mar ☆

One year, seven months, seventeen days and six hours had passed since the mating bond had snapped into place. 

One year, seven months, ten days and zero hours had passed since the day she walked into his life. Since the last time he had ever touched you.

They were the most agonising nine months of your life, and yet you bloomed through the pain so gracefully because you’d rather he was happy and free than unhappy and yours. You loved him, without a doubt. And there was a time when you thought he loved you too. 

But here you sit, in Feyre’s vanity room with a flute of sparkling wine and a throbbing headache as the girls all fawned over Elain in her dazzling gown. She looked beautiful and radiant, the absolute picture of Fae grace, as she should do on her wedding day.

You were happy for her. You truly were. She was kind and caring to the core. She wasn’t ruthless and reckless like you. He deserved somebody to steady him, to make a home for him, a warm one that he never thought he deserved until her; not rile him up and be an everlasting stressor in the back of his mind.

You swayed back and forth on the canapé, taking in how the stark snow white of her gown very subtly faded into a cobalt blue right at the very bottom, like a brush of cornflowers pooled at her feet.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you hated yourself for it.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, Elain.” You swallowed hard, yet gave her the most genuine smile you could muster.

She turned to you, and alarm quickly overtook her beautiful features. “Oh, don’t cry.” She pattered over to you and sat next to you on the canapé, much to Mor’s annoyance who wasn’t finished applying her makeup. Elain draped her arm along your shoulders and rested her head on yours. “Don’t cry, lovely. Your time will come too.” She giggled genuinely.

Oh, how far she had fallen from the real reason for your tears. But you were happy to let her think the way she did. That your tears were as shallow as they seemed.  

“I’m not sure it will.” You sniffed, but gave her arm a squeeze. “Go back to your makeup chair, before Mor guts us both.”

She beamed at you, showing off her perfect teeth beneath those blush lips. Lips that would touch him in all the ways you couldn’t. In all the ways that you had dreamed you yourself would cherish and worship your mate for the rest of your days.

Amren left the gaggle of females around the makeup chair, and walked gracefully towards you. Only her and Rhys had ever scented the truth, and you supposed it was somewhat comforting to have one person know the true reason for your tears. Even if it was Amren.

She placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed hard, yet reassuringly, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

“It will be okay, girl.” She murmured quietly.

You smiled sadly up at her. “I’m not so sure.”

She stared down at you, stone faced. “There’s no other option.”

You nodded to humour her, despite how aware you had become of all your other options that did indeed exist. Your head was filled with poison, and you were sure no alternative would be enough to drain it out.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts. “It’s me.” Rhysand’s smooth voice slid through the gaps in the doorframe. “Am I allowed in? Are you females all decent?”

“Come in!” Elain called out, after they had all giggled at his choice of words.

The door creaked open, and in walked Rhysand, in a midnight blue suit that made his violet eyes sparkle. He walked over to Feyre, pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and then turned to Elain.

“My, my!” He shook his head in disbelief. “You are quite the sight.” He took her hand and twirled her around.

He looked overjoyed for Elain, despite his initial aversion to their pairing. But that was before Lucien had left Prythian for good, satisfied with the life he’d built with his so-called Band of Exiles. Rhys shortly came around after that, mainly thanks to his own mate’s persuasion to ironically ‘let nature run its course’, and her ideology that what’s meant to be will be.

You had almost laughed out loud at her reasoning. Nature had quite literally told you what was meant to be, but that didn’t seem to matter to either party.

No, not to Azriel. And certainly not to Elain with Lucien. So all you could do was sit there and drain glass after glass of wine and wallow in self-pity, watching a beautiful girl get her gown tailored and makeup done for her wedding to the male whose invisible thread was bound to the depths of your very soul. 

Not that he seemed to care, not with the way he looked at you with such disdain. Looked at you like your very existence tainted the air that his precious Elain breathed; like you yourself were just vermin he wished to be exterminated.

Gone was the male who kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without you. The male you’d shared your mind, body and soul with. Gone were the hushed whispers and stolen kisses after midnight and the reverent touches in places you’d never even reached yourself. For a short while, you were his religion. But in this case, his faith had long dissipated.

No, that male was long gone. But there was an extraordinary phenomenon that took place, that even he couldn’t explain. 

Azriel was always adamant that he controlled his shadows; and that they didn’t control him. But when he had tried to send them to spy on you, not out of concern for you but to ensure you didn’t harm Elain in the early stages of their courtship, they flat out refused. 

Like the shadows still knew you, despite what had become of yours and his’ relationship. His shadows would not conduct any surveillance on you, much to his discontent. And this was the first time anyone had seen anything like it.

A few quiet sobs from Feyre broke you out of your poisonous train of thought, and you glanced up in alarm until you realised she was just emotional for her sister. 

Something withered inside you. Wilted and broke down and died. Nobody would ever shed such emotion for you. Nobody would ever prepare you for your wedding and cry for you and cheer for you and stand by you as you began the rest of your life, no.

Your heart still belonged to him. And it always will.

After chatting with Elain, Rhysand marched in your direction, taking a seat next to you. 

“Unclench your jaw.” He spoke softly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Does it matter?” You barely acknowledged him, staring straight into space.

He took the wine glass out of your hand, and placed it on a side table. 

“You look like you need air.” He whispered. You just shrugged in response.

He raised his voice slightly, before he said. “I think you should go fetch us some more wine, just to be on the safe side. Can’t let Mor run out before she’s done working her magic.” Rhysand winked at Mor, and then winked subtly at you.

You squeezed his hand gratefully, before hurrying out of his and Feyre’s bedroom door before anyone could say or ask you anything. 

Clutching your chest, you practically sprinted in your heels down the hallway until you reached the little terrace balcony opposite the stairs to the main hall in the River House. You shoved open the lattice doors, and immediately gasped for air.

You couldn’t slow your breathing. You swallowed lungful after lungful of air, clawing at your throat and yet nothing was making the tightness, the constriction subside. You braced your hands on the stone balcony fencing, leaning over it and trying to slow your hyperventilating.

Your mate was getting married. Your mate was getting married and not to you. The male who held you like you were his biggest blessing and tasted you like you were his favourite sin, was about to wed another female. He saw what he wanted, saw how her sisters’ lives had panned out and decided he was entitled to complete the pattern; three sisters for three brothers. 

Your heart thundered against your ribcage, but finally, your breathing began to slow. Your hair had no doubt been ruined from leaning over the balcony and it blowing freely in the wind, but you didn’t care. You raked your fingers through it and let it tumble down.

Suddenly, you froze as you heard the terrace door behind you creak open.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His scent was ingrained in every fibre of your being, written into your biology like he was part of you. No, you’d recognise it for eternity.

You held your breath, bracing yourself for the door to slam once he realised who was outside, but no such sound came.

“Are you alright?” Azriel spoke quietly.

Your knees practically buckled in shock as you turned around, glancing at him over your shoulder. “What?”

“How are you doing?” He stared at you with an unreadable expression.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat not subsiding. “Since when do you care?” You whispered hoarsely.

“It’s polite to check on a female in distress.” Was all he said.

“Right. I forgot how polite you are.” You turned back around to face the Sidra to conceal the sneer that escaped you.

“I’m trying to be better.” He explained. “For Elain. She makes me better. Less volatile.” 

“That’s fantastic.” You clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut. 

“Are you being sarcastic?” He asked in disbelief, as if it was ludicrous for you to feel disdain towards him after everything. Of course you were angry, even if your heart still cried for his.

“I’m not trying to.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“Don’t make this hard for me.” He whispered, and you whipped back around in shock.

“What?” You scoffed in disbelief, pointing at yourself. “Me?”

But there was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Something that resembled remorse.

“Yes, you.” He stood his ground.

You laughed humourlessly. “You have some fucking nerve, Azriel.” 

His expression immediately turned sour. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“You had the choice to do the right thing over a year ago.” You seethed. “Don’t come here and play the victim because you want to clear your conscience .”

“I’m not here to clear my conscience.” He thundered, taking a step closer.

“What are you here for, then?” You huffed a shrill laugh. “Enlighten me.”You blinked hard, as the wind quickened and blew some strands of hair into your face. 

“You can’t take anything seriously, can you?” He shook his head. “And you wonder why I chose her.”

His words slapped you harder than any palm ever had and would. Even he looked slightly taken aback at his own monologue.

Yet where tears would have usually fallen, all you could feel was the anger thrumming in your veins thanks to the copious amounts of wine that bubbled under the surface and finally reached your system.

“I’m happy for you Azriel.” You stepped closer, so much so that your chests were almost flush. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “Truly. I hope you live happily ever after and have a plethora of children and she bakes and gardens for you for the rest of your days.”

He misunderstood your tone entirely, and rage bloomed on his face. 

“Perhaps the simple life is what I desired all this time, but you only ever cared about yourself to see that.” Azriel crossed his arms.

You looked him up and down. “You can lie to me all you want, but please don’t lie to yourself.” You said quietly. “You never liked simple.” You glanced down once more. “Are you satisfied, Azriel?” you hummed, stepping closer.

You knew that even if he tried to deny it, thanks to the bond his skin would always burn and his blood would always pump harder in close proximity with you.

“Do not ask me such questions.” He seemed like he was almost squirming.

“Does she touch you better than I did?” Your voice sounded gravelly.

No response came from him, so you simply laughed. “I suppose the baking makes up for that, then.”

He grabbed you by the throat, spinning you both and pushing you hard against the lattice doors. Before you moved away, flashbacks of being in similar positions with him ambushed your mind. 

Movements that were usually accompanied by whispers and strokes and grasping at each other desperately like you couldn’t breathe had somehow turned into being accompanied by rage and rebuttal and loathing.

“You speak of baking and gardening like it is sin.” His fingers flexed around your throat, and his jaw clenched hard. “I’m rather satisfied that my betrothed takes on such homely tasks, instead of slaughtering and torturing in dungeons and on battlefields for a living and then drinking and soliciting men in her free time.”

He held up his scarred hand for you to see, his speech clearly not over. “I would rather feel this again than to ever be touched by you again. You disgust me.”

This time, hot tears did burn your eyes as you felt your heart crumple from within. Your traitorous, fitful heart. 

You struggled to take a deep breath with the hand around your throat, but you tried. “I was by your side on every one of those battlefields.” You rasped softly.

His eyes widened and he loosened his grip slightly, before he suddenly became aware and his face became apathetic again. His grip remained loose, though. 

He let go, and pushed off the wall and away from you. “If it were down to me, you wouldn’t even be in the wedding. But Elain wants you there. She’s kinder than we’ll ever be.”

You rubbed your throat gently, grateful to be able to take deep breaths again. He pulled the handle on the lattice doors, clearly deeming it time to end the conversation. 

“Congratulations, Azriel.” You said softly, before the door fully closed. And you thought for a moment that you saw him hesitate. Saw him pause in his tracks. But the door closed anyway, and he was gone. 

You slid down against the doors and the tears came in full swing. You hugged your knees to your chest as rumbling, sorrowful sobs escaped your throat. The clouds began to darken slightly, as though rain was pending. But at least it was still warm, despite the winds.

You cried for at least twenty minutes, until you wiped your nose and pushed your hair out of your face, and decided it was time to face the music. 

But first, you went in pursuit of that wine Rhysand had ‘sent’ you for.

-

Third seat, second row. 

That was where you sat amongst the rest of the attendees, all in agonising anticipation of the event to come and to see the bride in her gown, for not everybody had shared the privilege you had of getting ready in the High Lady’s chambers with the bride herself. 

Harp strings twinged, and fiddles groaned as the music slowly came to life, and you knew Elain would be walking towards the altar any moment now. The altar you refused to look at, for he was stood there. Tall, proud, and devastatingly beautiful. Elated and anxious and excited to begin this chapter; to start the beginning of the rest of his life.

But you couldn’t help yourself. You glanced up at him once. 

And once was enough to notice him staring straight at you with an unreadable expression. 

You slowly shook your head, as fury and frustration began to simmer under the surface of your skin once more. What in the Cauldron’s name was he playing at?

You clenched your fists and sank your teeth into your lip to try and send pain to your brain before the tears started. A tactic that never usually failed you. But this time it was no use. Both your lip and your eyes stung, and you looked up again to see him finally look away.

Commotion rustled behind you, and you turned around. And there she was. 

Elain. Beautiful, radiant, and a devastating bride in her custom gown. Taking such slow, graceful steps  that you could barely see her ballet pumps under the cobalt hem of her white dress. The blue that perfectly matched the siphons that glinted on the male waiting at the end of the aisle.

Rhysand walked beside her, her arm tucked in his as they strolled towards the altar with Feyre and Nesta in tow, both holding beautiful bouquets just like Elain, comprised of white lilies and blue cornflowers, then embraced by twined sprigs of rosemary and thyme from Elain’s garden as a finishing touch.

You hated how much of a bitter taste it left in your mouth. You hated yourself, mostly. Both for feeling this way, and for whatever you had been or done to not be good enough for him to choose his mate. The one the mother had chosen for him. The one he was not supposed to live without, and yet you weren’t good enough. Gods, you loathed yourself. You picked up the nearly empty bottle from where it was hidden under your seat behind your dress, and poured yourself a new glass. Not wine, but whiskey this time.

It’s ironic how the burn of the whiskey soothes you, rather than disgusts you. Soothes your scorned heart and tortured soul; you can’t burn something that has already gone up in flames.

A voice smooth like silk slid into your mind. “Steady on the drinks.” 

You looked up towards the front of the aisle, where Rhysand’s head was ever so slightly turned in your direction. He narrowed his eyes so that you’d get the message.

You always listened to him. He was your voice of reason. 

Not today. Not anymore. Today you were a woman scorned, and you didn’t care to conceal how much you felt like acting like one. You raised the whiskey to your lips and drained almost all the contents, before dropping the glass on the floor where its fall was cushioned by the tulle near the hem of your dress. It was pink. You fucking hated pink.

A smile crept onto your face as the amber stain began to spread across the pooled material of your dress on the floor.

“What are you doing.” Rhys tried again. This time, you put your shields up and shut him out entirely. You watched his eyes widen as him and Elain reached the altar. 

