing remarks not meant for her, and she started to quietly and stubbornly make herself smaller around his absence.

On a mild afternoon in Velaris, the middle Archeron sister kept her head down as she moved through the busy streets. She had a basket looped over her arm which was half filled with herbs and carefully chosen seed packets. The city glowed in soft sunlight, but a cool breeze announced the first touches of a dying summer. Elain pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders, more for comfort than pure necessity, while drifting from stall to shop with quiet purpose. She paused here and there, her fingers often gently brushing the displayed goods, exchanging soft words with merchants, before wandering toward a row of smaller storefronts where books and fabrics spilled into the street.

It was the fabrics that caught her attention this time, their rich colors draped in numerous colours, as well as gold threaded silks and soft rose linens. Elain slowed, drawn in by them thinking about which fabric Feyre would love or which colour Mor would look spectacular in. Her gaze lifted to the open glass shop door they belonged to. Inside stood a female, strong grounded and totally in her element and Elain tilted her head to the side. Her sight whispered that it was Emerie and flashes of her training alongside Nesta pushed themselves into her periphery. As quickly as they had emerged, they disappeared again and let the seer stay in the present. Elain watched her for a moment, noting the ease in her posture and the quiet confidence and smiled in envy at the strong female who had found a place in this world. As she was about to turn away her attention snagged on a low sound she would have recognized in a screaming crowd.

Azriel.

Her breath caught as her eyes found him inside, standing near a red-haired priestess. They stood close together, speaking easily, as though the space between them required no effort at all. Azriel murmured something she couldn’t hear, and the female leaned in with quiet interest. Emerie laughed at something that was said and then Elain heard her sister’s voice and Elain froze like a deer in the headlight. Nesta emerged from a changing room, holding some leather pants in her hand, chatting easily with the group. And Elain… Elain remained motionless outside, watching a world she did not belong to. It wasn’t jealousy that struck her, not really, but something quieter and heavier. It was the realization that there were parts of their lives she would never be part of. She just didn’t belong.

She tore her gaze away slowly and turned to leave not being able to bear the reality of her situation. She pulled her oversized hood up slowly, shadowing her face, and began to walk measured and calm steps to put distance between herself and the store. She swallowed and schooled herself to blend into the background and not let her emotions surge to the surface but the bell above the shop door chimed and Elain heard voices spilling out behind her. Panic rose, sharp and immediate. She could hear them now; Nesta’s voice and a female’s lighter tone and she gritted her teeth, pushing her emotions down as they stirred restlessly.

Elain took a deep breath and let her hidden magic brush outward and veneered to the closest refuge: an old bookshop just ahead. She pushed the door open and she stepped inside letting the scent of aged paper wrap around her. Elain fought the urge to turn around and look to see whether her sister and the Shadowsinger had already passed. She paused just beyond the threshold, breathing once and twice to steady herself before smoothing her expression into something gentle. By the time the shopkeeper looked up, she was already smiling. “Good afternoon,” she said softly, as if nothing had happened at all and no one could have guessed her inner turmoil.

Azriel was standing inside Emerie’s shop, and he had not intended to linger. He had shadow walked Nesta and Gwyn there at their request and faded, as he always did, into the edges of the room while they spoke. He was only half listening to their chit chatting when it hit him soft and unmistakable: jasmine and honey. Elain. Every instinct in him snapped taut, and his shadows reacted before he could stop them, darting out beneath the door, chasing the scent with a hunger he could not contain. They returned in a rush, a chaotic chorus flooding his mind: outside, she’s here, just beyond and he was already moving before thought could intervene. Just one look, that was all he needed, he desperately wanted to see her face again, but Nesta’s voice stopped him. “We’ll head out with you” and he forced himself to wait, every second stretching thin as his shadows pressed restlessly toward the door.

The moment they were finally finished, he stepped into the sunlight and there she was. Just ahead, lifting her hood over her head, but the briefest glimpse of Elain’s face was enough to send his heart slamming hard against his ribs. Azriel recognised her instantly, even as the hood fell and hid her from the outside world. He watched her walk away with careful calm and his shadows surged after her, desperate to follow but they struck something solid and unseen, and recoiled violently, hissing loudly. It was a magic barrier, deliberate and unyielding which she had risen like a quiet wall between them. His shadows lashed against it, hissing like an angry serpent and desperately searching for a way through, but there was none. As she slipped into the bookshop and the door closed behind her, she was cut off completely from his sight.

What Azriel and Elain shared was still hidden behind closed doors or in his shadows. They weren’t hiding out of shame but to guard and protect themselves. Azriel was the first to admit to himself that this was more than stolen glances or tentative touches, this was courting. It was such a steady teether to the here and now that both rooted and unmoored him more than anything ever had. And that was becoming an apparent problem because Azriel had never done this before.

He knew how to engage a female, how to woo her, watch and protect but this, this careful weaving of two lives felt far more dangerous than any battlefield. Because it felt there was so much on the line and he most definitely didn’t want to assume or misstep. His fear was that he might lose Elain because he didn’t know to be what she deserved. Therefore, he did what he was really good at: research and learning.

He read books, old and newer ones, really anything that even vaguely mentioned relationships and courting. Most was flowery nonsense or crude accounts of mating that bore no resemblance to the way Elain smiled at him across the table or how she leaned into his side when no one was watching. And the worst of it, human courting was barely mentioned at all.

He considered asking Cassian but the thought of doing so without raising suspicion felt impossible and if Cassian noticed, then the secret would be no secret at all.

So instead, Azriel watched.

Cassian and Nesta were intense, sharp edged and passionate. Their love was forged through fire, arguments and blunt honesty. It worked for them, but it wasn’t what Azriel wanted with Elain or how he felt their relationship was with each other. Cassian’s and Nesta’s dynamic felt too loud and too raw.

Rhys and Feyre, though that was closer. The way they moved around each other with bold confidence and ease as their mutual respect for each other threaded through every glance and word. He knew that he couldn’t openly ask Feyre about human courting rituals or how he could be a good partner to Elain, so he stewed and pondered about that alone.

The question, however, followed him all the way to the small cottage where his mother lived.

That morning, he sat at the worn wooden table and ate his breakfast slowly while his mother moved about the kitchen, humming softly as she worked.  He hesitated. Once and twice.

Then very carefully he cleared his voice and asked “Mum, how does a male… be good to a female?”

The humming stopped and Azriel stiffened immediately, heat creeping up his neck. Gods, he felt ridiculous, he was centuries old and suddenly felt like a nervous boy again.

His mother turned slowly with a smile already on her lips. “That’s a very big question,” she said gently. “Is there someone special who’s made you think about this?”

He ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by the pattern in the wood of the table.

His mother didn’t push, she knew her son, so she came to sit across from him instead with her hands folded and her eyes shining curiously bright. “You don’t ask questions like that unless you care very deeply about a special someone.”

Azriel shifted in his chair which made his wings rustle. “I don’t want to do it wrong,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t want to hurt her. Or make her feel… unseen. I want to be a good male to her.”

His mother studied him for a long moment, understanding the fear of him ever becoming like his father. She then reached across the table and rested her hand over his. “Then you’re already doing better than you think. Tell me something about her.”

Azriel swallowed and fought against his inner barrier of keeping everything to himself. He knew he was safe with his mother, but he had to actively fight against his reflexes of burying his true emotions.  “She makes everything feel… quieter,” he slowly pushed out, searching for the right words. “Like the world isn’t always demanding something from me. She listens intently without me speaking and she notices things. I want to be someone she feels safe with, but I don’t know how to be perfect for her. How to court her properly.”

His mother nodded, encouraging him. “Does she smile when she sees you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“Does she speak freely around you?”

“Yes.”

“Does she choose to stay even if she is given the choice of leaving?”

Azriel hesitated only a fraction. “Yes.”

His mother smiled wider. “Then you’re not courting her wrong.”

He let out a slow breath and his shoulders sunk a little.

“You don’t need grand gestures,” she continued. “You need presence, patience and honesty. Let her see you as you are and give her the trust to decide what she does with that.”

His mother was quiet for a moment after that, and she studied him with a thoughtful softness that made Azriel shift again in his chair. She had always had a way of seeing straight through him, past the shadows and past the silence, to the parts he rarely let anyone touch.

“You’ve spent a long time by yourself,” she said gently. “Used to moving alone and thinking alone. Making choices where the only one affected was you.”

Azriel nodded and his eyes lowered.  Solo missions had been his refuge for centuries and often he had no one to consider but himself.

“But a relationship,” she continued, her voice warm and steady, “means learning how to carry someone with you. Not as a burden but as a presence. When you decide something, when you leave, when you return… you take her into consideration.” He combed his fingers through his hair as a sign of nervousness.

“You don’t need to change who you are,” she added quickly. “You just need to let her be part of it.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, and he could feel his anxiety rise. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

His mother smiled brightly at his reaction. “Show her you think of her through small and thoughtful things. When you’re away, you could send her a flower and have your shadows deliver it. When you’re on a mission, write to her. Let her know you miss her. Let her know she’s in your thoughts.”

Azriel huffed softly again, the sound almost embarrassed. “If I did that,” he said, glancing up at her, “she’d be drowning in flowers. I think of her constantly.”

The smile that spread across her face was radiant and full of pride, affection, and something dangerously close to tears. She crossed the room without saying another word and stopped in front of him.

“Oh,” she said softly. “My boy.”

She cupped his cheeks in her hands the way she had when he was small and her thumbs brushed lightly against his skin. “I am so happy for you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “That you’ve found someone you’re comfortable with. Someone you can open your heart to.”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Azriel flushed immediately, heat rose across his face and down his neck. He ducked his head, embarrassed but he couldn’t hide the smile, which was growing wide and unguarded, like a boy hopelessly in love. His mother laughed quietly and patted his cheek once more before letting him go.

