Being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw her, until he did.
part 1 - a female deer
part 2 - a drop of golden sun
part 3 - a name i call myself
part 4 - a long long way to run
part 5 - a needle pulling thread
Entire work
Y/n, ever the icon: breaking out the spring colors i see
Y/n: Ridoc, tell Xaden that he is an idiot, but i still love him
Ridoc: Absolutely not. Tell him yourself
Y/n: No, i am mad at him
Ridoc: you are in his lap?
Y/n: I’m also sad? keep up??
Y/n: can you help me with the zipper
Xaden: sure, love
Y/n: UP, Xaden
Xaden: are you sure?
Garrick: so did you kiss her?
Xaden: No, the moment wasn’t right
Xaden: Look, Y/n could be my future wife, I want our first kiss to be everything
Imogen: That is so sweet, you chickened out like a little bitch
Xaden, with barely contained amusement: All my shirts are disappearing
Y/n, absolutely unbothered and wearing a shirt three times her size: mysteriously?
Xaden, biting back a grin: mhmm
Y/n: that is so weird.
Y/n, after convincing Xaden to do her makeup: Don’t forget to blot
Xaden: The fuck does that mean?
Y/n: Like dap the excess off?
Xaden: Say less
Xaden:*kisses her*
Y/n: I know that you are working but i pulled you aside just to ask if you still love me cause the way you put your shoes on this morning seemed a little angry and i needed to be sure
Xaden, melting: my love…
Y/n: If I died, how much would you miss me?
Xaden: It’s funny you think death can get you out of this relationship
Y/n: don’t say a word
Ridoc: …fergulous
Y/n:
Y/n: I said no word
Ridoc: Oh i see how it works, you see cause two weeks ago when we were playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word cause it’s convenient for you?
Y/n: *accidentally brushing her hand with Xaden’s*
Xaden: *aggressively grabbing her hand*
Xaden, muttering: Fucking commit to it, will you?
Violet: Whose turn is it to give the pep talk?
Xaden: *sighs* Ridoc
Ridoc: Fuck shit up out there, but don’t die
Garrick, Sawyer, Bodhi: *whipping tears away with they hands in their chest* inspirational
Y/n: for fuck’s sake
Y/n: It sure is dark in here
Xaden:
Y/n, still doesn’t know how to summon light in the dark: I’m not scared or anything. I’m good. I swear.
Xaden, smirking:
Y/n:
Xaden: Do you want me to hold your hand?
Y/n: Thank Amari, I thought I was gonna have to ask
Y/n: What if Xaden kisses me?
Violet: You kiss back, naturally
Y/n, half listening cause she got distracted by Xaden sparring: uh huh…
Y/n: not that i’m opposed to it, but why his back exactly?
Violet: YOU KISS HIM BACK!! HIM!!
Garrick: Be yourself, honeybear
Xaden: “bE mYsElf”? Garrick, I have one day to win Y/n over. How long did it take before you guys started liking me?
Liam : Couple weeks
Imogen: Six Months
Bodhi: Depends on the day
Xaden: See, Garrick?
Xaden: ‘Be myself”. What kind of advice is that?
Garrick: For fuck’s sake, sHE ALREADY LIKES YOU YOU DUMB FUCK
Xaden: I am forgetting something
Y/n: morals, probably
Xaden: no, my love, something important
Y/n: i need to test out my new signature, can someone tell me if it’s any good?
Xaden: Sure, here, use this to practice
Y/n: oh! thank y-
Y/n:
Y/n: this is a marriage certificate
Xaden: i fail to see the problem
Xaden: My girl could stab me and i’d sink in to the dagger just to be closer, but that’s just me
Y/n, with full on heart eyes: awee
Ridoc: AND YOU DON'T SEE HOW THATS CONCERNING WHY????
being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.
Azriel x Archeron!OC
Word count: 2,180
CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, death? self-hate, self-doubt, sad boy Azriel, angst, Daphne goes on a jounrey of self discovery in this one. not beta read!
Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part
Shock resounded across the field as they took in the state of the once war-torn field. The hight lords had all left the tent where the cauldron had been broken and then re-made, where a high lord had died and been reborn. They had thought that would be the most shocking thing that would have happened. That nothing could beat the very destruction of the very object that created the universe.