Dealing with him would be a problem for another day. Right now, you didn’t want to feel, and the liquor was helping you achieve just that.

Elain finally reached the altar, and took her place opposite Azriel. You couldn’t bear to look as he reached forwards and took one of her hands away from the bouquet, before lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

Your stomach lurched. He had worshipped you like that once. Felt so deeply for you that nature bound you together. And it still wasn’t enough for him.

You felt a genuine ache spread through your chest, and the nausea rose up your throat as they began to read their vows.

The priestess glanced at all the attendees in the pews, and called out; “Does any male or female in this court object to this union?”

Rhysand glanced at you. 

Amren glanced at you.

You almost scoffed at them both, but didn’t wish to draw attention.

But then Azriel looked at you. One long, empty look and you could have sworn you watched the rise and fall of an extremely heavy breath on his chest. 

And your stomach turned again. You closed your eyes and counted down the minutes until everyone filtered out of the temple towards the festival hall. Once you were sure it was less conspicuous, you launched out of your seat and darted down the aisle to the nearest bathing chamber. You could have sworn somebody called after you, but you didn’t have time to turn back.

The moment you opened the chamber door, you hurtled your body over the toilet and violently deposited the entire contents of your system, your throat burning as the whiskey made its way back up. You heaved over and over again, your respiratory tract on fire and your chest like somebody had stuck a knife into it. You couldn’t fucking breathe.

Several minutes that felt like hours later, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rose, taking one look at yourself in the mirror.

What stared back almost made you laugh hysterically. Mascara streaked down your cheeks, your lipstick smudged and the space under your eyes was so hollow it looked purple.

“Of course he doesn’t want me.” You cackled to your own reflection, holding up the bottle of whiskey you managed to remember. “By the cauldron, who would?”

You wiped your lipstick onto the sleeve of your dress, squealing in delight as you ruined the pink material more and more as the day progressed. 

Finally emerging from the bathroom, you threw back the rest of the whiskey and set it down on a nearby maid’s tray, before taking the two flutes of sparkling wine that had sat upon the tray.

One in each hand, you sauntered into the Great Hall, where tables were laid out with elaborate foods and wines and elixirs and petals and gorgeous smelling candles. The cobalt blue theme decorated the entire hall, and you all but sneered at the accents. 

Your eyes narrowed in on the central table, where Elain and Azriel sat, gazing into each other’s eyes with what could only be described as absolute contentment and joy. Rhysand and Feyre sat to their left on the circular table, followed by the rest of the inner circle. You drained your first flute, and set it down.

Rhysand missed nothing. His eyes flicked up, and his expression soon became horrified as he took in your drink and your ruined dress. Feyre then looked up, and you struggled to hold her stare as devastation was written all over her face. She no doubt knew now, too.

You ripped your gaze away, tipped your head back, and poured one flute of sparkling wine right down your throat, ignoring the burn of the bubbles.

And then he saw you. And the love and content that was directed at Elain was replaced with pure ire. Disgust. Fury.

You expected him to simply sit there and scowl, but he banged a fist on the table, and stood straight up. Guests all around the room whipped around and stared in confusion as the groom stalked through the room like an apex predator, nothing but bloodlust on his expression.

Azriel grabbed your wrist. Hard. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” He thundered. 

You tipped your glass towards him. “I’m enjoying the party!” 

A drop spilled, landing on his leather shoe. 

“Oops!” You whispered, covering your mouth.

“Get out.” He said calmly. Too calm.

You pouted up at him, even though your chest burned. It burned with regret, humiliation, any and every form of self loathing that existed. And it burned with the bond, still alive and roaring not to be ignored.

“Get the fuck out.” He repeated. “And don’t show your face around Elain or I again. You’re no longer welcome in our lives.”

You stared at him, as the world suddenly fell silent. The flute slipped from your hand, smashing on the floor. Gasps echoed around the room, the quartet ceased their string work, and you looked behind Azriel. At Elain’s panicked face. 

She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve for you to ruin this for her. 

“I’m sorry, Elain.” You whispered, and you knew she couldn’t hear it. But the expression on her face after you inclined your head told you she understood.

You backed away, sparing Azriel one last glance. It must have been your inebriation, because you could have sworn that the rage on his face faltered for a split second as you slowly stumbled backwards.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated. But no one could hear you, as the strings resumed, the cutlery touched plates and drinks clinked. Everyone had moved on. 

Everyone except you.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured towards the floor, as you slipped through the grand doors.

You slipped off your heels and ran down the stone hallway as a burning pressure began to attack your throat and close it up. Tears stung your eyes and you ran fast, faster, willing your legs to keep up with your mind until you crashed into the double doors leading out into the garden.

You heaved for air, and when you felt your lungs had finally refilled you let out the most harrowing scream you could muster. It registered, it hit you that this was all real. You had lost your mate. Forever. 

Your love wasn’t enough. It never would be. You were broken, torn apart and scarred by life but so was he. Yet although he was enough to make you feel complete again, for him you would never be the cure.

You stared at the garden that Elain had so lovingly cultivated. You were sure their happy, half Illyrian children would run through these bushes one day. And you wouldn’t be around to see it, and it was nobody’s fault other than your own. 

A few hushed whispers sounded like they came from the hushed rustling behind you, but you assumed it was the alcohol. You were hearing things.

Until they got slightly louder, and you were able to make out a few words.

Big event.

Night Court.

Opportunity.

Final chance.

Before you even had a chance to turn around and inspect it for yourself, you scented it before you felt it. The ash arrow, that ricocheted straight through your gut.

AZRIEL 

He had been gazing lovingly at Elain as she chatted happily with her sisters when he felt it. 

His stomach lurched, and an excruciatingly sharp pain struck him in the chest. He doubled over, clutching his chest tightly as he felt a metallic liquid run up his throat and coat his tongue. Blood. His blood. But why?

Rhysand and Elain both whipped around in horror as they had scented his blood first. 

Azriel spluttered as he tried to explain that he had no idea what was going on, but no sound came out as he choked and coughed. The rest of the inner circle began to turn around, and an unfamiliar expression suddenly dawned on Rhys’s face.

“Azriel.” Rhysand’s voice like smooth, calming silk entered his mind. Azriel simply nodded to him to indicate that he had heard as he tried his best not to heave.

“Azriel,” He repeated. “Search inside yourself for the bond.” Rhysand’s forehead suddenly seemed to be slick with sweat.

Azriel blinked at Rhysand in confusion, before his gaze flickered to Elain, and then back to Rhysand. And then his eyes widened, as it dawned on him. As the realisation hit him, what was running through Rhys’s mind. 

Azriel searched. He tugged. Something faint glimmered, but it had dulled tenfold. It had been a long time since he had acknowledged that it was even there, but it still glowed stronger than this recently.

“What’s going on?” Elain murmured, glancing between the two males. “Are you speaking into his mind?”

Azriel couldn’t respond as his chest pain grew with every second, his stomach doing somersaults as he covered his mouth to keep from retching. Elain put a hand on his arm to comfort him as he tried not to vomit. He clutches his chest hard, standing up and doubling over.

“It’s fading.” He choked, out loud this time.

Rhys closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, but Elain and Feyre only looked more bewildered. Nesta and Cassian had returned from their dance hurriedly to check on Azriel as he struggled to keep himself out.

“What’s fading?” Elain screamed, not out of annoyance but out of sheer panic and worry for her new husband. 

“Follow it. Follow what’s left of it, NOW, Azriel.” Rhys panted, wiping his forehead.

Azriel used whatever strength he dug up from within him to ignore the pain and sprint towards the double doors. He tried to follow his heart, but all he felt was the hollowness he’d always believed resided in its place. So he followed scent instead.

The dull ache in his chest became one, sharp sensation worse than anything he had ever felt. And then it was gone. And a flicker of relief washed over him.

Until he saw them. Two Autumn Court sentries, darting through the doors to the courtyard and garden. 

“Hey.” Azriel shouted, walking towards them with Rhys in tow. “HEY.” He screamed.

Rhys made a swift gesture with his hand, and both of the sentries paused as if time had stopped as the High Lord and his friends caught up to them. 

But once they’d made it through the garden doors, Azriel stopped in his tracks.

Azriel froze in shock as he beheld you. Once blushed and bright skin, now sunken and pale. Your expression was permanently fixed into one of despair and…longing. As if you had wished you hadn’t gone through this alone. Your long, lovely hair caked in blood as one arrow was nestled in your neck, and the other in your chest. 

The sound that ripped out of Azriel’s throat was one his friends had never heard, and hoped to never hear again as he fell to his knees and pulled your torso towards him.

He’d known how to scent death on a Fae since before he could walk or fly in the Illyrian camps, and yet he still didn’t accept it as he flattened his palms on your chest and pushed, willing your heart to start again.

“Please.” He whispered.

“Azriel.” Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder. 

But the Shadowsinger shoved his hand off and grabbed your jaw, making you face him. 

“Wake up.” He spoke through gritted teeth, pushing your hair back from your face.

“She’s gone, Azriel.” Rhysand shouted, his tone sterner this time. “You didn’t want her, and now this removes the complication of the mating bond. Isn’t this what you wanted, anyway?” He scoffed.

“Mating bond?” Elain and Feyre said softly in unison from where they had finally caught up. 

Azriel looked over his shoulder at his new wife as tears stung his eyes. 

What had he done? 

He looked back at you. Dead. You were dead.

Rhysand straightened, and turned towards the Archeron sisters. 

“They were mates.” He swallowed hard, and gasps resounded from the small crowd that had began to gather following the commotion. 

An unwelcome figure walked up from behind the Inner Circle, and stared down at your body with shock and anger.

“I told him not to do anything.” Eris Vanserra shook his head as his voice cracked. “He said a Night Court wedding this level of prestigious would be too good of an opportunity to pass up to send you a message.” He covered his mouth as he turned to Azriel. “I’m so sorry.”

Behind him, Elain had began crying. But the sound didn’t disarm Azriel as it usually did. 

“This was Beron?” Rhys thundered.

“I believe so.” Eris muttered. “I rushed here as quick as I could. But I was too late.”

“What have I done?” Azriel whispered. 

“Get the fuck out.” He repeated. “And don’t show your face around Elain or I again. You’re no longer welcome in our lives.”

He had well and truly spoken those words into existence, and he shook his head as he stared at your lifeless body. He pulled your head onto his lap and stroked your hair silently, rocking back and forth as he whispered his apology to you over and over again. 

His mate had died. He could have prevented it. He could have done literally anything differently, and the outcome would have been better than this.

He looked up at the sky, and let out the most bloodcurdling scream to have been heard in all of Prythian, as he searched for the bond within his chest, finding no light and no familiar hum. Just emptiness.

You were truly gone.

You had danced with him for longer than you had expected to. It was surprisingly…pleasant, and he was more than an adequate partner despite having told you he doesn’t dance.

His answer had lingered between you even long after you had stopped swaying to the music and left the dance floor.

You.

Not the music. Not the dancing. Not the wedding itself. Not his close friends and family, the inner circle of his court.

You.

You swallowed hard. “Well, that’s slightly concerning.” You laughed awkwardly.

Azriel’s lips twitched. “Why?”

You tilted your head. “Because if all it takes to distract the Night Court’s Spymaster is a dance, then your enemies must be remarkably fortunate.”

To your surprise, he actually laughed. Not the quiet chuckle he had been giving you throughout the evening, but a genuine laugh that softened his entire face. You found yourself staring for a moment before quickly looking away.

Thankfully, the musicians began transitioning into a slower melody before either of you could continue the conversation.

Around the hall, guests were beginning to gather their things. Some were already making their farewells, while others lingered over the last of the wine and desserts.

You watched as your attendees slowly began to file out of the grand double doors in little groups, the room growing sparser as the minutes stretched into an hour since your dance with Azriel.

The celebration was ending, and you hadn’t realised how much the festivities had distracted you until that moment.

Because once everyone left, once the music stopped and the candles burned low, there would be nothing standing between you and the reality of what had happened today.

You were married. Actually, genuinely married, and the realisation sat heavily in your chest.

Azriel seemed to notice your sudden quietness.

His gaze flicked over your face before he nodded towards the double doors that lead to a balcony. “Ready?”

You blinked. “For what?”

“To leave.” He cocked his head to the side.

The cool night air greeted you the moment you stepped outside, onto the balcony that overlooked most of the moonstone palace.

You inhaled deeply, grateful for the breeze after hours spent inside the crowded hall. You peered down, frowning at the sights ahead.

“The Court of Nightmares.” Azriel told you, watching you scan the horizon.

“How pleasant.” You grimaced.

He chuckled again, but his words were concise. “I promise, the Court of Dreams is a lot more scenic, and a lot less intimidating. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

You folded your arms against the chill. “So how exactly are we getting back to this less intimidating city?”

Azriel turned away from the horizon and glanced warily at you. “Winnowing.”

You felt your stomach dropp. “Oh.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’ve never winnowed before.” It wasn’t a question.

You sighed. “No.”

The Spymaster stared at you. “You’ve never left the Day Court?”

“I’ve left it.” You huffed, blowing a hot breath onto your hands up warm them up. “Just not often.”

His expression darkened ever so slightly. You recognised the look immediately. It was the same look people got whenever they realised just how carefully controlled your life had been.

And then an entirely new expression replaced that one, and he began shrugging off his shirt jacket.

“Here,” he muttered. “Don’t catch a cold.” He said, placing the jacket around your shoulders, leaving him in his black button down with embroidered silver patterns.

“Thank you.” You whispered softly, and he simply nodded.

You cleared your throat a few moments later. “So.”

“So?”

“How unpleasant is winnowing?” You furrowed your brow.

Azriel looked somewhat thoughtful. “Quite unpleasant.”

“That’s not helpful.” You groaned.

“It feels like being squeezed through the eye of a needle.” He spoke carefully.

You simply stared at him gormlessly in response. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious.” He shrugged.

“You couldn’t have said literally anything more reassuring?” You shuddered, very aware that the look on your face must have been disgusted because a laugh escaped him.

An actual laugh.

You pointed at him accusingly. “There it is again.”

“What?” He straightened up, frowning slightly at your interjection.

“That thing you do.” You replied indignantly.