Shortly after, Azriel rose from the table and cleared the last remnants of breakfast away. “I should head back to Velaris,” he said quietly. Together they walked out of the cottage, and his mother turned toward the small garden and plucked a flower. She placed it carefully in his hand. “For your lady,” she said. Azriel’s face heated again but he smiled, shy and happy all at once. “Thank you,” he murmured.

His mother stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. She held him with a firmness that reminded him how rarely he allowed himself to be held at all. Azriel leaned into the embrace, careful of his wings, breathing in the familiar scent of his mother and his home.

When she pulled back, she kept her hands on his arms and looked up at him, smiling softly. “I would love to meet the woman who’s stolen my son’s heart.”

Azriel smiled and then looked down at the floor, suddenly shy again. “She didn’t steal anything,” he said gently. “I gave it to her freely.”

His mother’s eyes shone. She patted his cheek, pride and affection written plainly across her face, and drew him into one last hug.

“Go,” she said quietly. “Be happy.”

Then he left, carrying the flower with the same care he carried the thoughts of Elain with him: close to his heart, where they belonged.

Azriel returned to the Town House as night had settled over Velaris, the city glowing softly beyond the windows. The quiet inside told him immediately that Elain was alone, so he followed the familiar pull of her presence toward the back, where the warm lamplight spilled from the greenhouse.

She stood among her plants with her sleeves rolled up and her fingers deep in soil, humming faintly to herself.

The sight of her loosened something in his chest and he immediately moved closer without a sound. His shadows parted gently around him, creating an aisle to her and only when he was right behind her did she sense him. Elain turned and surprise flickered into pure happiness the moment she saw his face.

“You’re back already,” she said, smiling wide.

Azriel couldn’t answer with words, so he leaned down and kissed her soft and unhurried. Elain smiled into the kiss and hummed faintly, melting into him. When he pulled back, he gave her another soft peck on her smiling lips and held out the flower he’d carried all the way to her. “For you,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught. “Azriel…” She took it as if it were something precious, turning it between her fingers. “It’s beautiful,” she said honestly and looked up at him. “It’s a rare Night Blossom. I have never seen one before. Thank you.” Elain rose on her tippy toes and gave him another kiss. Azriel’s hands banded around her back, one hand disappearing into her hair and this time he was the one smiling. When they broke apart, with rosy lips and blushed cheeks Elain tugged him gently towards the house, while twirling the precious flower in her hand.

Azriel took it upon himself to make tea while Elain washed her hands, the quiet domestic rhythm settling easily between them. When she returned, she disappeared briefly into the kitchen and came back with a small plate with a perfect piece of his favourite cake.

He stared at it, then at her when a slow smile spread across his face. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” Elain said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

They curled up together on the sofa with her tucked closely against his side and his arm around her shoulders.  At some point, Azriel hesitated and quietly stated, “I’d like you to meet my mother one day.”

Elain stilled for a heartbeat but then her face lit up with unmistakable delight. “I’d love to,” she said without hesitation.

The inn thrummed with life like a living, breathing thing of warmth and noise. Golden candlelight flickering against dark wooden beams, laughter rising and falling like music and the scent of spiced wine and roasted meat curled thickly through the air. Somewhere, a fiddle sang a lilting tune, with its melody weaving between the low murmur of voices and the occasional burst of raucous amusement.

Elain sat poised at their small corner table, with her delicate fingers wrapped around the stem of her wineglass. Her posture was composed, her eyes, however, were bright and observant and absolutely missed nothing. Across from her, Nuala leaned forward, with her shadows weaving and clinging to her like a second skin. Her sharp gaze glinted with quiet mischief, while Cerridwen reclined with deceptive ease, her attention no less keen beneath that languid exterior.

“Overhearing is a useful skill,” Nuala murmured, her voice low enough to be swallowed by the din around them. “But it is passive and safe. Tonight, we test something more… deliberate.”

Elain glanced between the twins. “So… what exactly do you want me to do?”

Cerridwen’s lips curved, slow and knowing. “We’ll choose a target for you. Draw them in and make them speak.”

Elain arched a delicate brow, glancing between them.  “A male,” Nuala decided simply, tapping a finger against the table.

Elain blinked, her grip tightening ever so slightly on her glass. “A male?” She huffed a soft, incredulous breath and gestured lightly to her side, where Azriel sat stretched in his chair, one arm draped loosely over its back with his shadows whispering lazily around him like tendrils of living night. “And how am I meant to do that,” she asked pinching her eyebrows together, “when there is already a male sitting beside me?”

“Yes,” Cerridwen added, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You must learn to invite attention, even when you are not alone.”

Nuala’s smile sharpened. “Women are rarely unaccompanied in places like this. It means nothing, unless you allow it to.”

“It is all in the suggestion,” Cerridwen added softly. “In the glance that lingers a heartbeat too long, the tilt of your body, the smallest invitation offered and withdrawn.”

“Interest,” Nuala finished. “Without ever speaking it aloud.”

Elain hesitated and uncertainty flickered across her features, but then she nodded in understanding.

“Good,” Nuala said, rising smoothly to her feet. “We’ll be at the bar.”

“Try not to make them fall in love with you,” Cerridwen teased, already slipping into the crowd beside her twin.

Left alone, save for the silent, watchful presence at her side, Elain exhaled slowly and turned her attention outward.

The room unfolded before her in layers: clusters of merchants hunched over their cups, travelers weary from the road, soldiers boasting too loudly at a long table near the hearth. She let her gaze drift, just as the twins had taught her. Not darting, nor searching, but wandering with quiet intent. A glance here, a fleeting brush of eye contact there, her lashes lowering just enough to soften the look before she turned away.

Nothing.

She tried again, this time letting her attention linger on a lone male seated near the bar, her head tilting ever so slightly as she lifted her glass to her lips, the candlelight catching in her hair like molten gold.

Still nothing.

Beside her, Azriel remained outwardly at ease, his posture loose, almost indolent but his shadows had stilled and then coiled tighter.  His gaze tracked every movement she made, every subtle shift in her expression, every quiet attempt to draw another’s attention.

And with each passing moment, something dark and possessive tightened in his chest. Because eventually, well eventually someone would notice. Eventually, some male would look at her, truly look at her, and see what Azriel saw: that soft, luminous beauty, that quiet grace and that hidden steel beneath it all. His jaw clenched.

Elain tried once more, offering a faint, tentative smile toward a passing glance that never returned, and then, with a soft sigh, she sank back into her chair, feeling the fragile thread of confidence slipping through her fingers. “I don’t have whatever magic this is,” she murmured, almost to herself, “that makes males interested in speaking to me, let alone approach me.”

A low, warm chuckle brushed the air beside her.

She turned, finding Azriel already watching her, something softer and something dangerously fond glimmering beneath the shadows in his hazel eyes.

“That isn’t true,” he said quietly. “They’re simply too blind to recognize what’s in front of them.”

A small smile curved her lips, though doubt still lingered in her gaze. “Then how do males do it?” she asked and tilted her head with gentle curiosity.

Azriel shifted then, turning fully toward her, his elbow coming to rest on the table as he leaned into it and his posture became unguarded in a way few had ever witnessed. The shadows around him seemed to hush, as if even they were listening intently.

His eyes darkened, hooded and intent as they traced the delicate lines of her face.

“They look,” he said, his voice dropping and threading through the noise of the inn like something meant only for her.

It wasn’t just a glance; this was something else entirely. He held her gaze, steady and unwavering and long enough that the air between them seemed to thicken and to hum.

“They don’t look away,” he continued, softer now and his gaze flicked briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes with deliberate slowness. “Not until you feel it.”

A warmth bloomed beneath her skin, spreading like sunlight through her veins.

“And their body…” His voice dipped further, quieter and rougher. “It follows and angles toward what they want, what they’re drawn to. Without hesitation.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted closer and every line of him aligned with hers, his presence suddenly overwhelming in its quiet intensity.

Everything about him; his gaze, his stillness and the subtle pull of his shadows was fixed entirely and irrevocably only on her.

Elain’s eyes slowly took all of him in and then she swallowed. Azriel’s eyes snagged on the movement and when Elain lifted her chin slightly and deliberately exposed and elongated more of her neck, the shadows vibrated in a low and seductive growl.

At the bar, Nuala accepted their drinks, but her attention caught sharply on the corner of the room. Her eyes narrowed for a second and then she gasped.

“Look,” she muttered, gripping Cerridwen’s wrist. Her sister followed her gaze and promptly choked on a laugh.

Where the twins knew Elain should have been sitting, there was nothing for the untrained eye to see.  There was only Azriel, seated alone in the dimly lit corner, leaning forward as though murmuring to himself like some drunken fool.

Cerridwen pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “He cannot be serious.”

Nuala’s lips twitched despite herself, and her sharp eyes gleamed with realization. “He’s hidden her.”

Indeed, Azriel’s shadows had curled thickly and possessively around Elain, cloaking her entirely from sight and erasing her from the world beyond that table as though she existed only for him.

Cerridwen shook her head, laughter slipping free. “He is utterly gone for her.”

Nuala hummed, watching the way he leaned closer and the way his attention never once wavered. “If he wasn’t hiding her,” she said softly, a hint of admiration threading through her tone, “every male in this room would be racing and stumbling over themselves just for the chance to reach her first.”

And at the table, unseen by all but him, Elain leaned forward ever so slightly as her voice breathed a teasing question. “And does that truly work?” She looked up at him, her big eyes shining in the flicker of the candlelight.

Azriel’s lips curved, slow and certain and his gaze was locked on hers as if the rest of the world had long since ceased to exist.

The dungeon lay far beneath the courts of Prythian, so deep in fact that even memory recoiled from it. It was older than the bones of the world, older than the first whisper of magic that had ever stirred through the land. The air there did not simply feel cold, but it lingered, thick and unmoving, as though it had long since forgotten that warmth ever existed. Even the fae, who claimed dominion over death and darkness alike, spoke of it only in fragments, like half-words swallowed quickly, as if naming it too clearly might draw its attention.