And yet as they left the tent, expecting the battle to be in full swing still, they ere left with the sight of Daphne Archeron. On her knees her hands outstretched and holding what seemed to be that of a thousand suns in the palm of her hand.
They heard the screams, the begs and the cries of Hyberns men. How the army that outmatched the combined power of seven courts, was eviscerated into nothing but dust.
And then the light changed from a golden blinding ray to a soft sliver glow. The power expanding to where their soldiers stood or flew, having stooped in shocked as their weapons pointed at nothing but piles of dust. As they all turned their eyes to her.
Fear claimed there faces, only to be meet with nothing but a soothing feeling. As their wounds were healed, and their dead reborn.
Their fear morphed into more shock, then into cries of joy, of celebration and victory.
Her name became a cheer, and the name “the saviour of Prythian” quickly found purchase in Daphne Archeron.
The sky had kept a golden hue to it, as if the sun refused to leave and the moon had simply made space in the sky for it. with the sheer strength of her power lingering even hours after, with no focus or thought, as made apparent by Daphne’s blank face.
The question of how she did it still lingered in the air, though she was cauldron made it seemed she had embodied the very might of the cauldron. Even when it had been broken, her power so strong inside her that even as the universe began to shatter, she could still harness the remnants of it.
And because of it, some had even called her a god.
Though if Daphne hadn’t dissociated completely, she would have scoffed at the word. She wasn’t a god, she was just a girl given powers beyond imaginable thought and magic she didn’t need and never wanted.
Hours later, after being coaxed from the battlefield and taken to her tent, she was still sat staring at her hands shocked and confused.
She only remembered parts of what happened, but not why. She had felt the hopelessness of her new family, the defeat she felt from falling soldiers and rage had built with in her, the grief from loosing her father. And as a result, she had become a unbreakable force, wiping out a large army by herself.
She remembered the looks on everyone’s faces. The shock. The horror.
Nesta and Elain had looked at her in disbelief, almost as if they had started fearing her, despite Nesta holding the decapitated head of the king of Hybern in her hand.
It scared her. Scared her that she was capable of doing something like that and what she even could do that and what else she could possibly do.
What if she hurt someone she loved?
But what scared he the most was the fact that’s she could still feel it bubbling inside her. Surely its should all be gone. Surely, she had used every last drop of her magic and she needed to rebuild it.
But as sun danced on her fingers I her pitch-black tent she feared she would be seen as a weapon, as something to fear. And she hated it.
Feyre had told her how proud she was of her, a smile on her lips as her the inner circle all gathered, following the meetings to discuss the war and a possible new treaty.
She had said nothing. And though that was nothing new.
She made no effort to communicate, not with her eyes or facial expression. Not with her hands. Nothing.
Azriel shadows hugged themselves around her skin, oddly drawn to her light.
They traced over her skin as if to offer comfort. But she didn’t even react to them, causing a frown to tug at Azriel’s lips.
She usually lit up when his shadows surrounded her. A smile always tugging at her lips, a happy glint in her eye.
But now there was nothing.
Nothing as the inner circle cheered and celebrated.
But Daphne simply sat and watched.
Nesta had vanished. Though no one seemed to be notice, expect Cassian of course. whose eyes darted around the tent searching for her.
Later that night, she still sat in the same spot as before, her eyes focused on her hands.
Everyone had left for bed, and only daphne and azriel remained.
“daphne” he spoke, moving to sit beside her.
She didn’t look up, her gaze fixated on her hands, drops of sunlight dancing around her fingers.
“daphne” he spoke again, his voice soft but concerned. “What is it?” he asked, the bond between them thrumming in his chest.
She had cut him off, the little connection they had from their bond, a bond neither of them had yet to acknowledge to the other but both knew they over knew of it.
His hand reached for hers, his eyes drawn to the drops of sunlight that his shadows seemed to play with.
A hot seeing pain pierced his skin as his already scarred and brunt flesh was met with the heat of the sun.
She startled back as he hissed in pain.
Her eyes widening in horror.
Standing up quickly, she ran from the rent. Her eyes swelling with sorrow and the bond filling with pleas of forgiveness.
Days passed and no one had seen Daphne. Not even Azriel’s shadows had found her.
And though she wasn’t the only Archeron sister to leave after the war, at least the inner circle knew where she was, where she lived and could find her when needed.