His brow furrowed. “What thing?” He looked genuinely confused.

“You enjoy watching me suffer.”

He scoffed. “I do not. I haven’t known you long enough to decide whether I do or don’t.”

Your mouth fell open in shock, and his shoulders shook slightly with amusement.

“Terrible husband.” You shook your head and tutted.

“One day married and you’ve already reached that conclusion, hmm?” He purred.

“I reached it when you decided the way to take your wife home on your wedding night was to make her feel like being squeezed through a needle. What the actual fuck?” You raised your eyebrows; it sounded even more obscene out loud.

Azriel chuckled and stepped closer. “Come here.”

“Why?” Your heartbeat immediately stumbled.

“Because I need to hold onto you.” He blinked at you in confusion.

“Oh.” You mumbled back. Brilliant. Wonderful. Perfectly normal.

You stepped forward anyway, and Azriel’s hand settled carefully against your waist. His touch was light and respectful, just as it was on the dance floor.

Yet somehow that made it worse, because your pulse fluttered traitorously. It was different this time. There were many others on the dance floor. This was just the two of you. Outside. Alone.

His jaw tightened slightly as though he was equally aware of the contact.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No.” You muttered.

“Good.” He nodded curtly. Before you could protest, darkness swallowed the world.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You had officially decided that you disliked winnowing. In fact, you decided that you hated it with every fibre of your being. The moment your feet touched solid ground again, you staggered, and a strong hand immediately steadied your elbow.

You immediately turned and glared at Azriel. “I think I’m dying.” You spat.

“You’ll live.” He ignored your attitude.

“I hope your shadows abandon you.” You hissed at him, and he whirled around in feigned hurt.

“How will I ever recover from such a request.” He placed a hand over his heart.

“You’re a jerk.” You shook your head.

“And you,” He grabbed your shoulders and steered you around where you stood on what seemed to be a roof. “Need to take in the view.”

The rooftop overlooked what you knew was the city of Velaris. Thousands of lights glowed below, reflecting across the dark waters of the river, the Sidra if you remembered correctly, like scattered stars. Music drifted faintly from somewhere far beneath you, blending with the distant sounds of the city.

It was beautiful. Entirely different from the Day Court, but entirely beautiful too.

The deserts in the Day Court blazed, whereas Velaris shimmered.

You found yourself stepping closer to the roof’s edge, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Azriel asked quietly, “What do you think?”

You studied the city carefully. “I think…” You paused. “It’s smaller than I imagined.”

His eyebrows rose. “Smaller?”

“I don’t mean that badly.” You hurried to explain. “I just expected the Night Court to be…” You gestured vaguely. “More imposing.”

“That’s because this isn’t the whole of the Night Court.” He rolled his eyes, and there the two of you were. Back to square one.

“I know that.” You huffed. “I just expected the city you live in to be bigger.”

“Difficult to please, aren’t you?” Azriel tugged on a sleeve of his jacket that was still draped over your shoulders.

“Perhaps you just don’t know how to please me.” You replied coolly. And then you blushed, once you had realised how that sounded.

“I can learn.” He said with an equally icy tone. Not the tone of somebody who seemed intent on learning. But his eyes bore the expression of someone desperate to know.

“So,” You changed the subject. “Are we going to get off this…” You waved your hand around. “Empty roof?”

“Ah,” He replied. “About that.”

The air above the roof suddenly shimmered, and a training ring and a few shelves came into view, as well as a water station and some stairs leading downwards.

“Ah, a glamour.” You nodded understandingly. “Not such an empty roof after all.”

“Not an empty roof.” He affirmed, holding a hand out. “Home.”

The word made you halt in your tracks, and stare vulnerably up at him. A word you’d never quite understood the meaning of, but he seemed determined for you to start.

You tentatively reached out and took his hand, and he began leading you towards the stairs. Once you had descended, be closed the door behind the two of you and lead you into a grand hallway, the mahogany floorboards adorned in patterned red carpets, with slightly frayed tassels at the ends and corners.

Neat, inoffensive decor lined the shelves and walls on both sides, and you stared at the few doors peppered along the hallway.

“My brothers and sisters’ rooms.” Azriel explained. “They don’t all still live here. We’re on the floor below.”

“We?” You swallowed.

To your absolute surprise and delight, you could have sworn a faint scarlet blush crept up his neck.

“Me. My room.” He nodded. “I’m sure yours will be close by, that’s all. In fact, I think Feyre and Rhysand sent someone over to prepare you a room until…” He trailed off, seemingly pensive.

“Until?” You pressed, extremely curious at what could possibly have the shadowsinger lost for words.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose until you decide where home is for you. For us. For whoever, really.”

“Oh.” You nodded shyly. “Okay.”

“Don’t feel obliged to make it an ‘Us’,” He added. “But don’t be afraid to, either. Now come on,” He placed steady hands on your shoulders and guided you. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Once the two of you had made it to the level below, as Azriel had stated there was a Fae female with kind brown eyes waiting for the two of you outside one of the many doors.

“Lord and Lady.” She beamed at the two of you. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You thanked her, and then turned to face Azriel. “Lord and Lady?” You raised an eyebrow at him. He simply shrugged and grimaced in response.

“I finished preparing your room. If you’ll follow me,” She placed a hand on the doorknob and waited for the two of you to walk towards her. 

“Room? Singular?” You asked, your voice wobbling slightly.

“Yes,” She frowned, like it was ridiculous that you asked.

Oh. It was. You were married. It was your wedding night.

“Right,” You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you so much.”

You followed her into the room, and she explained where certain amenities and toiletries were, congratulated you once more and then scurried off. 

You turned towards a large, four poster bed adorned in what looked to be the softest cotton sheets…and it was covered in rose petals.

“That son of a bitch.” Azriel stared at the bed and muttered. “Rose petals for a desert rose.”

“What?” You wrinkled your nose as you took in your surroundings. Candles had been lit, and a sweet, musky scent wafted around the room. “Which son of a bitch?”

“The…” He rubbed his face with one hand in exasperation. “Both of them.”

“I mean, you have plenty of other bedrooms, right?” You reassured him. “I’ll just go take one of those.”

“They haven’t been prepared.” Azriel shook his head.

“Oh good heavens, however will I survive without a ready made bed?” You muttered sarcastically.

“No,” He sounded irritated. “There’s no beds in there at all.”

“Okay, I’m sure there’s a library with a chaise or a drawing room with some sort of comfortable seating arrangement. I’ll take one of those.” You sighed.

“No.” His jaw visibly clenched, as he continued to stare at the bed. “You won’t.”

“Why?” You threw your hands up, palms upturned in confusion.

He turned to face you, his jaw muscles still ticking. “You think I’ll allow my wife to sleep…spend the night, on a chair?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

That caught you by surprise.

“Azriel…” You murmured.

“Don’t Azriel me.” He shook his head slowly. “You’ll sleep here, on this perfectly pre-made bed.”

“It’s your room. Your house.” You shook your own head this time.

“Ours now. We’ll sort out the cohabiting arrangements better tomorrow, but for now it’s best we get some rest.” He asserted.

“How about we get ready for bed first, and then get back to hashing this out.” You suggested.

He narrowed his eyes and studied you, as though he didn’t quite trust your rationale. Or rather, that you didn’t have a hidden motive behind it. “Fine.”

As the female who prepared the room had explained, the chest of drawers closest to the bed now contained a surplus of clothing for you. Who had bought them, you didn’t have the slightest clue but they were all tailored to the same size as the dress you wore today. 

You kicked your dainty heels off, and pattered barefoot over to the drawers. The top two contained undergarments and night clothes. You selected loose, not particularly flattering undershorts and a sheer, loose linen nightgown. The material was so soft, you unwittingly brought it to your cheek and rubbed it against your skin. Comforting.

“Can you unfasten my dress?” You looked over your shoulder, calling out to get Azriel’s attention from where he leaned against the wall. 

Yet you hadn’t needed to. His eyes were already zeroed in on you like a hawk before you’d even turned around to face him.

Without saying a word, he pushed off the wall and strode over to you. His fingers lightly brushed your neck as he pushed your hair to one side and over your shoulder. Slowly, starting from the top he began to undo the tiny little buttons running down the middle of the back, until the material gaped at the back and it was clinging to your body by little more than a dream.

“Thank you.” You nodded, and lifted your arms to let the dress fall to the floor.

Azriel suddenly broke into a coughing fit. “What are you doing?” He spluttered.

“Changing?” You frowned, stepping into the undershorts and pulling them on, hearing him jump to turn around and have put back to you. You then pulled on the nightgown, and picked up your wedding gown off the floor, laying it gently on a chair next to a long mirror. “Why are you being weird?”

“Why are you just…exhibiting everything for the world to see without a second thought?”

You turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You dramatically placed a hand over your heart. “Is that considered too immodest in this court?”

“Do you just…change in front of whoever in yours?” He sounded genuinely perplexed as he gingerly turned back to face you.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Can you grow up already?” You gestured towards the faint blush on his cheeks. “Have you never seen a naked female?”

His expression darkened. “I’ve seen plenty. Not usually within the first day of meeting somebody I respect.”

“Do you usually marry people the first day you meet them too?” You asked flippantly.

He bit back what appeared to be a scowl. “Touché.” He paused. “But don’t feel like you have to bare yourself to me because we are wed.” He explained gravely.

You scoffed. “I’m not doing anything because I think I have to.”

“Good.” He crossed his arms.

“Good.” You crossed yours.

"You're ready for bed now. Get in bed, then." He inclined his head towards the still-decorated bed.

You paused for a moment, thinking. "I'm not really tired yet, if I'm honest." You said quietly.

"Okay," He nodded. "What would you like to do?"

Suddenly all too aware of the sheerness of your nightgown, you idly scratched your arm.

"I don't know." You admitted, and suddenly his eyes lit up. "What?" You frowned.

"I have an idea." He grinned. "For us to do fun."

"Have fun, Azriel. Have. Fun." You sighed exasperatedly.

"That's what I said!"

"No it's-." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "What's your idea?"

His eye twinkled mischievously. "I bet you've never let an Illyrian take you flying over the horizon of Velaris in the middle of the night before."

You stumbled out of the tub, skin glistening and overheated. Whether from the temperature of the water, or the Spymaster’s proposition; you didn’t know.

You couldn’t believe you were seriously contemplating his offer. I mean, what would you even wear? Your leathers were ridden with dirt and sweat, and by the time you could get them cleaned he’d surely be asleep by then, right?

Suddenly, the sound of fabric hitting wood made you jump a metre to the left. You turned around, having no idea what to expect, but what befell you left you even more confused.

A breezy, linen shift dress, folded on the wooden bench beneath the washbasin. You looked up and around in alarm, as if someone had looked into your mind and took it upon themselves to see to your reservations about your lack of appropriate clothing.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, reaching out and poking the linen with a lone finger. You were met with soft fabric. It was certainly real.

“I’m not doing this.” You muttered to yourself once more. “No way.”

Sure of your decision, you moved to go pick up your fighting leathers to put them back on. Before you could grasp a stray sleeve, they disappeared right before your eyes.

You whipped around in alarm, wondering who could have possibly done that. Who was fucking with you? The tub filling autonomously was one thing, but now your clothes appearing and disappearing according to your thoughts? Somebody had to be doing this.

It couldn’t be Azriel, could it? No, what motive would he have to set you up with such a riddle if he seemed so reluctant to continue it himself? Nobody else was aware of what engagements you might have made while here, everyone thought you were just here to bathe and rest before flying back.

That is why you were there, right?

That only left one option; the house itself having magical meddling powers. Meddling with you and your life and your risky decisions. 

As if in response, a bottle of perfume appeared next to the folded shift.

You stared up at the ceiling. “It’s you…” You shook your head. “It’s the House.” 

A phantom wind blew a few strands of your hair upwards in response.

You scoffed. “You like meddling and drama, huh?” 

Another gust, this time blowing the hem of the towel wrapped around your chest and midriff.

“If you’re going to put me through this, give me a glass of red wine. A big one. Or I won’t have the confidence.” You laughed shakily, both a mix of nerves and incredulity at the situation. 

You were half hoping to be ignored, that this was all in your head, but so it appeared. A glass of red wine. Without thinking, you let go of your tightly clutched towel and threw the wine back in four hard gulps. You’d made your bed now, but you were certain you couldn’t lie in it without some liquid courage.

“Now, House,” You wiped your mouth with a giggle. Not yet a drunken giggle; a nervous one. “Show me to his room.” 

Your eyes darted to the wooden bench on your right as a gust of wind blew one of the sleeves of the shift dress upwards; clearly to catch your attention, and you almost slapped yourself at your stupidity.

“Yes. Clothes.” You sighed, before pulling on the loose shift and fastening the buttons from the neckline down to the waistline. It was clearly a nightgown, else it was a dress appropriate for very few other occasions. Hanging the towel back up, you pattered out of the bathing chamber in nothing but the shift, your hair falling damp over your shoulders and the hem grazing just above your mid-thighs.

You turned to go left towards the stairs, but a force dragged you right back almost instantly.

“Right, then.” You mumbled, stepping to the right. No response. You kept walking to the right until you reached another set of stairs. 

“Up?” You asked into thin air. No response.

You placed one foot on the staircase going upwards, and nothing seemed to try to drag you back or turn you around. So you continued upwards, one foot in front of the other until you reached the very top.

The scent changed up here. Something darker, and way more potent lingered in the air. A long with a woodsy kind of scent. You liked it though, you decided.

You walked down the corridor past several doors, until your body was forcefully stopped in front of one. 

“Here?” You whispered, and a gust of wind blew your hair in response. Almost as if to also say, ‘you’re on your own now.’

Your heart began to thunder in your chest; it felt so loudly you were sure your fellow Illyrian on the other side of the door could hear it as easily as you could.

“Fuck.” You muttered silently. You were really doing this.

Lifting your arm, you rapped your knuckles quietly on the door. 

No response came, yet a barely visible black shadow slithered under the door and up to the handle, turning and opening it itself. Slowly, the door creaked open, and you dared yourself to look inside.

You peered in, and yet you couldn’t see anybody in there. And then, a low, commanding voice crept towards you. 