In one narrow corridor, where shadows pooled too deeply and refused to shift, something stirred. Behind iron bars etched with ancient, half faded spells, creatures crouched in the gloom. Their bodies were wrong in ways the eye could not fully settle on. Limbs too long, joints bending where they should not, skin stretched too thin over something that moved beneath it. Their teeth were jagged and blackened with rot. Their claws dragged across stone with a slow, grating rhythm that echoed long after the sound itself should have died.

They spoke in whispers but this time not because they needed to but because something in the dark made them. A new presence had arrived next door. They had not heard the cell open. Had not heard footsteps, chains, or the turning of locks; she had suddenly materialized been there.

Through the narrow slit in the wall, sealed with magic that hummed faintly if one listened too closely, they watched her. She, however, sat in the far corner with her back turned. Her long and curly hair spilled down her spine in tangled strands, dull in the weak thread of moonlight that filtered from somewhere impossibly far above.  Her dress clung to her frame, torn and dirt-streaked and the fabric was stiff in places where something darker had dried into it.

“She breathes,” one creature whispered, though its voice trembled faintly despite itself.

“Does she?” another murmured, leaning closer to the bars. Its claws curled through the iron, scraping it lightly. “I do not hear it.”

They fell silent, listening intently. The corridor stretched around them, vast, empty and wrong but no breath came.

“Girl,” one crooned after a moment, forcing a wet and mocking lilt into its voice. “What are you? Lost your voice? Or did something rip it from you?”

There was no answer, not even the shift of fabric.

From somewhere deep within the corridor, something exhaled. “Shut up.” The low and deep voice did not rise but it slipped into the silence and settled there.  The creatures stilled at once and their bodies went rigid. In the far darkness, where even the weak light dared not linger, two red eyes opened. Then it took a slow and deliberate inhale, the sound dragging through the silence like a blade.

“She is from between worlds,” the voice said, “not from this place,” the unseen thing continued quieter now. Almost thoughtful. “Not from any place you would understand.”

There was a heavy pause and nothing dared stir. “She should not be here. You would do well to be wary.”

For a heartbeat, unease flickered through the creatures. Their claws tightened and their breathing grew uneven. “That broken thing?”, one nightmare screeched.  The other leaned forward, its arm stretching farther than it should with its bones shifting beneath skin with a soft, sickening sound as it forced its limb between the bars, reaching into her cell.

“Tell me, deary,” it crooned, voice syrup thick and rotting. “What did you little thing do to end up here?”

There was a long and heavy silence, and it seemed the dungeon held its breath in anticipation. The female straightened and her spine unfolded with unnatural smoothness. Her head tilted, not toward them, but slightly upward towards the slit of moonlight, which spilled across her face.

She was beautiful, but not in a way that belonged to the living. Her features were soft, almost delicate and her eyes too large and too still. Her lips were pale and faintly parted as though she were listening to something just beyond hearing.

From the darkness, the unseen creature let out a low, pleased hum and the neighbouring creatures hissed.

A faint current slipped through the corridor, though no wind had ever reached this place before. It brushed against the females, lifting a few strands as though something unseen had passed too close. The creature near her snarled, its unease sharpening into irritation. “Don’t ignore me,” it spat, baring its rotten teeth. “Tell us who you are.”

Ever so slowly, as the tides ebb and flow and the moon blooms and shrinks, the female tilted her head in their direction and pierced them with a gaze that ripped through their skin and bones, anchoring itself into their souls.

The creatures recoiled violently, shrieking as they tore their limbs back through the bars. One slammed into the far wall of its cell, clawing at its own face as though trying to rid itself of what it had just seen.

The warm brown that had rested there moments before began to fade and dissolved. It bleached into something pale and empty. Milky white orbits remained, not blind but depthless and focusing on something far beyond.

The red eyed creature in the darkness laughed, loud and deep, pure delight spilling from it.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice curling with something almost like reverence. “What a beautiful bride.”

The girl’s lips parted and when she spoke, her voice did not echo but it layered. A soft and gentle tone vibrated and beneath it something else whispered with her.

“I danced with the devil…” she stated.

A faint smile touched her lips, though it did not change the giant eyes staring into the abyss. “…but he couldn’t keep up.”

I have been working on different little fics and couldn't wait to share this one with you. I always switch between the very angsty and profoundly sad head canons to the fluffly and heartwarming ones, depending on my mood and where my mind takes me. Unfortunately, I have more angsty ones lined up, which you'll hopefully enjoy just as much 🫣

I always wondered, how Azriel's insecurities would play out in the Elriel dynamic and I liked the idea of him clinging to her as much as she would to him, representing the dychotomy of soft and strong. I hope you enjoy! 💜

The decision to do this was a long, drawn out discussion that Azriel and Elain had gone back and forth on for weeks. However, her Archeron determination and gentle persistence had worn his armor down and he had eventually agreed. This would be their first night together, spent sleeping in the same bed for a whole night. Azriel had tried to tell her how monumental this was, never in his 500 plus years had he let a female share the same bed as him, but the words caught in his throat and melted away when Elain peered at him patiently and open. She had argued that they could try it and see how it went, not seeing what the issue could be. This amazing female understood every argument, every underlying nuance between the lines but didn’t see any fault in trying.

They didn’t touch much when they finally lay down together.  Azriel lay rigid beside her, every muscle tight beneath his skin as his shadows curled lazily along the walls. He’d warned her quietly, and earnestly that sleep was dangerous territory for him. That nightmares came like blades in the dark and that his body remembered things his mind tried to forget.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d said, voice low and almost ashamed.

Elain had cuddled into him then, her body a steady and soft tether. “You won’t,” she replied. “And if you wake… I’ll be here.” She smiled and let her fingers brush his scarred hand as if it were something precious instead of ruined.

Azriel rolled onto his stomach, instinctively placing distance between them, one arm hooked around his pillow and his head turned away. Elain watched the rise and fall of his back for a long while before sleep claimed her. Azriel stayed awake for a longer time staring at the wall and praying to whoever would hear his pleas, that the night may pass uneventfully. Eventually his eyes grew heavy but his locked up muscles did not relax one bit.

 Elain woke to tension, not her own but it radiated from the male sleeping next to her.

Azriel’s body was frozen, his muscles drawn in so sharply it looked painful. Sweat slicked his skin, and his breath came in harsh and broken grunts. His hands clenched the pillow as if it were an enemy and his shadows writhed restlessly and agitated.

Elain slowly pushed herself up on one elbow and felt her heart pounding. “Azriel,” she whispered but no response came. She carefully reached out and laid her hand against his bare back, which was warm, damp and trembling beneath her palm.

Suddenly time stopped for a moment and then everything happened all at once.

Azriel surged awake with a snarl and whipped around with a terrifying speed. There was no recognition and no restraint. Only the instinct to end the threat before it ended him. Steel flashed in the dim light, a knife already in his hand, which he had yanked from beneath the pillow where he’d hidden it out of sheer habit. The blade drove down mercilessly.

Elain gasped and twisted toward him just before it struck, the knife burying itself deep into her pillow instead of her skull. Silence crashed over the room. Silence so deafening it burst through every barrier.

Azriel froze, his chest heaving and his eyes glowing faintly as if some feral part of him still hadn’t realized where he was. His face was wild and unguarded; terror and violence etched into every sharp line. His pupils were blown wide like a predator caught mid kill and for a heartbeat too long, he looked at her like she was an enemy.

Then the nightmare bled into reality and his face drained of all color.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart.  He stumbled out of the bed, his hands shaking so badly he couldn’t still them, pacing hard enough to leave grooves in the floor. “I knew this was wrong. I KNEW it!” His wings quivered from his strained muscles.

Elain sat unmoving, still processing the shock which locked her limbs. Her pillow lay shredded, feathers spilling like something eviscerated. Slowly, she forced herself to stand on trembling legs.

“I’m not hurt,” she said, pushing the words out like they weighed a thousand pounds. “Azriel, I’m fine.”

He whirled on her, his eyes opened wide and his voice cracking. “I almost fucking stabbed you!” The words came out sharp and raw. His breath came in short bursts, and he continued pacing like a caged animal.

Elain shook her head and stepped closer, planting herself directly in front of him despite the way his shadows recoiled. He flinched and stepped further away from her, increasing the distance between them and panic tore at her.

“That wasn’t a dream,” he went on, louder now, completely unraveling. “That was training. Conditioning. Something carved into me so deeply I don’t even think about it anymore.” His hands fisted his hair. “I wake up ready to kill.”

Elain shook her head more fiercely and stepped closer, refusing to retreat. “That’s not who you are.”

He didn’t hear her, but his gaze dropped to her face and then he saw it. “You’re crying,” he whispered, devastation hollowing his chest. “You’re afraid of me.” His wings slumped and the tips dragged onto the hardwood floor.

“No. No! NO!” Elain wiped her face quickly and angrily, like the tears had betrayed her. “I was in shock. That’s all.” She lifted her chin, her eyes bright and earnest. “I am not afraid of you. I never have been. I never will be.”

The words broke something inside him anyway. “You should be,” he rasped, his voice growing weaker and quieter with each word. “Any sane person would be.”

She shook her head again, which made the last clinging tears fall from her eyes like leaves shaken from a tree. “Azriel.” Her hands reached out to him, desperate to touch and hold him.

He turned away, pacing again and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “I am not good enough for this. For you. I am what happens when monsters survive.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I ruin everything gentle.”

Elain followed him, her heart splintering with every step. “You are gentle.”

He laughed, broken and hollow. “Did you not just watch me almost kill you?” She stepped directly into his path again, forcing him to stop. Her fists shook, but she stood her ground.

His eyes were glassy now, raw and unguarded. “I will never be safe. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“You are safe,” she argued quietly. “You’re careful. You’re kind. You feel so very deeply for a male who thinks he doesn’t feel enough.”