But Daphne? She was simply gone.
Her room in the townhouse was locked, a barrier in place that know one could breach. And yet Azriel knew she wasn’t in there.
He had tugged and tugged on the bond, but found no purchase, but at least it was there, and she was alive, that was enough, right?
It wasn’t for Daphne, not as she had returned to the sight of the war. The place she became a monster.
At least that was the name she had given herself.
She had ignored the praise, the songs that were sung in her honour. And named herself a monster. It was how she saw herself, because she was. She had heart Azriel without even thinking, had reduced thousands to nothing.
She ignored the good she had done, the healing and allowing solders to return home to their families.
Ignored the long feeling she felt every second of every day, the urge to respond to Azriel’s incessant tugs.
And had simple sat and started to think.
In the dust filled field, the remnants of swords, and arrows. Shields and helmets all left and abandoned; she had reflected on herself.
The burden she had been her how life, the illness that had nearly taken her. And how she was gifted with immortality and an ability to irradicate armies.
She had become everything she ever wanted, in truth.
Her whole life she had wished to be okay, to not be plagued with a constant illness. To not hear the tolls of death every winter season. To be able to speak with out fear or her body rebelling. To not be a burden, to be useful. And she had been. She had ended a war and saved the lives of the entire world. And yet, though she no longer felt as if she was a disappointment, she felt as if she was a monster.
She had abandoned her family, the people who had been nothing but proud, to wallow in self-pity, when she had gotten everything, she had ever wanted, or almost.
She had wanted to be loved and seen, and the whole of Prythian had seen her that day. Had started to worship her even.
Love though? She had received bounds of it from her sisters, even if it was veiled behind their poverty, and their struggles. They had showered her in it as she had them, even if not openly she had always felt it.
And now she felt it more so than ever, it was thrumming in her chest, pulling her to where the mountains meet the stars.
But she feared what she would do, she couldn’t control it, she had hurt him. She had hurt him.
The words played on repeat in her mind.
After everything he had told her, of his story, his youth. She had done the very thing; his half-brothers had done to him.
Though she had done it without malice, without thought. It was an accident, and Azriel didn’t hate her for it.
But she hated herself.
And hated that she couldn’t rely on his, on her family’s love, in order to love herself.
If there was one thing Daphen remembered about herself before her family was poor, was the desire to travel the world.
Her mother had long told her of her tales of traveling the continent, of even visiting fae courts. How she had danced with a fae prince who had won her hurt but had forced her to leave shortly after.
It was all she thought of when she was younger. Of what the world looked like, what it would show her, and the love she might find within it.
Of course, for a small child of four or five, this was very little. The world to her was an unimaginable thing. She had never seen the see or what the world outside their family’s estate looked like. And even when she grew up, she rarely saw outside of their small village.
She had still never seen the see, felt the brush of waves against her ankles, or the annoying caw of seagulls circling her as she feasted on her food.
She had never seen the courts her mother spoke of the cities of the mortal realm.
But now she decided she would. Even if she would spend a day doing each, she wanted to travel, to something for herself.
She felt as if her whole life, she had only ever acted to please. To do things that made her sister happy, whether it was find seeds for elain, sewing her sisters clothes, helping Feyre make her traps, or skin her kills. She had always helped, doing whatever they asked when she could, just to hear them say thank you. Just to feel less of a burden.
She had done it so much that she had started to burden them even more. Working herself to the core, getting sicker every year until it killed you, literally.
And though a part of her still whished to return, a part of her nagged at her that her family must be worried, and she so desperately didn’t wish for them to be, that she had to force herself to think of only herself.
And so, she found herself traveling to Gallia. The mortal kingdom her mother hailed from.
It was strange to her that she knew so much about her mother, when her sisters did not. That she only had happy memories of her and they only negative.
And yet she found herself not caring as she walked to the beaches along the shores of the continent.
She had travelled across the entirety of the mortal realms, seen cities and libraries and experienced human life for the first time, even though she was now fae.
But she had savoured the beach till last. Until she felt ready to go back to Velaris and to make it her home.
Peace settled upon her, as the see kissed at her ankles, and sand covered her feet.
She felt peace here, with the sun on her back. Her magic flared within her, and though she still feared it, the calm of the beach and soft sounds of waves crashing into rocks soothed the magic that bubbled with in her.