“Come in.” 

You crept in on silent bare feet, cursing at yourself at your hair still dripping on his wooden floorboards.

“Don’t worry about it.” He crooned, somehow sensing your shame at the mess your wet hair was making. The door closed behind you as you took another step forwards into his room. 

“Where are you?” Your voice was merely a whisper.

“Behind you.” He whispered back, directly into your ear and you immediately jumped. Your head whipped around, and you were shocked to find him stood between you and the door you had just come through.

“How did you…” You trailed off, as you looked him up and down. He was in nothing but loose brown jodhpurs.

A sly smile crept onto his beautifully chiselled face. “So you found my chambers after all.” He ignored your question.

“After such an enticing appetiser,” You rolled your neck in reference. “How could you expect me to not?”

“Ah. There’s that voice again.” He purred. “I thought you’d lost it for a moment.”

You felt a blush rising up your neck as he was clearly mocking your initial shyness, but you tried not to let it show.

“You expect me to not be slightly taken aback by your advances?” You raised an eyebrow. “You’d never spoken a word to me in private before. Barely even spoken to me at all in training.”

This time he pretended to look taken aback. “Advances? I have made none such.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort about how you were promised a massage, a large hand wrapped itself around your neck.

“Do not,” His voice was gentle, yet his words were anything but. “Roll your eyes at me.” He squeezed gently for emphasis. 

You swallowed hard. “So you’re the master both in and out of the training ring, I see.” You whispered hoarsely, your throat tight. 

“If you ever made any other assumption about me,” Azriel spoke softly. “Don’t.”

And then he let go of your neck, turned you around and pushed you forwards until your knees hit the frame of his four poster bed. You didn’t dare wince, though.

“Lay on your stomach.” He commanded.

You looked over your shoulder and blinked at him. You were suddenly very aware of your lack of underwear under the linen shift.

“For your massage?” He peered sideways at you, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Right.” You swallowed, crawling onto his sheets and lying face down, putting your arms by your sides. 

“I don’t expect it will feel very effective through your clothes.” He spoke lowly, dragging out each word.

You looked over your shoulder from your spot on the bed. “Can’t you try?”

He paused, staring at you inquisitively. And then, “No. I cannot.”

You sighed, and began unbuttoning the shift from the waist upwards. He couldn’t see what was facing the bed, anyway. You covered your chest with one arm, and tugged the dress down with your other until the linen was bunched around your waist. Thankfully, the bottom half was still where it should be, over your thighs.

You heard him retreat away from the bed, and faintly made out the sound of a bottle opening and closing. And then hands rubbing together. 

“Some oil. For moisture.” He explained. You wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t, though. Something told you that he knew what he was doing. 

You felt the weight shift on the mattress as he climbed on, settling behind you to the left on his knees. 

Before you had time to think about it, strong thumbs pushed into the rippling muscles above your shoulder blades, and began pressing harder and harder in the surrounding areas.

You pressed your mouth into the sheets as an attempt to conceal the soft groans that rumbled through you as he once again kneaded your extremely sore muscles. He moved inwards, closing in around your spine before traveling back up to that sore, sweet spot on your neck below your skull. His fingers gently pinched the sides, and again his thumbs pushed hard into the back.

You bit your lip hard, and couldn’t stop your hands from reaching out and gripping the sheets as the sensations on your pressure points made you squirm and writhe beneath his touch. 

He hadn’t caused you to make much of a sound, until his strong hands had landed on a sore spot on your left shoulder. 

“Fuck.” You hissed, pulling your hand up towards your mouth and biting on your own knuckle to stifle the sound.

He pulled your hand away from your mouth. “Not happening, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.” He tucked your arm back by your side, even as you continued trying to squirm. “There’s a good girl, you can handle it.” He spoke soothingly, as he dug his fingers directly into the crevices above your collarbones. 

“How are you so good at this?” You whimpered, as his hands returned to your back and made their way down your spine.

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He answered cryptically.

Once he was done with your back, he began rhythmically squeezing your calves, squeeze, pause, move up, repeat. Each squeeze was tantalising, and you were fighting the urge to kick out at him.

You whimpered quietly, and he let out a knowing chuckle. But there was something ever so slightly sadistic about it. 

“Poor little Valkyrie. You don’t realise how much you use your legs, until you touch them afterwards.” He murmured, squeezing your calf in turn.

“Not a Valkyrie yet.” You mumbled into the sheets once again.

He suddenly pinched hard on your calf. “You’re whatever I say you are.” He said, before running his hand slowly up to the back of your thigh.

One squeeze. Two squeeze. He applied more oil, before pressing his thumbs hard into your hamstrings and driving upwards until he was grazing the hem of your linen dress. 

This was dangerously uncharted territory. You reminded yourself that you had on no undergarments, and had no idea if Azriel was at all aware of this fact. If he was, he certainly didn’t let on.

He drove his thumb harder into the backs of your upper thighs and you mewled loudly in response.

“Oh, how responsive.” He purred, before moving his hand tantalisingly close to the space between your thighs. He was kneading your inner thighs now, and you were holding your breath without realising. 

His hands were getting closer and closer there, and you weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or not. Was this part of the massage, or was this something else entirely?

“Azriel,” You weakly warned.

“Hm?” He paused his ministrations, but let his hand linger in between your thighs.

“Where are you going?” You inhaled sharply. 

“Where do you want me to take you?” He whispered.

“Azriel.” You repeated, more sternly this time.

“Do you want me to stop?” He rasped, and moved his hand even closer. With one hand, he continued to knead the back of your left thigh. With his other, he moved it closer and closer to your core.

“Azriel,” You whined, half in defeat. 

“Do you?” He whispered.

“No.” You whispered back.

“I can’t hear you,” He gave the back of your thigh an encouraging squeeze with one hand, and began pulling the hem of your dress up with the other.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, grasping the sheets again and surprising even yourself at your cadence.

He pulled the material up until he was bunching it at your waist, and your backside was entirely bared to him. 

You didn’t dare breathe as you waited. You couldn’t feel anything but air, until suddenly he continued to drive his thumbs and fingers into your thighs, moving further and further upwards. Doing exactly the same thing, just on your ass now instead of just your legs.

Oh. So he really was just giving you a massage.

“Fuck.” He gritted out, and you looked over your shoulder in confusion.

Your eyes widened as you took in his pained expression, and his significantly tighter pants.

“You don’t look so comfortable.” You said in a sultry voice.

“Don’t start with me now.” He hissed, and reached forwards to push your face back into the mattress.

You were completely at his mercy, and the worst part was that it excited you. He could do anything. Absolutely anything he wanted from this position, and you hated that the thought didn’t alarm you, but actually elated you.

There was a shift of fabrics behind you, and before long he was moving to straddle your legs with his own, resuming the massage on your lower back once more. But despite being face down, you didn’t need to turn around to realise that it was bare legs that straddled yours.

His hands moved further up your back, kneading your neck and shoulders once more with both hands. And then he removed one.

He kept massaging you with his left hand, but his right was nowhere to be felt. 

“Tell me I can’t touch you.” He whispered.

“You’re already touching me.” You frowned. 

“No.” He grunted, and his free hand moved back down to your ass, dangerously close to the middle. “Tell. Me. I. Can’t.” He almost gasped.

Your eyes widened, and your breathing was becoming ragged. “Azriel.” You panted, shivering at his proximity.

“Tell me.” He groaned, letting his palm lay flat against your backside while his other hand continued to massage your shoulder.

“I won’t. I won’t tell you not to. I am yours to do with whatever you please.” You gasped, gripping the sheets and taken aback by your own boldness.

That was entirely it. His undoing. The hand on your ass moved down, and you whimpered as you felt him drag one finger up your core.

“Fuck,” He muttered. “You’re absolutely soaked.”

You felt your cheeks reddening, and you were thankful that your face was pressed down now. You almost involuntarily pushed your backside towards him like a cat in heat, your body begging for more. 

He stroked you with two fingers now, but hadn’t gone any further. You groaned indignantly at the lack of fulfilment.

“Hmm?” He hummed. “Is there something you want?” He murmured, and circled your entrance with his middle finger. 

“Azriel.” You whispered, but it was more of a rasp.

“I love the sound of my name on your lips.” He breathed. “But please, Valkyrie, use your words.” 

You hesitated for a moment, thinking about how unbelievable the situation at hand was. 

Fuck it. 

“You, Azriel. I want to feel you.” You panted. “Now.”

He pushed two fingers inside, and you instantly groaned loudly at the stretch. 

“Oh, listen to all that pretty music. Just for me.” He dragged his fingers out again, and pushed back in. Torturously slow, yet deliciously effective. You didn’t spare a thought to wonder how you’d got here with your tutor, no. All you could think about was how fucking amazing his fingers felt. 

His other hand left your shoulder, and he used it to spread your legs further apart. Then, he slid it under you and let his palm massage the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, while the fingers on his other hand continued to push in and out of you. 

“Fuck, Azriel.” You pulled the sheets hard this time, not bothering to keep your arms tucked into your sides as he had placed them. 

He shifted forwards, and you felt it. You felt him, in between your legs. Nudging the crevice in between your thighs. You knew you hadn’t imagined the shift and rustle of fabric and the feeling of bare skin earlier. He was completely bare behind you. He pulled his fingers out of you, and with his other hand he gently grabbed your jaw and turned your head to look over your shoulder behind you.

And then he made you watch as he took his fingers into his mouth and sucked every last bit of your arousal off them. 

You felt your thighs clench at the sight. Nobody had ever made you feel this way; made your stomach feel so tight and your legs feel so shaky.

He shifted forwards once more, and nudged the tip of his cock against where you were still completely soaked. He let it drag up and down, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Wait.” He murmured, and leaned forwards to pull a pillow from the top of the bed. He pulled your hips upwards, and slid the pillow underneath them so that your body made a slight bump instead of a straight line. 

He didn’t give you a moment more to prepare yourself before he pushed into you, and the two of you gasped in unison at the fit. 

You bit your lip and moaned lowly as you felt him bury himself to the hilt, the position of your raised hips with the pillow pressing against your stomach was driving you fucking crazy.

He placed one hand flat on the bed next to your head, and the other gripped tightly onto your hip as he began to move in and out. 

It was now the two of you moaning in tandem, as he ground into you over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight, Valkyrie.” He whimpered. Genuinely whimpered. If you weren’t too sedated by pleasure, you might have gasped in shock.

Pressure was building in your stomach, and you couldn’t help but clench around him in response. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t do that. Not unless you want me to come immediately.” He groaned, and this brought a smug fucking smile to your face.

“You liked that. You liked making me squirm, you little minx.” He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, before leaning down so that his breath was now tickling the back of your neck. “Let me touch your wings.” He whispered sinfully.

You shook your head. Absolutely not. 

He hissed, and immediately began fucking you harder. You were somehow gaining an upper hand in his eyes, and he absolutely hated it. 

“Why.” He gritted.

“Next time.” You purred. You were somebody new now. You had gained a heart of fire and felt reborn. 

You suddenly pushed yourself up off the bed, and forced him to withdraw from you as a result.

You turned around and sat on your knees, letting yourself take in the devastating body of the male before you. He blinked at you, certainly confused yet made no effort to stop you or regain control. 

His abdomen was even more impressive when you could see the V of his obliques, and his bronze thighs rippled with muscle. You boldly reached a hand out, and dragged it down his torso. He didn’t object. So you tested the waters. You pushed him down. 

To your absolute surprise and delight, he let his back hit the mattress and straightened his legs out beneath him. 

You got on all fours, and crawled towards where he now lay on the bed. Without warning, you lifted your leg over his hip and sank down. But not entirely. 

You let his tip graze your core, not letting yourself be fully seated. 

“What are you playing at?” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’m taking my time.” You replied sweetly, letting yourself sink down onto just the very tip. 

He reached up, and tried to pull your hips down onto him to no avail. You held yourself in place, not letting him get what he wants.

“We’re not doing this.” He warned. “You’re not doing this.”

“Or what?” You mused, sinking slightly further down, before retreating back up entirely.

“Enough.” He muttered.

You ignored him, making the same ministrations with your hips, until he reached up with both hands and forcefully pulled you down until your hips slammed onto his. 

You threw your head back and groaned loudly, whether in pain or pleasure you had no clue. He was big. He was so fucking big, and unbearably so from this angle. 

“Oh come on, you can take it.” He began moving your hips in a circle, but not up and down yet. He at least offered you that mercy. His voice softened slightly as he noticed your slightly pained expression. “Come on sweet girl, I know you can take it all.”

“Your dick is fucking huge, Azriel.” You rasped, shaking your head as if afraid to maintain eye contact now that you were face to face.

To your surprise, he burst out laughing. “It wasn’t me who put us in this position, was it?” He gave a lopsided grin. 

You glared down at him, and decided that there were more important things than the slight pain you felt at this angle. You lifted your hips and began rhythmically moving up and down hard, tensing your walls around him while you did so.

You watched his jaw clench hard at the sensation, his eyes almost squeezing shut and you smirked proudly. 

His eyes narrowed in realisation, before he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your throat. Before you could do anything, he pulled you off him and slammed you down onto the bed. 

He stared hard into your eyes as he began rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance once more. You bit your lip and bucked your hips upwards, but he retreated almost instantly.

“Oh, it’s not fun when it’s being done to you, is it?” He purred patronisingly. But even he couldn’t control himself for long. He slammed into you again, and the hand around your throat moved up as he pushed two of his fingers into your mouth. 

Without needing instruction, you sucked earnestly as you batted your lashes at him. Your eyes began to water at the sensation of him filling you from this angle, and you knew there wouldn’t be too long left until you climaxed.

“Such a good girl.” He panted, his forehead becoming damp with sweat. You could smell it, smell him, smell you, smell your bodies mixing and the release of all sorts of chemicals you didn’t understand and yet it turned you on so fucking much. 

Moments later, he rested his forehead against yours as his thrusts became more and more laboured. 

“I need to come inside you.” He whined. “Please, tell me I can come inside you.”

You reached up and caressed his jaw before throwing your head back in pleasure. “Fill me up.” You whispered affirmatively.