He scoffed bitterly. “I’m not good enough for you.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing like it wanted to escape his body. “You are perfect for me,” she whispered her voice trembling but sure.  “Not in spite of what you’ve endured but because you survived it and still choose gentleness.”

Azriel backed away from her, shaking his head violently. “You don’t understand. I am broken in ways love does not fix.”

She followed him. “Then let me sit beside you in the dark.”

Azriel closed his eyes, a tear slipping free despite his efforts. “I don’t deserve you.”

Elain stood there, small and trembling, surrounded by feathers and shadows and the truth of him. She reached for him again, her hands trembling slightly from adrenaline as she reached for his hands. “You are everything I want,” she spoke fiercely. “And I am choosing you. Always.”

Azriel crumpled inward, his shadows collapsing around him as if they, too, were grieving but he couldn’t stay. The room felt too small and too intimate, filled with the echo of what he’d almost done. Shame clawed up his spine, choking and relentless. Before Elain could say another word, darkness began to gather around him as his shadows swarmed, and he felt the familiar pull of winnowing coiling in his gut.

Leaving was easier than staying. It had always been.

Suddenly her hand closed around his wrist and the shadows shattered. The winnowing collapsed violently, magic snapping back into him like a broken wing. Azriel staggered back gasping and shock tore through him as he stared down at her fingers still wrapped around his skin.

No one had ever stopped him before. Not once.

She looked up at him, steady and devastatingly calm, as if she hadn’t just done something impossible. Her grip didn’t tighten and she didn’t flinch.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. Not a plea but as a set boundary.

Azriel’s breath came uneven. “You shouldn’t…” His voice broke. “You don’t...”

“I do,” she replied, soft but unmovable. “You run when you’re afraid. You disappear so no one can reach you.” She stepped closer, still holding him, her eyes bright but unwavering. “I will always reach for you in the dark, Azriel. Always. I will stand beside you when you’re convinced you don’t deserve it.”

His wings twitched, the membrane shaking with distress.

“But,” she continued, steel threading her voice now her Archeron resolve sharpened by love, “if you truly don’t want me, if you look at me and mean it when you say you want me gone, then say it.”

Her hand slid up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing beneath his eye where tears fell despite his best efforts.

“If you really mean it,” she whispered, “I’ll leave. I won’t argue. I won’t beg. I won’t ask why.”

His breath hitched violently and his eyes scanned her face for any sign of fear. She searched his face too, heart bare in her gaze. “But don’t push me away because you think you’re poison. Don’t decide for me.”

Azriel looked at her like a frightened boy trapped inside a warrior’s body. His eyes shone with tears trembling on his lashes. “You don’t scare me,” she said softly. “And I will fight for this. For you. For us. Being with you is the safest I have ever felt.”

Her voice cracked. “How could something that feels like this between us be wrong?”

Azriel stared and stared at her. His mouth opened and closed but no words came. Just a silent, unbearable ache tore through him. When he blinked, tears spilled more freely. He bowed his head and his shoulders sagged heavily. His wings drooped as if they could no longer hold their weight.

Elain stepped into his space without hesitation and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. She wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him against her chest, holding him like something precious instead of dangerous.

At first, his fists stayed clenched. His body shook, and tremors wracked him as he fought the instinct to pull away, to disappear and to save her from himself.

But then, slowly, his hands opened and he leaned into her. His forehead pressed against her collarbone and his wings folded inward as his arms came around her in a tight, desperate hold.

He should pull away. That was the rule, the instinct and the law written into his bones long before he ever had a choice. When someone reached too close, when they saw too much, he disappeared. He became smoke, shadow and silence.

But Elain was holding him, not only holding him physically but she held the shards of his soul in the palms of her hands.  Azriel let himself slump more into her, the scent of her flooded his senses, which grounded him in a way nothing ever had. His wings ached, heavy and useless, mirroring the way his chest caved in.

Every example of a failure he ever was crashed into him at once: the screams he couldn’t stop, the blood on his hands and the instinct that nearly killed her. The reflex that proved, over and over again, that he was not safe and not worthy of softness.

She should hate him. She should be shaking, running and looking at him with fear but instead, she was cradling him like he was something breakable.

His breath stuttered and his fists clenched again, nails biting into his palms as his body trembled. He hated this, hated how foreign and exposed he felt with the complete loss of control. Azriel had not let himself cry like this since he was a boy locked in the dark, praying that someone would come.

No one ever did. Until now.

Tears continued to spill freely despite his iron control. He tried hard to swallow the sound that rose in his throat, but it fractured into something broken. His chest heaved as the weight he had carried for centuries finally crumbled in on itself.

His hands loosened, slowly and carefully and then they curled into the fabric at her back, gripping her tightly and desperately.  Azriel pressed his face into her shoulder and broke.

Not loudly or violently but it was a silent collapse, his shoulders shaking and breath torn from him in jagged pulls as centuries of restraint unraveled all at once. Because for the first time in his life, he let someone hold him back.

They stayed standing like that for a long moment, Elain holding him and Azriel clinging as though the floor might vanish beneath his feet if he let go.

Eventually, the trembling eased and his shadows curled low and quiet around their ankles like exhausted sentries finally allowed to sleep. Elain’s hand slid slowly up and down his back, grounding and patient.

“You’re not alone.” she murmured into his hair. “Not with me.”

His breath shuddered out of him and he nodded once, unable to speak as his throat was tight with too many things he’d never been allowed to feel all at once.

When she gently guided him back toward the bed, he went willingly. The torn pillow still lay there, feathers scattered like fallen snow. Azriel stiffened at the sight of it but Elain didn’t hesitate. She simply nudged it aside with her knee, sweeping the mess away without flinching and without even a flicker of fear crossing her face.

Instead, she tugged his intact pillow closer and pulled it deliberately into the middle of the bed. Right where there would be no space left between them.

“Well,” she said lightly, a softness threaded with mischief touching her voice, “I suppose this means we’ll have to share.” She smiled victoriously at the display. “Which is what I wanted anyway. So really,” she added, settling closer, “you were doing me a favor.”

Azriel huffed and a tiny, barely there smile touched his lips.

They lay down together, slowly and carefully. His shadows stirred and gently lifted the blanket and tucked it over them both as they crawled beneath. Azriel’s body felt unbearably heavy, like every wall he’d ever held upright had finally come down all at once. Exhaustion pressed into his bones and Elain curled into him without hesitation, fitting herself against his side as though she had always belonged there. His arm came around her instinctively, pulling her closer to himself.

She kissed his forehead, slow and tender. “For good thoughts,” she whispered. “And gentle dreams.”

Then her lips drifted lower and brushed his chest over his racing heart. “All feelings are valid,” she said softly. “They deserve space. They deserve to be seen and heard.”

Her mouth found his finally, a breath of a kiss which she carefully placed on his cracked lips. “And for true words,” she added, voice barely more than air, “spoken from the soul.”

Azriel could only stare at her and he blinked once, and then again. Something in his chest cracked wide open at her words and Elain smiled at him. They lay quietly, just breathing and eyes locked.

He saw it, the determined love in her gaze. Depthless and steady. Neither fragile nor conditional. Love that chose and stayed. They settled together then, heartbeats slowly syncing, her hand warm against his chest as his wings curved protectively around them both.

Azriel saw her the moment he stepped into the garden. Her presence brushed against his senses like the first warm breeze of spring. His shadows surged, writhing in a silent frenzy, tugging him forward.

He didn’t mean to look for her, at least that was the lie he told himself. But his eyes found her instantly so tuned to her presence, before every shadow around him whispered there…there she is.

Elain

He tried to be subtle, tried to walk normally, breathe normally and exist normally but inside, everything in him lunged toward her. She was sitting in the grass with Nyx nestled in her lap and sunlight scattered across her hair like gold dust. Her face was soft, gentle and peaceful. Until she wasn’t.

Her body went still, not visibly and not to anyone else, but Azriel noticed the shift in her breathing, the slight stiffening of her shoulders and the way her eyes darted away from him as if burned. And then she angled her head down deliberately. The movement sent her hair cascading over her shoulder, falling like a curtain between them.

Blocking him out. Hiding from him.

Azriel stopped breathing. On the outside, he didn’t so much as blink. His face was a perfect mask of icy disinterest, carved from centuries of practice. Internally, however, fire and ice tore through him and twisted into something dangerously close to panic.

Look at me, he begged silently. Just once. Just for a moment.

He wanted, Mother above, he wanted to step forward and brush the hair back from her face. To slip his fingers gently through the golden strands and tuck them behind her ear. To angle her chin toward him so she couldn’t hide, so he could see all of her, all the softness, the steel and the secrets she kept pressed to her chest like a shield.

He wanted to drink in every flicker of her eyes, searching for even the smallest sign that she felt anything at all when he walked into a room.

But she didn’t look at him. Not even for a heartbeat. Elain’s gaze was fixed entirely on Nyx, as if the baby was the whole world and Azriel was nothing more than a shadow passing over the garden path. His shadows writhed violently around him, mirroring the irritation and the ache tearing through his ribs. Agony hummed through his veins, sharp and cold and begged violently for an outlet.

Just look at me, he whispered inwardly again. Elain. Elain, please.

Nothing. Not even a glance.

He locked it all away. Every shred of it. Ice hardened over his features, smoothing his expression into something empty and unbothered. Detached. No weakness. No cracks. No truth.

He turned toward Rhysand but that proved to be a mistake. Rhys’s eyes flicked between Azriel and Elain, quick, sharp and assessing. Azriel didn’t need daemati powers to know exactly what the High Lord saw and what he was putting together. Rhys was his brother but, in that moment, with truth too near the surface, Azriel couldn’t bear the scrutiny. Not when everything inside him was screaming Elain’s name. Not when every thought was a twisted plea.

Look at me, Elain. Please. Just look once. Give me something to hold on to.

Every muscle and every breath hurt. Wanting her attention had become a marrow deep agony he could not shake, a longing that had worked itself into every hollow part of him. His hands twitched at his sides small and barely perceptible, but enough to betray the violence of the impulse roaring through him again and again.

To go to her. Kneel before her. Tilt her chin up with gentle fingers. Brush her hair back so he could finally, finally see her face. See her eyes. See her.

Elain

He could feel the sting of her deliberate avoidance it was a practiced hiding. Maybe she didn’t realize how perfectly she concealed herself and how she masked every flicker of emotion from the world. Azriel clenched his jaw until it ached, but the ache was better than the hollowness.

 Look at me. Please. Just once. Let me see you.

Rhys spoke, and Azriel responded automatically, his voice flat, clipped and unreadable. His mind, however, wasn’t on the information. His shadows weren’t either, they curled behind him and reached for the space where Elain sat, restless and hungry for something they would never touch again.

He kept his eyes forward, on Rhys, on the path, on anything that wasn’t the gentle slope of Elain’s shoulder or the shimmer of her hair.

Inside his head, however, the words wouldn’t stop. With each step he took and each beat of his heart the words pounded against their enclosure:

Please. Please look at me. I can’t stand this distance. I can’t stand not seeing your eyes.

She didn’t lift her head. Not when Feyre knelt beside her, not when Nyx squealed with delight and not when the shadows stirred with his longing. Elain remained bent over the child, hair shielding her like armor locking herself away from him.

Azriel walked away feeling like he was leaving more than the garden behind; he was leaving the last fragile shred of hope that she might ever look at him. Let him in. He followed Rhys out of the garden with a face carved from winter, while inside the storm of want and regret and unspoken agony screamed her name.

Elain

I am so curious to see Rhysand's and Elain's interactions and relationship in the upcoming book, so I have been playing around with some ideas of mine. I have Azriel's POV written but am unsure if it's needed. Let me know what you think! 💜

Elain had been humming softly to herself, letting Nyx’s warm, wiggling weight settle more fully into the cradle of her arms. The garden at the River House was quiet at this hour, only the rustle of roses and the low chirp of early summer insects was audible. Nyx reached again for the pale pink bloom she held between her fingers, his tiny fists brushing its petals.

A low thrum rippled across the wards, a vibration she felt in her teeth and bones. It was Rhysand’s power unfurling in a flash of unchecked darkness. It rolled through the garden like a gathering storm, and Elain stiffened, not from fear but from the sheer force of it.

Shortly after, Rhys burst from the house with the door swinging shut behind him. He strode across the steppingstones without noticing them, or anything else. His face was carved tight, jaw clenched and his eyes glowed the faint violet of barely leashed magic.

Elain watched him like one watches the sky before it breaks open with thunder. His shoulders were rigid, as if he bore too much weight there and had forgotten how to set any of it down. His hand dragged through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he exhaled a long and fraying breath.

She could hear his thoughts without needing the gift of a daemati: too many concerns, too many lives balanced on his decisions. Fear for his court. Worry for his family. So  much relentlessness and unyielding pressure.

When Nyx let out a soft coo Rhys spun, facing them. His power snapped around him and then vanished instantly when his eyes landed on them.

The transformation was almost startling; his features softened and the tension in his jaw loosening as though a hand had been taken from his throat. The glow in his eyes dimmed to something warm and familiar. A different facet of him slid into place; the father, the mate, the brother in law and the male who could feel joy instead of only responsibility.

Elain blinked slowly at Rhysand. It was like watching a prism reflecting the light turn in her hands, each shift revealing something new, something truer.

He walked toward them, his pace slower now.

“Hello” she greeted him quietly when he stopped before her. Nyx babbled when Rhys’s shadow fell over them and reached for his father’s trousers. “Are you alright?” she inquired softly.

Rhys shrugged, attempting nonchalance but he couldn’t fool her. “It’s nothing,” he murmured.

Elain tilted her head and studied him. She took in the small signs like the faintness of the shadows under his eyes, the hint of magic still crackling at his fingertips, the way one shoulder sat slightly higher than the other because he was still bracing himself for a blow that would never come.

“It’s not nothing,” she said softly, not as an accusation but stating a simple fact.

His eyes, however, flicked to hers, sharp, assessing, but not cold. Searching, almost. As if he wondered what she saw or what she knew.

Nyx squirmed in Elain’s arm and reached again, now more impatiently, for the flower. Rhys crouched and reached out by brushing a thumb over his son’s chubby cheek. The stern lines of his mouth eased at the touch of his son.

“What happened?” Elain asked.

Rhys hesitated just long enough for her to see the truth. He wanted to lie, to spare her and to keep his burdens locked away where no one could be crushed by them. His wings gave the faintest twitch.

“It’s just…things I need to sort out,” he finally said. “Court matters.” Another pause. “I didn’t mean to…flare like that.”

Elain shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize for being overwhelmed.”

His brows lifted in surprise at her honesty.

Elain let Nyx wrap his little fingers around the stem of the flower, guiding him gently so he wouldn't crush it. “You carry a great deal, Rhys,” she said. “No one could do it without feeling…some of it.”

He truly looked at her and studied his sister-in-law. He felt as if he were seeing a facet of her he hadn’t paused long enough to observe before.

She just offered him a small and steady smile in return. “Sit with us?”

The question hung in the garden air, simple and soft.

And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court and bearer of endless weight, closed his eyes briefly and then lowered himself into the grass beside them. He settled comfortably. feeling the earth cool against his palms. He hadn’t meant to sit, he hadn’t even meant to stopbut something in Elain’s voice had cut straight through the walls he’d built around himself, without er even trying.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Elain Archeron had always possessed a quiet sort of presence, like dawn spreading across a still lake. But he was beginning to understand there was far more beneath that soft exterior. She was watching him without truly looking at him but somehow seeing him all the same. Picking him apart gently and without judgment.

Most people didn’t read him because they simply couldn’t and he didn’t let them. He’d spent centuries ensuring no one could see the vulnerable pieces beneath the smirk and his status as High Lord.

Feyre could read him, his brothers, at times. But Elain, Elain did it without trying. He felt oddly…exposed beneath her gaze. As if she had taken his armor, placed it neatly beside him, and handed him a cup of tea instead. It was unsettling, a little disarming but not unwelcome.

Nyx babbled something at the flower in Elain’s hand, drawing a small laugh from her. Her smile was small but real. He leaned back on one hand, letting the silence stretch in a way that felt almost peaceful.

Rhysand felt the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders as if the earth itself had taken part of the burden from him. Nyx whimpered contentedly in Elain’s arms, tugging at the flower she held.

For a while, they said nothing. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…restful. Surprising, given how raw and frayed Rhys still felt.

“How do you do it?”, Elain’s voice wove itself towards him.

Rhys blinked. “Do what?”

Her gaze traced his posture; the lines of strain still etched into his face. “Carry all of it,” she said quietly. “The pressure. The court. Everyone’s worries. The responsibility of so many lives.” She paused, brows knitting. “How do you bear the weight and still…keep going?”

Rhys inhaled slowly. The question pierced deeper than he expected but he managed a faint, wry smile while his High Lord mask slipped back into place with practiced ease.

“It’s what I was made for,” he answered carefully. “What I chose. Every decision, every burden…they’re part of the duty I owe my court. My family. And I accept them willingly.” He paused, voice softening. “But I’m not alone in it. Feyre, Cassian, Azriel. They shoulder what I can’t. I don’t have to watch over every single person.”

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to him. She blinked once slowly, almost owl-like, her head tilting to the side in that thoughtful and instinctive way she had. As if she were studying him through a different lens. As if deciding what to say.

“You don’t have to waste your time thinking about me,” she said calmly. “Or watching.” Her voice was soft but not self-pitying, nor fragile. Just stating a truth she’d carried alone for a long time.

Rhys held her gaze. Something unreadable flickered across her expression. Something that felt like the quiet echo of a door closing. But she didn’t look away.

They stared at each other for a long stretch of silence, sunlight filtering through leaves above them and Nyx babbling softly between them like a faint tether.

Finally, Rhys dipped his chin in a slow nod. “I understand,” he said.

The words settled between them with an odd heaviness.

Elain looked back down at Nyx, smoothing the baby’s hair with gentle fingers and her face serene once more, her thoughts tucked away somewhere far beyond his reach.

For the first time in a while Rhysand felt a new kind of unease threading through him. Before he could decipher it more, footsteps crunched over gravel and the wards responded with a whisper.

Feyre and Azriel stepped into the garden and Rhys felt Elain still before she even looked up. The second her eyes landed on Azriel, she dropped her gaze, turning it fully to Nyx as if the baby had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in Prythian. Her body angled just slightly and subtly, but unmistakable to someone trained to read people. Her hair slipped forward over her shoulder, falling like a curtain between her and the approaching people.

Azriel paused only long enough to incline his head at Elain, his expression unreadable. Too unreadable. Shadows curled around his shoulders like a second skin, betraying nothing but Rhys knew him. Knew how tightly Azriel held himself these days. Knew what had been left unsaid after that disastrous, ill-fated Solstice. Knew the way Azriel looked at Elain when he thought no one noticed.

Rhys looked between them and saw the angled tilt of Elain’s head, the shield of hair and the stillness in her spine. If he hadn’t known about Solstice he might have thought she was simply shy or distracted.

“Rhys,” Feyre said gently, drawing his gaze. “Az has information for you.”

Rhys rose smoothly to his feet, cataloguing the flicker of something across Azriel’s face as Elain continued to stare steadfastly at Nyx’s tiny hands.

Feyre slid into the grass beside her sister with the easy grace of someone who knew this place as home. She kissed the crown of Nyx’s head before settling close enough that her knee brushed Elain’s.

Elain didn’t look up once. Her entire focus was on Nyx by adjusting the flower in his hands, brushing her thumb over his wrist, on really anything but the Shadowsinger standing not ten paces away.

The curtain of hair remained, shielding half her face and her expression. Azriel turned slightly, waiting for Rhys to follow. The shadows around him rippled, restless despite his icy calm exterior.