He didn’t need to be told twice. After one or two more thrusts, his hips practically convulsed as he spilled himself into you. It felt fucking amazing without a doubt, but you weren’t there yourself. Close, but not there. 

After a few minutes of the two of you panting, he pulled himself out of you and began making his way down the bed. 

“Where are you going?” You lifted your head to look down at him.

He hooked his arms underneath your thighs, nudging his nose close to your core. His wings were spread out majestically behind him, and he truly was a sight to behold in this moment. 

Cassian and Azriel had run you absolutely ragged atop the house of wind, claiming that today was your ‘surprise examination’ on essentially every single manoeuvre they had taught you in the two years they’d been training you.

It wasn’t just you, to be fair. Every single one of you that had shown up was tested to their limits, but of course for you, Deirdre, Ananke and Roslin, it was slightly harder than it was for the Valkyries, despite your athletic heritage as an Illyrian.

You were practically keeling over at the water station when Nesta had walked over to you and said, “Feel free to come downstairs into the house and take a shower and a nap before you head back to Windhaven.” She had squeezed your shoulder and smiled. “Or even spend the night, if you feel it necessary.”

You gave her a red faced smile and a thumbs up, knowing you would definitely take her up on at least one of those generous options. You weren’t clipped, so nobody would be winnowing you home unless you asked, which you certainly wouldn’t dare. And you were far too tired to fly in this state.

Fifteen minutes later, you were taking sluggish steps down towards the bathing chamber, pulling off your perspiration-ridden leathers the moment you’d closed the door behind you. But not before leaning against the wooden frame and hyperventilating like you’d been starved of air. The irony of being so deprived of oxygen inside a dwelling named after the wind.

Once you’d peeled off your clothes, you limped towards the bath and climbed in; before gaping in awe at how it filled to both perfect depth and temperature before you could even reach over to twist the faucet. You hissed as the hot water met your sore, tight muscles, but relaxed soon after as the initial shock faded into something a lot more soothing.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the rim of the bathtub which was thankfully still cool despite the hot water, and it cooled down the back of your neck deliciously. You let out half a groan at the soothing feeling of the porcelain against your shoulders, before startling at the sound of a doorknob being turned.

You hadn’t locked the door. Your stupid, tired, pitiful self had taken a bath in somebody else’s house—without locking the door. You pinched the bridge of your nose, body still frozen as you didn’t dare to turn around.

“Oh…” A deep voice you’d recognise anywhere trailed off, usually the most certain of voices even seemed dumbfounded in this moment. As were you. “It wasn’t locked. I didn’t realise you were in here. I’m sorry.” Azriel muttered.

“I’m sorry for not locking it—” Your cheeks turned red, and you thanked the Cauldron that he could not see as your back faced him. “I’ll get out now, just give me a moment!” You panicked.

Yet surprisingly, a sound you hadn’t heard from him before rumbled from his chest. A chuckle.

“There are plenty of bathing facilities in this house. Do not hassle yourself.” You heard the smile in his voice, which surprised you, because you had rarely even seen him smile.

You nodded, and let yourself lean back against the cool porcelain once more; desperate to savour it before it heated up with the rest of the bathtub. You sank your teeth into your lip in an effort to conceal the groan that escaped you as the cold colliding with your sore shoulders startled you, to no avail.

And right before the door closed, it paused. He paused.

“You sound sore.” Azriel murmured. “Do we really work you that hard?”

You kept your eyes shut, not daring to turn around. “Do you want the honest answer?”

“Of course.” You heard the frown in his voice.

“You work us like a pack of dogs.” You sighed, draping your bare arm over the side of the tub.

He laughed—actually laughed, a deep, hearty sound that slithered over your skin like silk and ricocheted through your body.

“Thank you for your candour.” He said lowly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Why does that not reassure me?” You sighed, daring a look over your shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway.

His eyes met yours. “Because it shouldn’t.”

You sank your top teeth into your lower lip. Somehow, you weren’t deterred from his intense gaze despite your sub-ordinance to him as an Illyrian. “So you didn’t really appreciate my honesty, then.”

His eyes flicked down to your lip, and then back up to yours. “I always appreciate honesty.” He folded his arms.

“Then why did you make it sound like you’re going to make me pay for it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to pay for it?”

You frowned. “Why would anybody wish to be punished?”

He pondered for a moment, before narrowing his gaze. “A lot of people report to have enjoyed being punished by me.”

“Right…” You trailed off, confused. You turned back around, and readjusted your arm that was draped along the side of the tub. Yet you hissed, as you had moved too fast for your sore muscles to keep up.

“Sore?” Azriel purred the question, almost like he revelled in your distress. A sadistic teacher, perhaps.

“How could you tell,” You spoke monotonously, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t do that.”

You froze. You had your back turned to him.

“What?” Your voice was a mere whisper.

“The shadows tell me everything, Valkyrie.” He murmured.

“I’m not a Valkyrie yet.” You sidestepped the slice of information about the shadows.

“But you train like one.”

Your ears perked up. “You really think so?”

“Does your every move currently aching not give it away?” He chuckled again, and you closed your eyes as the velvety sound made you shiver. And his chuckle stopped. “Is the temperature not to your liking?” He asked, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“It’s perfect.” You croaked.

“Then why are you shivering?” He questioned you.

“I suppose it’s a little cold.” You lied, holding your breath.

He finally closed the door, and you heaved a sigh of relief. Yet to your absolute horror, you heard footsteps. On your side of the door.

You felt his presence at your back before you saw him, as he knelt behind the tub. You watched as a tattooed hand, respectfully staying away from you, dipped into the water. Your shoulders were frozen in place, slightly curved inwards to protect your dignity. You weren’t an exhibitionist, and certainly didn’t take to showing your teacher your naked body.

“It doesn’t feel cold, Valkyrie.” He whispered softly, dipping his fingers further in and moving them around.

You opened your mouth to think of some witty or deflecting response, yet no sound came out.

“I was worried.” He murmured gently. “I only came in here to rectify the temperature.” He slowly dragged his hand out of the water, and let it ever so slightly brush against your arm that was still draped around the tub. Much to his amusement, you shivered again. Of course you did. In the two years you’d known the male, he’d never come this close to you while the two of you were alone. Had the two of you ever even been alone together?

“Ah,” he purred. “So that’s why.”

Your breath hitched as he let his finger trail up your arm, until it landed on your shoulder. And then it was fingers, more than one.

And then he began kneading.

You bit back a fitful groan as he began pushing and twisting his thumbs into every crevice of every muscle that connected your back to your shoulders, your neck.

His thumbs pushed into your neck right at the base of your skull and you couldn’t stifle the moan that slipped past your lips at the sensation.

“Azriel,” You rasped, subtly shaking your head.

That seemed to wake him up. He gave a final squeeze, before pushing off his knees and standing up, retreating from the tub.

“Why,” You started, but couldn’t quite move yourself to finish the sentence.

“Why what?” He replied, somewhat hoarsely.

“Why’d you stop?” You whispered.

“Do you know where my chambers are?” He asked breathlessly.

“No?” You retorted. Because obviously, you didn’t.

A sigh fell past his lips. Lips you couldn’t see, but could imagine, blush, parted and plump.

“If you want the rest of the massage, you’ll figure it out. Goodnight, Valkyrie.”

-

There were people dancing, there were some stood idly near the banquet tables waiting for their turn to serve themselves, and there were some simply gaping at you and your new spouse from some forgotten corner of the large room inside the moonstone palace. It was strange to be looked upon like so.

You didn’t dare glance up at the Spymaster sat beside you; you hadn’t looked at or spoken to him since you had exchanged your vows. Vows he had informed you that, had been written for the two of you for the sake of this appearance. It wasn’t public information that this was a marriage of convenience, no. To everyone else, this was a love marriage. The two of you couldn’t resist one another. You hadn’t been doing a good job of convincing the masses yet, with how far away from him you were sat on your shared seat.

Something had shifted between you, then. Nothing bad, but nothing good either. It was a humbling feeling. It had suddenly all become real, and you no longer felt like your lighthearted witty humour. Much to the High Lord’s appease, you supposed. No more interrupting customs, no need for his discipline then.

“Could you perhaps try to look like you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, at your own wedding?” Azriel spoke lowly, and kept his gaze trained ahead.

You felt a slight flush creep up your neck. You didn’t think you’d made your indifference that obvious.

“I don’t know where I’d rather be.” You whispered honestly, yet somewhat vacantly.

Azriel looked to you this time, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Would you rather go home?”

Images of cacti, white airy linen dresses and hot cardamom tea flitted into your mind. You loved those things, they felt familiar, but the Day Court wasn’t home, no.

You looked to the nearest window, and watched as tiny little rhinestone-like flakes of snow landed on the sill. Was this to be your home now?

You turned your head and met his gaze. “Where is home, Azriel?”

If you had blinked you’d have missed it—his eyes widening ever so slightly at the first time you’d ever addressed him by his name. The first of many times, perhaps, he had wondered. Or perhaps not many at all.

“The Day Court?” He offered, and you scoffed softly. You should have known he’d assume it.

“Not anymore. Prison, more like.” You blew out a breath.

“You don’t like it?” Azriel tilted his head curiously.

You shook your head. “I like it. I like lots of things about it. But I loathe the role I was made to play when I lived there.” You muttered.

Azriel smiled knowingly. “Ah. I know someone who went through something similar before she came to the Night Court. I think you’ll enjoy your freedom here, just as she did.”

“So that’s it then. In order to gain freedom outside of the Day Court, I have to live in the Night Court forever?” You idly picked at a gemstone sewn into the white silk of your dress. “Am I really free anywhere, then?”

His expression turned somewhat stern, as he frowned at you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He said, stern again yet still soft. Still gentle. His eyes raked over you slowly, landing on your tawny arms; arms that had spent years baking under the blistering Day Court sun.

“I guess those will get a lot paler here.” You offered a half hearted attempt at a joke. “Perhaps I’ll turn the colour of my dress.”

The Spymaster smiled fondly, looking up from your arm. “You know, the sun does shine here. It’s unforgiving too, especially in the mountains. It just happens to be freezing cold too.”

“Hmm.” You semi-acknowledged. “When can we help ourselves to the banquet table? I’m starving.” You rubbed your stomach dramatically.

Azriel laughed. “It’s your wedding. Your plate is brought to you.”

You crinkled your nose in something that resembled disgust. “How will they know what I want?”

Azriel shrugged. “You tell them?”

“But nobody is going to get the exact portions of each dish that I had in mind.” You pressed further.

“Then tell them to give you extra of each and eat as much as you want, and leave the rest.” Azriel sighed.

“Then that’s wasted food.”

“Food gets wasted all the time.” Azriel seemed a few facial muscles short of rolling his eyes at you, and this did not bode well.

People starved all over Prythian, and they were this wasteful here? You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before you said “Whatever. I don’t have to listen. It’s my wedding, after all.”

With that, you slid forwards on the cushioned wooden seat and hopped off, your heels landing on the small dais with a click. You adjusted your skirts, lifting a bit, and made your way towards the banquet table where most attendees were queueing up to fill their plates.

AZRIEL

He groaned internally, rubbing his face with a hand as he felt his High Lord’s presence creep into his mind.

“Azriel.” Rhysand said quietly.

“No.” Azriel sighed exasperatedly.

“Azriel,” He repeated. “What on earth is your wife doing?”

Azriel froze. That word, he knew it was what you were. But nobody had addressed you as that yet. Said it out loud. You certainly hadn’t acknowledged it, and he didn’t know if he should feel a certain way about that or not.

“I’m not responsible for her movements.” Azriel exhaled sharply.

“Except for the part where you most definitely are.” Rhysand chided.

“I’m married to her. I don’t own her. You of all people should understand that.” Azriel spoke to his High Lord carefully, inclining his head in Feyre’s direction.

Rhysand’s own face softened slightly when he followed Azriel’s gaze. His weakness, and a very easy way to get him in an agreeable mood, Azriel thought.

“Even Feyre allowed herself to be served when she became High Lady.” Rhys turned back to Azriel.

“It’s just food.” Azriel shrugged.

“She’s supposed to give—.”

“No.” Azriel spoke sternly. “We are not mates. That’s a tradition for mates, not marriages of convenience.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes, before stepping off the dais. “Very well then, Azriel.” He nodded before walking back to his seat beside Feyre.

Azriel observed carefully as you conducted your detailed scrutiny of every dish laid out on the table. He even chuckled to himself when he spotted you scrunch your nose in disgust at what appeared to be some form of roast pork. Not a fan of pork, then, he thought.

But he watched your eyes light up when your attention landed on a lamb shoulder encrusted in all sorts of comforting and fragrant spices. You had clearly believed you lucked out here, Azriel figured. He chuckled at your excitement.

You returned shortly after with, to Azriel’s surprise, two plates. His eyes widened as he spotted identical foods on both. Did you…

You pushed a plate of lamb, vegetables and potatoes towards him on the lowered table atop the platform.

“Eat.” You said, matter of factly, yet he continued to stare at you. “What?” You frowned. “You aren’t hungry?”

“Starving.” Azriel murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the food. He was looking directly at you, and swallowed hard.

“Oh…kaaay.” You frowned again at his behaviour, and then reclaimed your seat next to him, and began tearing into the lamb with your cutlery. It was rich, juicy and tender, and the flavour was like nothing you’d had before. “Fuck,” you muttered. “This is amazing.”

“Of course you’d enjoy the food brought from the Day Court the most.” Azriel scoffed.

You turned to him mid-bite, some of the juices spilling over your lip as you spoke. “This is from the Day Court?”

Azriel chuckled as he began spearing into the vegetables on his own plate. “From your uncle’s servants themselves. “You don’t recognise the traditional food of your own court?”

“It’s out of context, it’s on a table in a room decorated to match the Night Court. To me it just looks like lamb. Anyone could catch and cook a lamb.” You rolled your eyes, inhaling another mouthful.

“We don’t eat a lot of lamb in the Night Court.” Azriel spoke softly.

“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” You huffed.

Azriel turned back towards you with a grin, clearly inclined to tease again. But his smile faltered when he noticed the liquid that had dripped ever so slightly down your lip onto your chin. Broth from the lamb, it seemed like.

You watched as his arm twitched at his side, his forearm lifting from beside his plate ever so subtly, index finger inclined to point.

“What?” You raised an eyebrow.

He lifted his finger slightly. “May I?”

Your brow furrowed. “May you what?”

“Touch you.” He breathed.

You put your fork down. “Huh?”

He put his own silverware down and rubbed his face exasperatedly. “For Cauldron’s sake.”

Then, he brought his hand up beside your jaw and gently brushed off the smeared lamb broth on your chin.

“There.” He nodded, looking somewhat pleased with himself.

You stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments, before finally opening your mouth to speak.

“Why didn’t you just tell me I had food on my face?” You threw him a quizzical look.

He gave you solemn back. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You don’t…” You trailed off, eyeing him. “seem like a male who chases fun.”

This time it was his turn to frown. “I do a lot of fun.”

“You do a lot of fun…” You repeated, waiting for him to continue.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“That’s the end of the sentence?” You looked at him incredulously.

“Yes?” Azriel spoke.

“You’ve just proven my point.” You held both of your palms up. “Nobody says “I do fun”. It’s “I have fun.”.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“I have a lot of fun, that’s what I said.” Azriel nodded earnestly.

“That is not what you said!” You exclaimed, before a wave of midnight sky engulfed your senses and you turned to find the High Lord of the Night Court standing on the dais in front of your lovers’ table.

“Greetings,” The High Lord purred. “Is the party to your liking, Miss?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Sure,” You nodded, but you were sure he could see straight through you.

“Azriel?” Rhysand questioned.

“It’s perfect.” He gave a curt nod.

“So then WHY, are the two of you bickering at the dais where you know everyone will be watching you at YOUR wedding?”

“We weren’t bickering.” You scoffed.

Azriel gently nudged you with his elbow. “Please speak to the High Lord with more respect.” He whispered.

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “He’s not my High Lord.” You whispered back.

“Was this marriage forced upon you?” Rhysand crooned.

You swallowed, and turned back to look him in the eye. “No.”

“So you agreed to come here?” He continued.

“Yes.”

“Thus, I am your High Lord.” He gave you a terrifying smile, baring his elongated teeth.

Then, a silky voice slid into your mind. “Look, Day Court.” the voice was less harsh. “Hierarchy is mostly just for show in the Hewn City, where we hold our multi-court events. Help me up the act, and I promise you’ll find I’m not such an asshole when we get home later.”

Home.

You simply gave the High Lord a nod. “Very well, my Lord.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A few hours later, the celebration was reaching its close. You had stifled a few yawns, and tried to make rubbing your full stomach as subtle as possible. A group of young fae sat to the side, playing various different instruments and producing a lilting melody. The instrument that caught your eye was the large, rounded wooden structure that had an array of strings running through it.

You pointed carefully towards it. “What is that?”

“The instrument?” Azriel asked curiously, as the two of you hadn’t spoken in a little while.

“Yes.” You nodded, a small smile etched onto your face. You were absolutely loving the sounds coming from those strings.

“That’s a harp.” Azriel spoke softly.

“It’s beautiful.” You breathed, entranced by the music.

“The structure? Or the music it produces.” He asked.

“Both.” You nodded. “I could listen to it for hours.”

“Do you like music, then?” The Spymaster queried.

“I love music.” You admitted shyly. “All kinds of music.”

Suddenly, he stood up, and extended an arm to you. You blinked up at him in confusion.

“Dance with me,” He inclined his head towards the clearing in the hall where several other fae stood hand in hand, arm in arm, swaying to the music. “To the music.”

You felt a slight blush creep up your neck. “You dance?” You deflected the attention from yourself.

“No.” He said truthfully.

“Then?” You blinked at him, surprised by his answer.

“You like the music, don’t you?” He held out his hand adamantly. “So let’s dance.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to seem indifferent but the blush still bruised your cheeks.

“Do we need a reason to dance at our own wedding?” Azriel raised an eyebrow back.

“It’s not a true wedding.” You whispered lowly. “We do not have to partake in such customs.”

“They don’t know that,” he nodded towards the others dancing. “It’s our job to convince them otherwise. Last offer.” He waved his upturned palm.

You looked him up and down with an exasperated sigh, before placing your hand in his. You could have sworn his cobalt siphon glinted ever so slightly when your hand came into contact with his. Perhaps, maybe just perhaps, his breath hitched when his fingers closed around yours.

Azriel lead you towards the clearing in between the rest of the Fae dancing. Rhysand looked somewhat surprised to see the two of you take to the dance floor, but not unpleasantly.

“Hand on my shoulder,” Azriel murmured, using your entwined hands to pull you from his side to now stand opposite him. Your skirts swished at the sudden movement.

You placed the hand that wasn’t in his on his shoulder, and he brought your joined hands up beside the two of you. At last, his remaining free hand hovered over your waist. His eyes searched yours for permission, and you studied him for a moment, lips parted before you nodded.

His large hand settled above your left hip, and he began to pull you with him to the beautiful music. One step, two steps, you tried your best to keep up with the music despite not having danced in a very long time. You were certainly out of practice.

A few minutes passed, and not a nudge or a squeak from any of your fellow dancing Fae could tear your eyes away from his. There was something strangely intimate about this dance, your hands clasped on one side and holding each others’ body on the other, while looking directly into each other’s eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” You whispered to Azriel.

“Simple answer, or honest answer?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off you.

“Simple answer,” You exhaled sharply, slightly breathless from being out of practice.

He looked somewhat disappointed at your choice, but answered all the same. “The music.”

“Now honest answer.” You grinned, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise before he regained his composure.

“You.” He breathed.

And this time it was your turn to be caught off guard.

“Well of course, you’re dancing with me.” You laughed shakily. “How can you not think of me when I’m dancing with you.”

You had gone four days of battle unscathed. Sure, you had scrapes and scratches here and there, but you had sustained no fatal injuries.

Until the fifth day of battle.

Cassian and Azriel had warned you through gritted teeth not to leave the safety of the battlements. Had pleaded with you to stay and shield Rhysand with them, who was decimating the enemy from behind the battlements, as to not risk both his and Feyre’s lives by entering the battlefield. He would have if you’d let him, but between you, Az, and Cass, he’d have a much worse battle to fight if he so much as set one foot into the warzone.

But you hadn’t listened to your own advice. The reapers that had entered through some portal and currently terrorised the northernmost courts of Prythian could only be killed by bloodbane. And by the time the arrows and harpoons fired from the battlements reached the reapers, the bloodbane slathered on the blades had already worn off.

Weapons without the bloodbane could only maim or injure, but not kill such creatures. You knew the only way to get through a significant number of these demons was through hand to hand combat with a bloodbane tipped sword. Their blood kept the poison wet enough to maintain its lethality. So long as you kept melee killing; one after the other, without so much as giving the bloodbane a second to dry, you were able to make your way through a substantial amount of demons.

You always saw love as an evolutionary fault. As a hindrance to survival. And yet it chased you, no matter how hard you tried to run away. And you had been right. Love would cost you your life.

You loved your friends.

Your last mistake was taking one last look at them.

Hazel eyes met yours and softened briefly, before horror quickly filled them as a poisoned arrow buried itself in your ribcage, and you were plunged into darkness as a sheet was thrown over your head.

Azriel thrashed against Cassian and Lucien’s grips as he watched one of the demons throw a black burlap sac over your limp frame and drag you away with it.

Death, he thought, would have filled him with more ease than wondering whatever the reason they had only wounded you rather than killing you. Whatever the reason was, it would certainly be less pleasant than death.

For a split second, he considered listening to the distant bellows of his High Lord to stand down. Telling him that you made your own choices and you knew the risks.

Yet Azriel knew he would do no such thing. His entire body burned with the urge to go after you; he felt it to his very core. He let his body ease up for a moment, filling Cassian and Lucien with a false sense of security.

The moment they loosened their grips, the Shadowsinger shot into the skies and after the swarm of reaper demons that had scuttled away with you—or whatever was left of you.

The sheer amount of them that encircled you had led them to cover a lot of ground quickly, yet they were no match for the Shadowsinger’s speed and endurance.

Yet with the way your retreating figure seemed to tug his own towards you, he could have made the journey spent and unfit.

He landed deftly onto the ground and rolled stealthily behind the trees closest to where you were being taken. Once he was sure he hadn’t been followed or spotted, he unsheathed twin swords from his back, and spilled bloodbane all over them.

And then the Shadowsinger unleashed hell upon its very descendants.

You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours. Your eyelids felt heavy, and the pounding in your head that you awoke with had you knowing you’d been sedated. Your hands were limp and heavy as you tried to lift them to push away whatever was covering your eyes.

But suddenly, someone did it for you. And you knew your time had come.

Until you realised, the gaze that met yours wasn’t empty and soulless. It was hazel, and it burned brighter than ever.

“Azriel,” You breathed. “You came.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m offended you believed in an existence where I wouldn’t.” He spoke lowly and slowly.

His breathing began to turn laboured, as though he had ran twenty miles. He began to extract whatever serum had been on the arrow that struck you, and you hissed in pain.

His expression immediately softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I have to.”

Black dots swarmed your vision, but only a minute later you came to.

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you looked up at Azriel with relief. You had no pain, and you had regained full control of your limbs.

But the relief slowly slipped out as you looked around you.

No more war cries. No more sounds of swords clashing. No more canons being fired.

“It’s over?”

“Yes.”

“How many did you kill?” You whispered.

“Every last one.” His breathing became laboured.

You felt your face pale. “You didn’t get any of the intel we needed, then.” A statement, not a question.

“No.” Azriel affirmed, his eyes wide and fixated on you as his chest began to heave up and down. His hazel eyes had become burning embers, and something unfamiliar had spread over his face. “You were more important.”

“Azriel.” You murmured softly. “You don’t mean that.”

He gripped my wrist and inhaled sharply. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t mean.” He ground out.

You frowned, placing a hand on his forearm. It felt hot to the touch, despite the freezing climate. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, and you rubbed at your chest as an unfamiliar feeling began to spread. Likely from the arrow.

“I think there might be venom left. Or poison. Or whatever it was.” You whispered, rubbing idly at your chest.

His gaze did not leave yours; his breathing did not slow as he said, “There is none left.”

He was panting now, and you stared at him in alarm.

“Azriel, what the fuck is the matter with you?” You cried, rubbing more harshly against the weird forming feeling in your chest. As though somebody had tried to sew you back together.

He finally looked at the floor. “I—I can’t.” He rasped, shaking his head.

“You’re not making any s—.”

“You’re my MATE.” He bellowed, and the beads of sweat on his forehead became visible, his flushed cheeks glowed, and suddenly something deep inside of you felt a lot clearer.

The incessant itch on your chest was no itch, but a phantom string. A cord connecting you to another.

“What?” You swallowed hard.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I—I should go.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll call Cass to come fly you back.”

You placed a hand on his thigh. “No.”

His eyes squeezed shut as he faced the sky. “Sweetheart. You don’t know what this bond does to males. You don’t…you don’t understand.” He shook his head, eyes still tightly shut as he braced his fingers behind his head and tilted his head back to face the sky.

You brushed off the dirt from your clothes and slowly rose to your feet.

“I understand.” You said softly.

His eyes flew open in alarm. “What?”

“Azriel.” You stepped closer, and he flinched.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was hoarse now.

“I said,” You hissed. “I understand.”

This time understanding shone in his eyes of what you were saying. What you were offering.

He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” His jaw clenched.

You stepped closer, your chests now flush against one another. “Who says you know what you’re getting into.” You trailed your hand up his torso with tantalising slowness. The thread in your chest was unmistakeable now, and despite the fact you’d only just been healed from having an arrow pierce your chest…he was the only thing on your mind.

His eyes darkened and you felt your temperature rise as you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“I’ll break you.” He shook his head, his voice almost a whimper.

You draped your arms over his shoulders, clasped your fingers behind his neck and inclined your head towards the spot on your chest where the arrow had been as you whispered, “You’re the one who put me back together.”

That was it. That was his undoing. He leaned down and his lips came crashing onto yours. Both of you chapped and scarred and dehydrated from battle, yet neither of you cared.

You couldn’t help the strangled sound that escaped your throat when he slid his tongue into your mouth, and he groaned in response. His hands slid down your waist and cupped your backside, before he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

“I need you to tell me you want this.” He was breathing hard, and you could hear his heart pounding.

“Of course I fucking want this.” You hissed, desperate for his touch.

“No,” he shook his head. “You need to understand,” He swallowed hard. “That when you say yes to me, it means you say yes to everything. I can’t hold back. I can’t.” He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain.

Your hand slid from behind his neck to grip his jaw hard, and his eyes flew open in surprise. His lips parted slightly, as if he was holding back a gasp.

“You,” You purred, angling his jaw down to look directly into your eyes. “Have no idea what I can and can’t handle. And I want to show you.”

He didn’t respond, instead he just scooped you into his arms and began to spread his wings. You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t want to wait an extra second.

“Why,” you panted. “We’re hidden here.”

He frowned as if you had offended him, but then his expression eased and he leaned down to let his lips graze your ear.

“Sweetheart,” he began, as if composing himself. “I want you in my bed, exactly how I imagined having you since the start.” He paused, collecting himself. “Hair spilled all over my sheets and pillows. I want your scent in my bed. I want our mated scents in my bed.” He almost growled. “I want you to come for me exactly where I imagined it.” He whispered, putting his forehead against yours.

You felt your legs go weak at his words, even though he was carrying you. “You’ve imagined it?”

He closed his eyes and inhaled hard, an almost reverent expression on his beautiful face. You had an urge to reach out and touch it, just to make sure he was real. “You don’t want to know how many times.”

“Well stop fucking wasting time.” You snarled, and he glared at you in response, before you were engulfed in darkness.

Your stomach lurched, but it was soon over and you found yourselves back in the House of Wind, in a bedroom you had seen many times, yet never in this context.

You could feel Azriel bracing himself, walking slowly and carefully towards his bed, as if you were a china doll he was scared to drop and fracture.

You placed a hand on his chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He swallowed.

“Don’t coddle me. Treat me like glass. Have me how you fucking want me.”

He began panting hard, and before you knew it, your back hit the soft bed and he was crawling over you.