Rhys cast one more look at Elain whose shoulders were drawn in and her gaze fixed downward, a fortress disguised as serenity. Then he inclined his head to Azriel, voice low. “All right,” he murmured. “Tell me everything.”

But even as he walked away, he kept half his mind on the two people he was leaving behind. The Shadowsinger and the Seer, each hiding from the other and each pretending not to break.

The room felt suspended in a fragile and breathless quiet. Azriel had still not woken. Moonlight pooled across the bed in pale ribbons, catching the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. His breathing was shallow and his face and skin were almost colorless.

And his shadows…Feyre’s heart broke at the sight of them.

They lay draped across his body like tattered veils, dim and languid, as if exhaustion had seeped into them as deeply as it had into their master. No restless coils or whispering flickers. Just quiet, heavy strands of night pressed close to him in a desperate and protective embrace. As if they were trying to shield what remained of him.

Feyre pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Hours had passed since Cassian had carried Azriel in, poisoned so deeply the scent had burned her nose. Hours since she had slipped into his mind to fight the chaos for him. And hours since she had learned the truth about the order Rhys had spoken that had shattered something delicate and irrevocable:

Azriel is to stay away from Elain.

The memory of Rhys’s voice struck her again with the force of a blade. She had barely recognized him. Cassian had reacted like a wounded storm, furious and loud driving Rhys from the room with a razor edged anger.

Feyre’s breath shook as she looked at Azriel again. He looked breakable in a way she had never seen. Not even after the war, after the worst of his injuries. There was something hollow in his stillness now, which was something that frightened her more than any battlefield ever had.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice splintering.

Her guilt throbbed in her chest, raw and heavy. How had she missed it? Elain’s secret, glowing smiles. Azriel’s soft, fleeting ones in answer. The shadows that lingered in the garden like shy visitors, always drifting toward her sister. All the quiet, hidden threads weaving between them right under her nose.

Her eyes burned as she slowly walked closer to his bed.  “Madja said you need more memories to not get lost in the storm” she murmured softly. “To find your way home.”

Her magic unfurled tenderly, brushing against Azriel’s temple, as she slipped into another memory.

Sunlight warmed her skin immediately in the late afternoon sun which spilt in gold tones, soft and mellow. The River House garden stretched out before her, lush and alive with its leaves rustling gently in the calm wind. Somewhere nearby bees hummed and the scent of roses and late blooming jasmine drifted through the air.

Feyre saw Azriel descending from above with a quiet and controlled grace. His wings caught the sunlight, which cast shadows over the flowers below, before landing softly and stretching them wide behind him. He then slowly, too slowly and too deliberately folded them neatly.

He was making a show and wanted someone to see him arrive.

Feyre felt it then, the faint and tight flutter of anticipation in his chest. A hope so careful it barely dared to move.

Azriel flexed his hands and leisurely walked along the path deeper into the garden, following the sound of a soft, lilting melody weaving between the trees.

When he found her, he stilled completely. Elain sat in the grass beneath the old weeping willow, surrounded by a sea of wildflowers. The late sunlight threaded gold through her curls, illuminating the gentle slope of her features. In her hands, she held a small blue flower by the stem, twirling it slowly between her fingers.

Over and over. A soft, absent minded spinning. Each rotation stroked her thumb, the motion tender and rhythmic which reminded Feyre of a gesture of someone being lost in thoughts.

Azriel’s shadows surged and clustered around Elain as if they adored her. They seemed bold, affectionate and playful. One brushed her cheek like a curious pet seeking attention, whereas another curled around her wrist. A third tucked itself in her hair, weaving through the loose curls like a dark ribbon.

And Elain laughed and reached up to gently flick one shadow with the tip of her finger to which the shadows rippled, seemingly pleased. Azriel’s heart warmed in a slow, steady bloom and Feyre felt the full depth of it.

When Elain looked up then the world shifted. Her eyes brightened instantly, glowing with a softness Feyre had never seen from her. Her whole body seemed to lighten, and her posture straightened with something like joy. The small twirl of the flower stilled and then resumed in a way that felt almost shy.

“Hello,” she breathed.

Azriel smiled soft and true, and it even seemed vulnerable in a way he never allowed anyone to witness. The feeling in him was so strong Feyre nearly staggered. He stepped towards Elain slowly, savoring each inch that brought him closer.

“There will be a meeting soon,” he said gently.

Elain nodded, already understanding what he didn’t say, that he wanted her to come, that he’d come to fetch her, and that he’d chosen to find her before anyone else.

She rose gracefully, brushing petals from her gown. She fell into step beside him without hesitation. They didn’t touch but the space between them hummed, alive with something Feyre could feel in her bones.

As they walked, Elain continued to twirl the flower. It caught the sunlight with every rotation, the petals glowing in a soft and luminous blue. Azriel’s eyes dipped toward it more than once and he continued carrying his shy smile.

His shadows slipped along the ground at their ankles, timid and eager at once, circling Elain’s steps like loyal companions trying to press closer. When they neared the edge of the garden, they slowed and then stopped.

Azriel breathed her in, and the sound of it made Feyre’s throat tighten painfully. He took a step closer, and Elain’s big doe eyes peered up at him.

“If I touch you,” he murmured, voice strained, “they’ll smell our scents. They’ll know.”

Elain studied him, her expression softening, and then she smiled. “One day,” she whispered, “that won’t matter.”

She lifted the little blue flower, which was still warm from her fingers and pressed a gentle kiss to its petals. Then she reached up and brushed the kissed petals across his lower lip.

The touch was feather light but Azriel’s entire body went still as if struck.

“Then this,” Elain said softly, “is my kiss for you.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment at her words. Feyre felt the echo of the emotion that surged through him, which was like a tidal wave of longing, devotion and wonder so overwhelming she thought her heart would split in two.

“I’ll take anything you give,” he whispered. “Anything from you is a gift.”

Elain laughed softly and delighted, warmth blooming across her features. “You are quite the poet.” His wings rustled in response, betraying his joy.

They walked on, careful and distant and yet wrapped in a closeness that felt sacred. Anyone else would see nothing. But Feyre finally saw everything and her heart bled. For missing it and for allowing Rhys’s decree to fall like a guillotine on something so gentle.

Feyre gasped as the memory dissolved.

The sunlight had vanished. The garden had vanished. All that remained was moonlight and Azriel’s pale, unmoving form.

Her breath broke on a sob. She pressed both hands to her face shaking. Tears blurred everything as she curled into herself. “What has Rhys done?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Mother above… what have we done?”

Azriel woke slowly, drifting upward from sleep as though carried by a warm current. For a long while he didn’t move and didn’t even dare open his eyes. He simply breathed in the warm air and intoxicating scent of jasmine, honey and his own. The sheets were tangled around him, the pillows soft and his wings were stretched wide and loose across the bed, no ache or tension pulling at them for once. They lay heavy, relaxed and utterly at ease.

That alone would have been enough to surprise him. Peace settled over him so deeply it made his chest ache. In this hazy space between dreams and waking, he thought distantly that he had never felt this content. Not in centuries of shadows and silence. Not ever.

Memories of last night surfaced and danced fondly behind his eyes. Soft laughter, whispered words, the way time had ceased to matter as they had reached for each other again and again, unhurried and unrestrained. The way Elain had looked at him in the dim glow of candlelight, her eyes bright with warmth and something playful he was still learning how to respond to.

A faint smile curved his mouth. His eyes still remained closed as his hand moved, guided by instinct and need. His fingers searched until they found her smooth and warm skin beneath his palm. At his touch, Elain stirred, and shifted closer with a quiet sound, fitting herself against him as if she had always belonged there.

Her lips brushed his shoulder, a gentle kiss that made his breath hitch. His wings responded instantly, a subtle quiver rippling through them before he could stop it. He let himself sink deeper into the pillows, muscles loosening further as her presence wrapped around him.

Elain’s fingers traced the tattoos on his shoulder, then down his back, following the inked paths slowly, leaving goosebumps in her wake. Each touch seemed to pull him further from the world he knew and deeper into this moment.

She kissed him again, first his shoulder and then the sensitive skin along his neck. Azriel cracked one eye open and saw Elain hovering over him, propped on one elbow and her hair a soft spill around her face. Morning light filtered in faintly, but her smile was radiant, with unfiltered joy shining in her eyes and it stole the rest of his breath. She leaned down and kissed him, slowly and tenderly.

“I thought you would sleep longer,” she murmured and gave his lips another soft peck.

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “Sleep,” he said, voice low and rough with warmth, “is almost impossible with you beside me.”

She giggled, creating a sound light and musical. “Funny,” she teased, “because you were the one who poked me during the night. I just found you far too distracting to rest.”

His smile deepened, memories flickering warmly through him. “You’re forgetting,” he replied, “that you were the one waiting for me with chocolate, cream, and fruit. Unclothed might I add.”

Elain’s smile turned mischievous. She kissed his shoulder again, lingering this time, and whispered against his skin, “You need sustenance. I was only looking out for you.”

Azriel’s grin widened. Carefully, so as not to jostle his wings, he rolled onto his side to face her fully. “Then,” he said softly, “you should be rewarded for such diligent care.”

She hummed, pleased, as she nestled into his arms. The thick blanket shifted, rising around them, cocooning them in warmth and shadow. “I love taking care of you,” she said quietly. “And I’ve been rewarded plenty.”

He smiled with teeth now, something bright and unguarded. “It still hasn’t been enough thanking you,” he murmured, his eyes scanning her face. “Not when you take such good care of me.”

Her nose glided affectionately along his and her smile mirrored his own. His hand spread wide over her lower back and as he felt her warm skin beneath his palm like a teether, grounding him to reality. She slid her thigh over his waist, unhurried and deliberate, and Azriel waited because he had learned that Elain liked to tease, and he found he loved discovering that part of her.