His face was so beautiful, so Azriel, and yet not at all. This was a predator staring down at you now, and you were more than elated to become his prey.

You gasped as he kneed your thighs apart hard, and pressed himself up against you. Your eyes almost rolled back in your head at the delicious friction between your hips, feeling how rock fucking solid he was where he wanted you the most. You pushed your hips up and whined; you wanted him there the most too.

“Not yet,” He shook his head and an almost wicked glint shone in his whiskey coloured eyes. “Not for a while.”

He slowly grazed your stomach with his fingers as he began to lift the hem of your tunic. He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses against your rigid, battle hardened abdomen. “My warrior.” He whispered, like a prayer as he moved further up with the hem of your shirt. His fingers hovered at the bandaged material you had bound your breasts with for easier mobility while fighting. His eyes flicked up to yours in silent ask.

“None of that.” You whispered. “I’m fucking yours.”

His eyes almost rolled back and his lashes fluttered. “Say that again.” He whimpered.

“I’m your mate, and I belong to you.” You breathed.

He reached up, and pinned both your hands either side of your head.

“You, my darling, do not belong to anyone.” He breathed against your ribcage. “But tonight, so help me Gods, I’ll be the master of your fate.”

He bit into the bandage with his teeth and pulled it off. The friction of it coming undone so fast almost burned you, and yet you didn’t feel a thing.

He didn’t bother pulling your tunic above your head, no, he ripped it into two pieces and threw it behind him along with your chest bindings. He then groaned as he leaned down and put his hot, beautiful mouth around your nipple and sucked. Your back bowed off the bed and you mewled quietly.

“Oh,” Azriel breathed shakily. “So responsive for me, and I haven’t even been inside you yet. What pretty sounds will you make for me when I touch you in places you’ve never even seen yourself?” His tantalisingly hot breath fanned your breasts.

“Azriel.” You moaned, not from pleasure but from the need to have him in you. The mating bond was behaving in full effect now, and it was as if there was a whole being, a whole entity glowing between you, binding you together. You wanted to scream and cry and moan and feel fucking everything at the sensation.

“Sweetheart,” He rasped. “Don’t say my name like that, unless you want me to come undone while I still have my clothes on.”

“So what if you do?” You gave him a wicked smile, and his jaw clenched.

He moved further up, abandoning your breasts and kissing the column of your throat. “I wish to save myself. All of it, for you.”

You groaned in response and wrenched your wrist free from his hold beside your head to slide into his hair and tug. The further up he’d come, the more you felt his bulge rub against your thighs.

“Take off my leathers.” You groaned. “Or at least take off your shirt.”

He withdrew from your throat at that, and gave you a cunning smile. “So needy for me.” But he pulled off his own shirt without further word.

“You’re my mate.” You breathed hard. “I can’t take it anymore.”

He shook his head almost sympathetically. “Unfortunately for you, I always pictured taking my sweet time with you.”

“Please.” You whined, and you lifted your legs to wrap around his still clothed hips.

“Fuck,” he ground out, and he couldn’t help himself as he rolled his hips against yours.

The friction was fucking delicious, and both of you knew it.

“Fuck this,” Azriel spat, moving further down the bed and hooking his fingers into your leathers. “Fuck you. Always fucking up my plans.”

In one swift movement that should have been impossible for such tight leather pants, he yanked them down your thighs and pulled them off completely. He began to kiss down the expanse of your stomach once more, stopping before the waist band of your underwear. His eyes flicked up to you to see how you were reacting, but he couldn’t. Your head was thrown back against the bed, and all he could see was your chest heaving.

He dragged a finger down your still clothed centre, and he watched the way your knees shook while you groaned loudly.

“Please,” You rasped. “Please.”

He inhaled sharply, unable to process all of this at once. “Oh, how divine you sound when you beg for me, Princess.”

“Please,” you said once more, your voice barely a whisper.

But he has shown you enough mercy tonight.

He continued his slow, torturous ministrations up and down for half a minute more, before you finally felt him slide your panties to the side. Expecting his callused hands, you gasped when you felt him press a soft kiss against your core. And another. And another.

“Fuck this.” He swore, before ripping them off entirely and claiming the most intimate part of you with his mouth.

You mewled as your back arched, as he began to worship you with his mouth. A low groan vibrated against the bed from his chest as he feasted.

“Gods, you taste so fucking good.” He moaned loudly.

“Even after sweating and getting dirty in battle?” You somehow managed to impertinently grind out, and he growled loudly in response.

“Shut your mouth.” He snarled. “Now’s not the time.”

You were silenced, but not by his words, but by the graze of his teeth against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your core; the most sensitive part of you.

He bit gently, and you wailed as you had never felt anything like it. “Gods,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“They can’t save you from me.” He growled back, flattening his tongue against your slit before dragging it back up and circling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue.

“No,” You moaned. “They can’t.” You slid your fingers back into his hair and tugged, your knees clenching involuntarily around his head. The tip of your toe accidentally grazed the soft membrane of his right wing, and his entire body shuddered.

“Oh, you cruel, dirty playing thing.” He looked up from you with a snarl etched onto his face, before sliding two curled fingers inside you.

Your back arched off the bed and the sounds escaping your throat were far from voluntary. His lips closed around your clit once more as his fingers worked you in tandem, and you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

His pace quickened, and he looked up once more without stopping any of his ministrations. He delighted in the way your face contorted in pleasure, the sounds that fell from your beautiful mouth; all because of him. He thought he might actually come from just the sound of you enjoying yourself at his mercy.

You began bucking your hips up, chasing the high from his face as much as he was desperate to give it to you. He flattened his palm against your hip bone, holding you torturously in place.

“Fuck,” You whimpered. “I’m actually close.”

He chose to ignore whatever you meant by actually, as he continued to feast on you and pump his fingers inside you, deep but not too deep. Quick, but not tactlessly.

A few moments later a beautiful, wailing song fell from your lips as you climaxed, the shudders and convulsions spreading through your legs up your spine as his name escaped your mouth again and again.

“Please, Azriel,” You were panting from your high. “I can’t fucking wait any longer.”

“You will. What did you mean by “actually close”?” He glared up at you, and you cringed as you saw how much his mouth glistened from your arousal. He caught your stare, and licked his lips slowly.

“I just didn’t..think it would happen so f—.”

“Grave, grave mistake.” He cut you off with a whisper, as he began to climb up over you. His hips settled in between his legs and he rolled them against yours a few times. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

“There is nothing, sweetheart,” he breathed, wiping soaked strands of hair from your dripping forehead. “That I can’t give you; that won’t be the best you’ve ever felt.”

You sneered. “Arrogant bastard.”

His hand flew to your throat and closed around it in response. “I don’t take kindly to name calling from my mate after I just made her see stars.”

“Yet you couldn’t be more of an arrogant bastard, I mean ‘see stars’ really?” You rolled your eyes, but he pushed his hips, his throbbing hardness against your core and you clamped your mouth shut.

“I’ve half a mind,” He began with a snarl. “To bind and gag you for your insolence.”

“Why don’t you?” A wicked glint shone in your eyes this time.

“Because you need to be able to talk. Because you’re going to beg this ‘arrogant bastard’ to fuck you.” He hissed, leaning down to press a long, hard kiss under your jaw. When you mewled in response, he sucked hard and let his teeth graze your neck, and you couldn’t help the way your back arched.

“Azriel.” You whimpered. “Please.”

“Beg.” He snarled.

“What the fuck else am I doing?” You propped yourself up on your elbows and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eye. Your demeanour instantly changed. “No, I won’t beg.” You shook your head. “You need to fuck me. You need to fuck me so bad I think you’ll die if you don’t. I don’t need to beg.”

“Shut your pretty little mouth before I put it to a lot better use.” Azriel pushed you back down, hovering over you once more.

You watched his face suddenly soften, as he took in your features. Watched the way your chest rose and fell. Watched the way your cheeks were sprinkled with crimson at his ministrations, and he knew exactly what he felt in his chest.

“Beautiful.” He murmured.

You were taken aback at the sudden change in demeanour, yet your heart melted. The invisible string between you didn’t seem so invisible anymore, and you could have sworn there was a real glow between you.

“Mate.” You said softly.

“Mate.” He agreed quietly, before taking a deep breath and moving off you and standing to pull off his leathers.

You admired his chiseled torso. Next time, you vowed to put your mouth all over it. Oh, you were going to get him back. But not now. Now it was your turn to sit back.

And then, he was completely bare before you. You licked your lips as you watched him pump himself a few times, his bottom lip between his teeth as he came to move over you once more.

He watched you with a softness in his eyes, as his hand found yours and interlaced your fingers beside your head. His other hand rested on your hip, his thumb stroking your stomach softly.

“My mate,” He purred, lining himself up with your entrance.

You gasped softly as you felt him drag the tip up and down the slickness a few times, closing your eyes in silent prayer. “Please,” You whispered.

And this time, Azriel obeyed.

He slid into you slowly, and you groaned as you felt yourself adjust around him. You opened your eyes to look into his, and placed your free hand on his jaw.

“You,” you whispered, biting back a gasp as he slowly slid further in, “Are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

An expression you didn’t recognise was etched on his face, as he stared down at you with a rawness you couldn’t name.

He couldn’t respond, so he responded by gripping your hip slightly harder and sliding back out. And then slowly pushing in.

“Please.” You begged quietly once more. You would not beg again. “Give me all of you.”

That was enough for him. He began moving his hips at a faster pace, rolling them with every thrust, making sure he reached the deepest parts of you.

Tears of white hot pleasure pricked your eyes as your back bowed off the bed involuntarily, and this angle made him rub against that innermost rough patch inside of you that made you scream.

“Fuck, Azriel.” You panted. “I never knew it could—I didn’t know..”

“Shhh.” He kissed the tears from your face, biting back his own whimpers. “I know.” He rasped, letting his forehead rest against yours as he moved inside you with a reverent grace. “I know.”

And so your bodies danced together, the eternal thread between you glowing radiantly as you moved against one another. You clenched around him gently, and yet even this small gesture drew a ferocious groan from a deep part inside him.

“Baby,” he rasped. “I won’t last long inside you.”

You nodded frantically, biting back your own panting and whimpering. “Don’t try to. Just feel it.”

“I just feel you.” His hand left your hip to stroke the side of your face, and the tenderness made you almost fall apart inside. His thumb stroked your bottom lip and you opened for him, letting him in in every sense of the phrase. He was inside you, in more way than one. He was part of you. Forever.

Your name fell from his lips as he came hard, his hips jutting and spasming as he spilled everything he had into you.

A mere minute later, his head was back between your legs, and it wasn’t long before his name was the only thing you could remember. The only thing that mattered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The sound of water droplets dripping through the cracks in the mossy stone ceiling of your cell echoed through the empty passageway.

You had only been here for a few hours, knocked out and kidnapped from one of Hybern, your king’s, war camps. But those hours had felt like days. Your stomach rumbled, perhaps the only thing besides the few droplets of tepid water making any noise.

You wondered why you weren’t already dead. You should be dead. And the fact you weren’t, was a lot more alarming than death itself.

It meant they knew what you had. The intel you had on the King’s whereabouts. Where he was planning to strike from. And no doubt they would stick their claws into you until they had it.

Another few minutes passed, but you jolted to attention when stealthy footsteps—that would have gone unnoticed by someone with untrained ears—crept closer and closer from the passageway leading up to the bars of your dungeon cell.

A shadowy figure came into view. You inhaled sharply as you noticed the winged creature to not be another form of noble High Fae, or a servant like you had expected to come play.

No, this creature was far more sinister.

The shadows eased slightly, and the dark figure came more clearly into view. A relatively young looking male, but the scars on his body and the near silent steps gave away the centuries of experience he undoubtedly had.

You held your chin up high and stared up at him from your position on the floor, hands and feet chained to the stone.

“How may I assist you?” You said in your kindest, meekest voice, and watched his expression soften as he deemed this an invitation to come closer.

Once he was close up against the bars, you spat emphatically onto his boots.

His disarmed expression turned into one of a predator within seconds. “Oh, you’re a vicious little thing, aren’t you?” He murmured, reaching into his pocket to produce a key. He slid it into the padlock on your cell door.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I purred.

He stepped into the cell, and unsheathed a thin, gleaming blade with an obsidian pommel from his leathers.

“Careful,” he whispered. “I don’t take kindly to threats.” He flipped the blade in the palm of his hand and stepped closer.

Once again, you tried to shake the gorsian shackles from your wrists and ankles—but it was obviously no use. He simply smirked.

“Go fuck yourself.” You hissed.

“No point in wasting your energy,” The shadowy male said, before crouching down to be eye level with you. “I think you’re going to need all the energy you can get.” He crooned, before ever so gently tilting your chin upright with his blade. “You have something we want.”

You clamped your mouth shut and simply stared at him point blank. You wouldn’t budge.

“Now, sweetheart. I don’t think silence is such a smart idea.” He tutted, shaking his head.

Once again, you didn’t say a word.

“Perhaps we’re not well enough acquainted for you and I to have a chat,” he feigned a tired inhale. “I’m Azriel, nice to meet you.” He held his hand out, and then made a scene of noticing the shackles around yours. “Oh. How unobservant of me.” He smirked.

You wasted no time, spitting straight at him once again, this time at his face. His head jerked in surprise on impact, and then he slowly, slowly turned it back to face you.

“Oh, that wasn’t very smart now was it?” Azriel purred, before wrapping his hand around your throat.

He leaned forwards, his lips centimetres away from your ear. “Tell me where your King is.” He snarled.

“I’m not telling you shit.” You hissed. “Mother fucking burn you and your family.” You then winced, as you felt his thumb press down hard on your windpipe.

“Such colourful language, and yet so responsive…you sure about that, sweetheart?” He pushed down harder and you coughed, shaking your head.

“There’s nothing—” You spluttered, and he eased up, clearly thinking you were going to start talking. “You could do that I wasn’t prepared to face to protect what I know.” You sneered, despite his hand, despite the shade of purple your face was close to turning.