Her hands slipped to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair as she pressed closer, her body fitting against his perfectly. A low hum vibrated in his chest as he nudged her nose with his. They shifted together, tangling further until they were almost completely hidden beneath the blanket, the world beyond the bed forgotten.

She spoke against his lips in a soft and teasing voice. “You’re poking me again.”

Azriel licked his lips, his gaze dark with want and quiet amusement. He leaned closer and whispered, “I can’t help it.”

Elain shifted closer, closing what little space remained between them, and Azriel felt the instinctive surge of excitement ripple through him. He drew it in, banked it carefully and let control settle back into place. Oh, how he loved this. Loved giving her room to lead, to choose and to play. There was something intoxicating about her boldness with him, about the way she reached for what she wanted without hesitation. It was a side of her he was still discovering, one she revealed in quiet moments like this, with soft smiles and deliberate movements. Each time it felt like a gift.

She tilted her hips toward his, just enough. His already hard erection slid between her thighs, dangerously close to where he wanted to sink into her. The friction made his mind hazy, and he inhaled slowly, the sound deep and audible in the small space beneath the blankets.

Elain hovered nearer to his face, so close he could feel her breath mingling with his. Her lips brushed his lips as she whispered, “Breathe slowly.” When she shaped the th in the word, her tongue grazed his and she rolled her hips again and dragged herself against him.

Azriel’s control wavered. He licked his lips again, a reflex he couldn’t suppress, and in the closeness his tongue brushed her lips in the process. The contact was fleeting but charged, enough to draw a soft hum from her. She smiled against him, pleased, knowing exactly what she was doing.

She shifted once more, unhurried and let him feel her again. Azriel exhaled through his nose, a low sound of amusement and restraint, and she smiled wider when she felt his reaction. His hand flexed against her lower back before it drifted lower. He squeezed her behind eagerly, a wordless response to her teasing movement.

Elain’s giggle brushed his mouth, warm and soft, as her hand traced down his chest. Not hurried. Not greedy. Just curious and confident, her touch mapping him as if she were learning something new every time. Her delicate hand encircled him and gave a perfect squeeze, to which Azriel inhaled deeply again. She started stroking him, her body rolling in tandem with her pace and the haze took over his mind and soul. All Azriel could think, feel and want was Elain. He let out a low breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and pressed his forehead to hers. Elain bit her lip and finally leaned in to kiss him while guiding his cock to her entrance.

Suddenly, there was a heavy knock on the door.

Azriel’s mind refused to fully engage, his chest still thrumming with the closeness of Elain, her warmth, her scent and the soft tongue of hers brushing against his. The knock came again, louder this time, followed by heavy footsteps pacing just beyond the door. “Az! I know you are in there. Open up!”

Azriel groaned, the noise finally dragging him toward the edges of consciousness. He rolled onto his back and slung his arm across his eyes. He tried to calm his body down, knowing that the intrusion would not leave unignored.

Elain leaned back slightly and sat up on her elbows, confusion knitting her brows as she glanced at the door. Azriel exhaled heavily, even as his pulse still raced from her touch. “Fucking Cassian,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Apparently, the loudest male in Prythian can’t leave us alone.”

The pounding at the door grew louder, more insistent and the vibrations of each fist rattled the walls and floorboards. Cassian’s voice carried over it, rough and impatient. “Azriel! Open the door!”

Elain’s lips brushed against his as she leaned closer. “He won’t stop,” she whispered, just above the noise, “and… he might actually break down the door. You should go see what he wants.”

Azriel let out a low, frustrated groan, tightening his hold on her as his fingers brushed and squeezed her backside. “Let him break his hand on the door, I don’t care,” he murmured, voice rough. “I only want you.”

She giggled and kissed him quickly on the lips before leaning back just enough to give him a gentle push. “Go,” she insisted and bit her lip.

Azriel’s jaw tightened and he rolled his shoulder as he reluctantly shoved his legs into his sleeping trousers. He marched to his door and tore it open biting out, “What?!” Cassian stumbled back a step and took in his brother standing before him, only dressed in his long sleeping trousers but bare chest and barefoot. His hair was sticking out in different directions, and he sported some scratches and bruises along his throat and shoulder. As Cassian squinted, he swore he could see the now healing traces of a bitemark on his neck. “Training?” the Illyrian asked his brother, but Azriel’s jaw clenched. “No,” he said immediately in a flat, cold and final tone. He moved to close the door, hoping to end the intrusion before Cassian found a way to argue.

However, Cassian, ever the persistent brother, planted one heavy boot in the doorway, preventing it from shutting. Azriel’s wings twitched in irritation.

Then, almost silently, Elain appeared behind him, graceful and quiet like a fawn stepping through the underbrush. She wrapped her arms around Azriel’s middle, pressing close, and brushed a soft kiss to the small of his back right where his wings curved from his spine. Azriel shivered, wings quivering at the touch and his eyes stuttered for a moment as his tension wavered.

Elain’s head peeked out from behind him, dressed in Azriel’s long sleeved sleeping tunic, a playful smile lifted toward Cassian. “Hello,” she said sweetly.

Cassian blinked, taking a beat to process but then, like pieces clicking into place, realization dawned, and a wide, amused grin spread across his face. “Well, hello, Elain,” Cassian said warmly, laughter already threatening to explode from him.

Azriel immediately spread and arched his wings just enough to hide her behind him, a clear and possessive barrier between Cassian and Elain.

Cassian laughed loudly and shook his head at his brother’s display. “Looks like someone’s… very protective,” he said, voice teasing as he leaned against the doorway, clearly entertained.

Elain pressed another soft kiss to the curve of his spine, murmuring, “I’ll get ready,” before darting toward the bathroom attached to his room. Both males watched as she disappeared from sight, her presence leaving warmth behind.

The moment she was out of view, Azriel whirled around, eyes blazing and his shoulders tense. His voice dropped low and dangerous: “You’ve got one fucking second to tell me what you want, or you fuck off now.”

Cassian raised his hands slightly, grinning and utterly unbothered. “Training?” he asked again slowly.

Azriel glared at him, jaw tight and his wings bristled slightly. “Asshole” he spat. The tone left no room for argument. From the bathroom, a soft thump sounded as Elain tossed his tunic onto the floor in a neat pile and both males turned towards the sound. Water ran in the bath, and her bright and delighted hum drifted through the room.

Cassian’s grin widened. “Oh, I see, only indoor training for you then?”

Azriel turned fully, moving with a speed that belied his still half-asleep state. He shoved his brother toward the hallway and slammed the door and locked it firmly behind him.

Outside, Cassian laughed loudly, shaking his head as he heard Azriel’s hurried steps retreat toward the bathroom. Then came Elain’s bright, carefree laughter, ringing through the room and Azriel’s deep voice murmuring something only meant for her ears.

Cassian’s boots thundered down the hall, every step an echo of the storm raging in his chest. He didn’t stop moving until he reached Azriel’s chambers, shouldering the door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall.

It was eerily quiet. Azriel was not awake, not waiting for him with that damn unreadable expression, shadows curling like questions Cassian couldn’t answer. No, Azriel lay there, still as death, his chest rising in shallow and ragged breaths that scraped at Cassian’s nerves.

The Illyrian started pacing back and forth to release some of his emotions. His wings twitched nervously, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Feyre’s words still rang in his ears, sharp and furious. He loves her. You told him to walk away.

Cassian swore under his breath and dropped heavily into the chair beside the bed. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and his hands fisting his hair as he stared at Azriel’s face, which was too pale and too still. His shadows were drawn in tight like they were holding him together.

His chest ached at the sight and the thought train revolving him and Elain unconsciously started.

At first, it was just fragments and small things that he remembered. The way Azriel’s voice went softer when she spoke. The way his shadows leaned toward her without command, like living things reaching for warmth. How he had listened to her, truly listened and never interrupted, never rushing her words. Cassian had seen it all, he just hadn’t looked properly to see it clearly.

A memory rose, unbidden and vivid enough that Cassian could almost smell it.

He’d been halfway down the hall when it hit him, and he’d groaned, quickening his pace as he pushed into the kitchen. Sweetness and buttery warmth filled the kitchen and spilled out into the surrounding rooms.

Nesta and Elain stood at the counter, their shoulders angled toward one another in easy conversation. Loaves of bread rested beneath linen cloths, and several cakes golden and fragrant were arranged neatly on a platter, one already cut into. The room had always felt different with Elain in it. Softer and warmer, so much that even Nesta couldn’t succumb to her.

 “Cauldron bless whoever baked these cake!” Cassian grinned, hair still damp from the bath, leathers traded for loose trousers and a half-buttoned shirt. He hadn’t even waited before reaching for piece of cake. Cassian shoveled it into his mouth, moaning around it. “Gods, this is heavenly.”

Nesta had snorted. “Maybe behave less like an animal and use a fork.”

“Training does that,” he’d replied and already reached for another piece.

They’d chatted easily. Cassian was rambling, Elain asked polite questions and Nesta offered dry commentary until the eldest Archeron sister stretched and rolled her shoulders.

“I’m bathing before my muscles revolt,” she said, eyeing Cassian. “Try not to eat the entire kitchen.”

“No promises.” Cassian shot her a wink as she left shaking her head smiling.

Cassian turned back toward the platter, already reaching for his third piece when Elain suddenly blocked him with a wooden spoon. She slid the platter just out of reach with surprising swiftness. “Cassian,” she said gently but firmly, “the cake is for everyone.”

He gave her a wounded look. “Everyone includes me.” He was about to stretch his arm and reach behind her when shadows stirred at the doorway. Azriel stepped inside, freshly dressed and hair still damp too.

Cassian’s breath caught now at the memory of it. Azriel walked casually but determined to Elain and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. His shadows had curled lazily at his feet, seeming content. In hindsight it showed Azriel in an unguarded and intimate way he had almost never seen from his brother.