“In a few minutes,” He returned his thumb to the front of your throat. Harder, this time. “Your pretty little face will turn blue. But I won’t make it quick. I’ll press slowly, and slowly until you feel like somebody is actively ripping apart your lungs. You’ll cleave and fight for breaths that won’t come. Still want to keep your mouth shut?”

He didn’t expect what you did next. You smiled—a wide, sinister, open mouthed smile.

“There’s. Nothing. You could—” You were cut off by him closing his large fist around your throat hard, and then letting go and snarling in frustration.

“Very well,” he seemed to regain his composure, before a shadow crept over his shoulder and slithered towards you, wrapping around your wrist. To your utter surprise, the shackles on your left hand came free, and you immediately went to wrench your hand back. But the shadow was locked around your wrist. Unrelenting. How on earth could something so sheer and wispy wield such strength?

The shadow pulled your wrist upwards, until your hand hung limply between the two of you.

The male—Azriel, took your hand into his and examined it, before pulling up his dagger and delicately dragging it across your palm.

“Tell me, soldier.” He crooned, looking up and holding your gaze. “Which one of your fingers would you like to lose first? I’ll let you choose.”

Your heart began to thunder in your chest—but you didn’t display it on your face, no. You were too good for that. By the time you breathed your heart rate into submission, you could only hope he hadn’t heard it slamming against your ribcage.

“Or maybe,” He dragged his thumb across your lower lip. “I’ll cut out that perilous little tongue of yours. You wouldn’t be able to hurl such vicious, unladylike insults, or spit at me then, would you?” He tilted your chin up.

You didn’t let fear get to you this time, though. Because at the end of the day you knew one true thing about males. They were all the same.

You blinked up at him slowly through your lashes, and something darkened in his eyes. “But perhaps,” he whispered. “That would be a waste of such a wicked tongue. A wicked mouth.”

As if on cue, your tongue darted out and wetted your lips, oh-so-accidentally catching the pad of his thumb in the crossfire.

You watched as he swallowed hard. He gripped your jaw this time, wrenching your head back to stare down at you. “Don’t fucking do that.” He hissed. But you didn’t miss the way his thumb stroked subtly over your chin. Almost…reverently.

“Do what?” You whispered huskily, tilting your head to the side.

He closed his eyes tightly, leaning his head back and exhaling. And then he held his blade up, and my wrist in the other.

“Where is Hybern, or lose a finger.” He hissed. “No—your hand.”

“Azriel…” You pouted, and he paled at the mention of his name, seemingly forgetting he’d just introduced himself. “But I’m so good with my hands.”

He suddenly pushed the blade against your throat. “Shut your fucking mouth, or I swear to the Cauldron I’ll put it to better use.”

The realisation of what he had said dawned on you, and your lips thinned into a wide grin. “You promise?”

“You’re sick in the head,” Azriel shook his head in disbelief.

“I have a sneaky feeling,” You whispered, leaning your head even closer to his. “That makes two of us.”

Something in his expression changed, and his hand flew to wrap around your throat once more.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he tilted his head back to face the ceiling, as if praying to some higher being for mercy.

“You’re in here with me to save your people,” You said in a low voice. “But perhaps it is you that needs saving.”

His eyes flew back open and his gaze seared right through you. “You don’t know shit about me.” The hand holding the blade pushed it ever so slightly against the soft spot under your jawline, and you felt the warm trickle of blood down the column of your throat. With his other hand, he smeared it slightly with the pad of his thumb. “You even bleed pretty,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your punctured throat back and forth.

You licked your lips and contemplated telling him you tasted pretty too; picturing him bringing his thumb to his mouth and tasting your blood. The expression on his face when he saw your tongue dart out was priceless.

“You like that?” He stared down at you in disbelief. “You like it when I cut you?”

You didn’t refuse nor deny.

“Such a good girl for Hybern.” He muttered, shaking his head in chastisement. “Yet such a bad girl for me.”

You rolled your eyes in response. “Is this how you’re trying to disarm me now? By calling me such?”

He did not smile. “Do you feel disarmed?”

“No.”

“Then no. I have multiple other ways I could disarm you.” He rose to his feet, sheathing his blade with his other hand still cradling your jaw. You were on your knees before him, peering up.

“Do you do this with all your prisoners?” You tilted your head to the side.

“I’ve never been tasked with interrogating such a beautiful woman with such a filthy mouth.”

“Something tells me you’re wondering if there’s other benefits you may reap from my ‘filthy mouth’.” You deadpanned, staring him straight in the eye.

He stepped closer, towering over where you knelt. “And if I was?”

You refused to balk from his stare, jutting your chin outwards and up. “Then I’d say you’re certainly violating whatever clauses came with your job.”

The thumb that stroked your lower lip pushed into your mouth. “Good thing I never gave a fuck about the rules.” He ground out, craning his neck to watch how you reacted.

You closed your mouth around his thumb and sucked, not breaking eye contact as you watched his breath hitch.

“Dirty little thing,” He gasped, and shadows twisted and coiled around the hand that gripped you and twined into your hair. It almost sounded as if they were hissing, or purring, or whispering to you as their own separate entity.

You suddenly let your lips go limp, and his expression cooled at the loss of pressure.

“No.” He growled, forcing his thumb and forefinger in this time. You smiled up at him, before opening wide and clamping down.

But before you could bite two thirds of his hand off, multiple shadows forced their way into your mouth and held it open.

“Oh sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, beginning to stroke your jaw again. “Rookie mistake. Now they’ll keep your mouth open as long as I tell them to.”

You simply shrugged. However depraved he might think he is, you were most certainly worse. And he was a beautiful creature of a male. There was no reality where you wouldn’t enjoy what he would do to you.

The thought of it brought heat in the aching spot between your legs, and you bit your lip, hoping he wouldn’t scent the phenomenon.

But no such luck. His eyes widened as your scent wafted up to him.

“You actually like this?” He whispered in disbelief, and you only swallowed in response. But a new wave of morbid composure washed over him as he straightened his spine. “You like being on your knees for me?”

You nodded.

“You like being on your knees and having your mouth wide open for me?” He was almost panting now, his hand somewhat shaking against your jaw in what was either disbelief, or a lessening of composure.

Your jaw felt cold as his hand slid from it to the buckles of his leathers. He pulled his belt free, letting it slide to the floor.

“You have one opportunity to say no.” He said quietly, his restraint fading by the second.

Of course you didn’t. Of course you’d go through with it to delay your execution further. Until someone could come and rescue you and get you out back to Hybern’s camps. That was why you wanted this. Right?

You swallowed and licked your lips, and you did not say no.

His demeanour instantly turned predatory as he unbuttoned his leathers and pulled himself free from his waistband.

He was already hard and dripping, as he positioned himself right next to your mouth, held open by the shadows. Until they slipped back out, and you closed your mouth.

“I’ll give you the opportunity to open it back up yourself.” He snarled, eyes scanning your face. “But something tells me you like being a little fucking brat.”

You simply smirked in response, and that was his undoing.

His hand gripped your jaw, and forced your mouth open with several of his fingers, and didn’t give you a chance to take a breath before he thrust himself into your mouth.

He groaned loudly as he slowly filled your mouth, then your throat, and tears pricked your eyes at the size of him. But you fucking loved it, and the dampening spot between your thighs only proved that further.

He gripped your jaw hard. “Are you going to move or shall I?” He snarled. “And I won’t be gentle, sweetheart.”

You glared at him, before gradually starting to move your head back and forth. Your hands were out of the question; bound tightly behind your back. You hollowed out your cheeks and pressed your lips tighter together around him, and he groaned softly this time in response.

“Fuck—.” He gritted out. “Fuck you and your wicked mouth.” He continued, as he began to slowly move against you in accompaniment to your own ministrations. “I was wrong. I was so wrong.” He panted. “You are a good girl for me.”

You flattened your tongue hard against his tip and he whimpered, eyes squeezed shut before looking back down at you with a sort of reverence in his eyes. “Such a good girl.” he whispered, as if you had knocked all the capability of producing sound from his body.

You suddenly let your lower teeth graze softly against the veins that wrapped around him, and his hips jerked in response. You took this as your opportunity to let him slide out of your mouth, and licked a straight path down to his sack, sucking it gently into your mouth and then much harder.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m not going to last very long.” He moaned, bracing a fist against the cold stone wall above your head. You smiled as you noticed his knees shaking slightly. He noticed, and his eyes widened. “You’re a sick little thing.” He rasped. “Enjoying me coming undone for you.” He shook his head. “Such a clever girl, disarming me with that perfect little mouth. I was supposed to kill you, but I think I’d sooner die than to never feel this mouth again.” He exhaled sharply, his chest heaving as his hips began to jerk and convulse around your mouth when you took his full length once again. His eyes then widened as he finished speaking; as though he was bewildered by the content of his own monologue.

Then he unsheathed his blade once again, holding it against your throat. Your eyes widened and you halted, blinking up at him.

“Did I say stop?” He spat.

You hastened your pace, watching upwards as his entire face contorted in a mix of pleasure and self-disgust as he gripped the knife. You knew he hated himself for enjoying this. For enjoying you, his prisoner. Yet that turned you on all the more, and you wrapped your lips tighter.

It was only a mere two or three seconds before he was spilling into your throat with a roar, his one hand grasping at the mossy stone for purchase he couldn’t find, and his other still holding the knife against your throat. He bit his lip to try to stifle the groan, but it was no use.

You panted as he withdrew from your mouth, before wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb and pushing it back inside.

“You won’t waste a drop.” He crooned. “Not of me.” He pressed the blade slightly harder into your jaw this time. “Or you know what will happen.” He said softly.

Then his hand wrapped around your throat, and pulled you to your feet. You steadied yourself in surprise, looking up at him in bewilderment.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You had never seen snow before.

You had read about it, sure. You had been told about it, numerous times, but the thought of flakes falling from the sky sounded completely and utterly ridiculous. You grew up fastening mesh curtains against the windows to stop the dust storms from spreading into your quarters. You seldom left the house without a sunhat, for the unforgiving temperatures of the desert left a mark even on those with bronzed Day Court complexions, like yourself.

Yet all of that was about to change. The High Lord of the Night Court had always had good relations with your uncle. It was not foreign for them to exchange favours over the centuries, especially given the amount of escapades they enjoyed together in their youths.

But the members of the Night Court had began to settle down. Such escapades ceased to exist, and Helion found his relations with the Night Court becoming more and more one sided. They often needed his help ensuring a safer future for the families they were beginning to create, but what did Helion have to gain when all he had was himself?

And of course, you. His sister’s only child, sired by a late Day Court nobleman.

Thus, your uncle had spent copious amounts of time pondering how to strengthen that relationship, let it return to its manner of benefitting both sides, even when his old companions had no time for him in their new lives.

And you had wanted a change.

You wanted to step outside and feel the snow land on the tip of your nose. Have your cheeks turn red from the slicing cold, and not from overheating in the desert sun. You wanted to have to layer up and wear more, instead of feeling like you wanted to claw off your skin every time you stepped outside into the blistering heat of the Day Court.

And now, you stood before several members of the Night Court, your uncle and few of his sentries; your betrothed standing across from you before the altar and the lone priestess who was preparing to officiate your marriage.

The Spymaster of the Night Court. Your betrothed.

You were taller than most females in your court, and yet here, before the altar, he stood a good nine inches taller than you. His hazel eyes refused to find yours, seemingly fixated on a different face in the crowd. His true lover, perhaps, you thought. Or maybe he just didn’t want to look at you.

You had wondered what he’d be leaving behind since you found out who you were to wed. You knew next to nothing about this male, other than the fact he was the High Lord of Night’s most trusted soldier. Spy. Assassin.

Did he want this marriage?

It was too late to want otherwise now, you supposed. But you didn’t have to enter into this arrangement completely oblivious. So you cleared your throat as quietly as possible.

“Hi.” You whispered, peering up into his hazel eyes.

The male blinked at you, taken aback by your quiet interruption of the priestess’s recital. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and inclined his head towards the priestess, as if to say ‘Be quiet and listen.’

The members of this court were as ice cold as the temperature, then, you thought. You simply rolled your eyes, not interested in formalities. This was a move for freedom, and you would not let your personality be shoved into another box. Never again.

But something unexpected happened—instead of the chastising or distaste you had expected in response to an insolent little gesture like rolling your eyes—the male laughed.

It was your turn to blink up at him now, and he shook his head softly.

“Not one for…detailed ceremonies?” He whispered back.

“If by detailed you mean boring, then no. No I am not.” You sighed quietly.

The male—the Spymaster—chuckled this time. “Your uncle isn’t one to follow etiquette, either. And an even lesser fan of tedium.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You know him?”

The Spymaster’s ears were very suddenly tipped with crimson. “In how much detail would you like me to answer—”

“SILENCE.”

You felt your heart drop as the deep, male tenor filled your mind, echoing through to your marrow. You glanced up at the Spymaster in alarm, and he nodded subtly towards the pews, with his eyes closed as if in either reassurance or regret.

You glanced over your shoulder at the rows of pews, only to find the High Lord of the Night Court glaring in your direction from the front row. Message received.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A desert rose indeed.

As he’d first lined up before the altar, Azriel managed to tear his gaze away from you and focus on the increasingly interesting patterns on the temple floor, instead.

He had never seen eyes, skin, or hair like it. Like yours. The Day Court was full of riches, but Azriel had never considered that the females native to the deserts would be so captivating.

He had seen countless beautiful women. Of course he had. He had loved and bedded beautiful women. He had interrogated and slaughtered them in the wars, too.

Azriel was desensitised, to say the least.

But you? He had never seen anything like you.

The first thing he’d noticed was your hair—he wanted nothing more than to thread his fingers through it, pin a stray strand behind your ear, perhaps tug on it at the nape of your neck to see how you’d react.

Your eyes, next. He couldn’t stand to look into them for longer than a few seconds, but he certainly wanted to. If eyes were the windows to one’s soul, there was no way yours wasn’t decadent—and intimidating.

He couldn’t for the life of himself figure out why no males had tripped over their feet to marry you first.

And then you opened your mouth. And spoke to him. Right in the middle of a sacred ceremony. And then you rolled your eyes. He was taken aback. This seemingly innocent, unaccounted-for female, had irritated Rhysand enough to bellow into both of your minds.