Cassian smiled at them and reached again for the cake, but Elain slid the platter farther away. She cut a generous slice, placed it carefully on a plate, and handed it to Azriel. Then, and only then, did she push the platter back toward Cassian.

Azriel had leaned against the counter behind her, taking a bite from his piece and smiled smugly.

Cassian eyed his piece and his brothers carefully.  “Why is his bigger?” he demanded.

Elain shrugged, didn’t spare him a look and continued kneading the bread dough. “Because you’ve already had two.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

Azriel’s grin was slow and satisfied, growing by the second while pointedly eating his cake very indulgently. He winked at Cassian who glared back at him and promptly flipped him the bird.

Elain looked at him in that exact moment and gasped. “Cassian!”

He startled. “What! No! Not you! I’d never!” He flushed, mortified and stumbled over his words though his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t directed at you.” He wheezed and felt awful.

 Azriel chuckled darkly, rubbing his eye with his middle finger and very deliberately returned the gesture to Cassian from behind Elain’s back. Cassian’s glare could’ve shattered glass.

Elain moved back to knead the dough. “Honestly,” she muttered and shook her head.

Azriel, who was still enjoying every second, asked innocently: “How many pieces have you had?”

 “Two,” Cassian snapped. Azriel lifted his free hand and held up three fingers and then rubbed his own stomach. Cassian stared at him so intently he thought a blood vessel would pop. “Asshole.”

“Cassian!” Elain whirled, hands on her hips now. “That is enough. You are banned. Out of the kitchen. No more cake for you!”

 “What?!” Cassian yelped. “But… but…! This is a betrayal!”

“Out!” Azriel laughed outright. Grumbling, sulking, and absolutely seething, Cassian stomped out of the kitchen Azriel leaned comfortably behind Elain enjoying both his cake and his victory. As he shot one last look back Azriel’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and he was opening his wings and leaning forwards towards Elain, about to give her another kiss on the temple.

Now, sitting beside Azriel’s bed, the truth settled heavy in his chest. “Mother above,” he muttered. A rough, disbelieving laugh slipped out of him as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was her. It’s always been her.” Because Azriel, his brother who was forged of shadows and scars was unguarded with no one, except Elain. Cassian looked back at him, shadows tucked tight and his breath shallow.

I hope everyone has had a lovely Christmas and a great new year! I have been writing drabbles of different scenes I have conjured in my mind and more are coming soon. Do enjoy! 🌸

Elain had not meant so see anything, as she walked along the streets of Velaris.  She had been looking for Nesta to return a book she’d lent her, its pressed flowers still tucked between the pages. Laughter drifted from Emerie’s open store soft and bright, and Elain heard Gwyn’s voice. Elain slowed, maybe Nesta was with them and when she peeked in through the window that was when she saw it: the glint of a rose necklace at Gwyn’s throat, delicate petals fashioned in metal and light.

Elain’s breath caught, sharp and sudden, like frost in her lungs. She knew that necklace the way one knows the shape of a dream that’s been lingering too long upon waking. She had traced the roses with her fingers that very evening, it leaving an invisible imprint on her skin.

Elain turned away before she could be seen, before the hollow ache in her chest could spill onto her face. So that night, Elain packed quietly.

She did not tell anyone at first only when she had filled her light bag and felt sure that tears would not threaten to spill from her eyes did she inform her sisters of her departure. Feyre held her a little too tightly, as if she sensed how fragile Elain felt beneath the calm. Nesta said nothing at all, only pressed her forehead to Elain’s and nodded once, fiercely. There were no explanations given, no accusations voiced. The unspoken expectation and push from her sisters and their mates, for her to give the mating bond a chance, had finally worn her thin – or so it seemed.

Rhysand winnowed her at dawn and when they arrived minutes later the human lands greeted her with the scent of earth and distant rain, the softer magic of a world that did not hum constantly with power. Lucien waited nearby, as always patient, tentative and his bond hummed quietly in her presence. He smiled when he saw her, relief flickering in his eye, but Elain could not bring herself to return it fully.

Rhys studied her for a long moment, violet eyes sharp yet unreadable. He had pushed this the most, convincing himself it was for her own good. Distance, simplicity and a chance to heal away from the tangled emotions of the Night Court. “It’ll do you good,” he said gently. “Time away. Space to breathe.”

Elain turned to him then. Her smile was small and careful. Not the warm, open smile she once gave him across the breakfast table, nor the quiet affection of a sister. This one was distant. Polite and controlled.

“Whatever makes you happy,” she said.

The words struck harder than any accusation and Rhysand froze.  She hadn’t said it like a sister speaking to her brother-in-law. She hadn’t said it like family. There was no shared history in her tone, no trust, no belief that her happiness mattered alongside his. She said it the way one addressed a High Lord with bland politeness, with obedience and with the unspoken understanding that his will outweighed hers.

For the first time, Rhys realized she did not feel heard and even worse, she did not feel seen. He had thought he was helping and had believed he was acting out of care and out of responsibility. But in that single sentence, Elain had stripped him of the illusion that he was protecting her at all.

Elain, he said into her mind, instinctively reaching for the familiar, gentle presence he had always felt there.  If you don’t want this, we’ll go back. I’ll take you home.

Nothing answered him and he was met with resistance instead.

Her mental walls were not merely raised but they were solid, smooth and impenetrable. A garden gate that had once stood open to him was now locked, reinforced and sealed with a quiet finality. There was no flicker of uncertainty or soft edge to slip through. Just infinite silence.

Rhysand recoiled as if burned. He had never encountered that from her. Elain, whose mind had once been all sunlight and open doors, whose thoughts had brushed against his with unguarded trust.

The awareness hit him to the bone because she hadn’t just closed her mind, but she had closed him. Shock rippled through him, cold and sharp. Not as a High Lord denied entry but as family shut out. As someone who had taken too much for granted, who had mistaken gentleness for permission and silence for consent.

Elain stepped beside Lucien then, her posture calm and her expression serene in a way that felt feigned and wrong. Elain did not look back once.

Rhysand remained where he was, the morning wind tugging at his dark hair, her words and the silence that followed echoing endlessly in his mind.

Whatever makes you happy.

For the first time in a very long while, Rhysand wondered if his assumption had come at the cost of someone else’s trust and whether that was a wound he might never be able to undo.

It was months later when Rhysand saw Elain again.

Velaris still carried echoes of her absence. Feyre and Nesta had agreed to an arrangement for just the three sisters to meet on a biweekly basis at the Town House. However, no males were allowed in their quiet sanctuary carved out of sisterly love, only Nyx was permitted to join, toddling through sunlit rooms with laughter that chased away shadows. If Nesta ever spoke about the happenings of their meetings, Rhysand didn’t know but Feyre was tight lipped and rarely gave away anything. He had prodded and asked her numerous times, but she just shook her head and changed the topic. Once he had dared to send tendrils of his power to eavesdrop, but he was met with a wall of magic which he could not slip through. Later, during his telling off and Feyres yelling did she reveal that the bubble had been Elain’s doing and never again did he dare cross the sister’s boundaries. Sometimes when Rhysand lifted his son from the floor and pressed a kiss to his dark curls, there was a faint scent of jasmine and honey clinging to him. The only proof Elain had been there at all.

So when she arrived in person, Rhysand felt it like a shift in the air. Not a ripple of magic or the bright warmth he remembered but something muted and careful. She entered beside Lucien, his hand resting easily at her side. She was beautiful, as she always had been, but the sparkle in her eyes was gone. No nervous fidgeting, no shrinking away from Lucien’s proximity. If anything, she seemed… settled. Not joyful. Not radiant.Just fine.

And that, Rhysand realized with a sinking dread, was worse.

He watched her closely as Feyre embraced her, as Nesta studied her with that sharp, unreadable gaze only Nesta possessed. Elain spoke softly, smiled at the right moments, laughed politely when expected.

Rhysand, however, knew his sister-in-law. He recognized the careful cadence of her voice, the way her smile never reached her eyes. The way she kept herself contained, like a garden trimmed too perfectly and every wild thing tucked away from sight. It was a façade, and it was flawless.

Azriel and Cassian were still away, but returning from Windhaven soon, when Elain and Lucien excused themselves. “We’ll be leaving shortly,” Lucien said easily, offering Feyre a nod and Nesta a quiet smile.

Rhysand clasped Lucien’s forearm, murmuring his goodbyes and playing the part expected of him. Lucien lingered a moment longer, exchanging a few final words with Feyre.

When Elain turned to Rhysand, she gave him that same small smile from when he had winnowed her away. The one that had haunted him for months.

They waited together in the quiet, the room suspended in a strange stillness as Lucien said his goodbyes to Feyre. Rhysand found himself speaking before he could stop himself. “You’re leaving early.”

Elain didn’t look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on a distant point; her hands folded neatly before her. “You know why.”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened and he nodded once. Azriel, then. It had to be. The silence stretched, thick and heavy and it pressed against him.

Quietly her voice slipped into his mind.  Clear. Controlled. Deliberate.

I understand now how you felt.

Rhysand stilled, confusion flickering through him. Her mental presence did not retreat. Instead, she continued, her voice steady but sharp around the edges.

 It’s just your body reacting.

The words struck with brutal precision and his breath left him in a rush.

She turned then, finally looking at him and for the first time since she’d returned, he saw emotion in her eyes. Hurt, raw and undeniable. Strength, hard and unyielding. And beneath it all, a quiet, simmering anger that did not need to scream to be devastating.

Elain held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, which was long enough for the truth to settle deep into his past trauma from his time Under the Mountain. Finally, Elain turned away like a soft summer breeze. She walked to Lucien, placed a hand on his arm, and together they winnowed out of the room without a backward glance.

The world tilted.

He made it as far as the railing before his knees gave out, the nausea crashing through him hard and fast. He retched, the shock finally finding a physical outlet and his body betraying him as thoroughly as his assumptions had.

Somewhere behind him, Feyre called his name, but all Rhysand could think about were Elain’s words on repeat:

Whatever makes you happy.