The sun had never stopped dancing around her fingers or lingering in the dark. The sun always seemed brighter wherever she went, and a warm always filled her chest.
It was comforting, though she dared not admit it. as the fear of what she could still do lingered with in her.
But for once she allowed herself not to think about the future, simply focused on the want to leave and find home.
So for the first time in a year, she found herself responding to the bond.
she just hoped to much hadn’t changed since she left.
Xaden doesn't believe in second chances until he meets you.
genre: slowburn, fluff, suggestive content, mentions of death, violence and abuse. Reader is a Healer. iron flame spoilers so don't read if you haven't read iron flame and if you do read it, don't blame me TT.TT
a/n: Happens after the fight at Resson. Don't come after me. I love Xaden and Violet and this is just for shits and giggles so if you don't like it please just ignore it. Also, let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! This one's gonna be quite a long one <3
You bury your face deeper into the coat that one of the riders had found for you within the depths of a closet somewhere inside the gigantic mansion in which you were calling home for a hot minute. It’s been more than a month since you’ve been brought to Aretia, a city that you once fought had fallen and were in ashes, only for the truth to be spilled by none other than Xaden Riorson, the one who’d brought you here when Samara was destroyed.
Needless to say that you’d gotten into somewhat of a routine despite the fact that here you feel pretty useless when there’s this new Mender— Brennan — around.
He’s the one that finds you kicking at snow with boots two sizes too big for your feet, his auburn hair disheveled and a two-day stubble adorning his jawline. It’s quite early for him to be out and about. What you’d learnt about Aretia is that the people here don’t actually stick to Basgiath schedule. It is something that throws you off slightly.
“I’m enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts,” you murmur into the depths of your coat.
Brennan lets out a chuckle and a gust of smoke slips past his lips, “how are you liking it here so far, despite the cold?”
“It’s alright,” you kick at a few stray stones, “it could be worse.”
And you’re telling the truth. You’d rather be here than Samara. Even though there’s a lot of snow that covers the expanse of mountains surrounding you, it’s still warmer than Samara’s icy cold nights that had your toes freezing despite the double-layered socks you wore to bed every night.
“Still making up your mind about going back to Basgiath?”
Your face twists into a scowl, “how can I? Now that I know what’s really going on?”
“Yeah,” Brennan has the decency to grimace, flushing to the tips of his ears, “I’m sorry, Tala. We shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”
“No,” you shake your head, “no, you saved my life. It has nothing to do with that. It’s just…” the words fail you then as you try and gather some logic into your thoughts.
“Just that you don’t know what’s the truth anymore,” Brennan finishes for you gently, “am I right?”
You nod.
He lets out another puff of steam, “nobody’s forcing your hand. You’re free to go, just like you’re free to stay. As long as our secrets die with you, nobody has nothing against you going back, you know that right?”
And that’s why you love Brennan so, and if it weren’t for the fact that he is Violet’s brother — yes, you’ve happened to know her name — you would’ve definitely leaned onto his support without a backward glance.
But it’s not so easy when there’s too much information and so little people you can trust that kind of information with.
“If it makes you feel any better, I will not let Xaden touch a strand of your hair,” he adds on, “that surely alleviates some of the pressure?”
You crack a smile, “yeah, I guess so.”
It’s not that you don’t trust Xaden Riorson. But rather, you don’t know what to make of him anymore. He is always so in control of everything, so calculated, that it is hard to imagine him struggling to contain whatever is happening behind closed doors. Somehow it makes your heart curl with guilt. He shouldn’t have to shoulder all of this weight by himself and yet he is. God knows you would’ve already crumbled at this point.
The man is remarkable, and you hate that his actions render him even more desirable.
“Can I ask you something?” Your question makes Brennan pause. He looks over at you, hazel eyes focused.
He nods to spur you on, tilting his head at you like he’s listening on alert.
“Do you truly believe that this can work?” You bite onto your lower lip, “is it the right thing to do?”
"I don't know," he sounds raw when he answers, you're not going to get more honest than that. And there's one more thing with Brennan-- he doesn't sugarcoat it. He doesn't bother hiding the truth, and that somehow makes it so much easier to trust him, "but I know that whatever we do out here is right. We're fighting for what we believe in."
His eyes seem to find something in the distance you can't quite see-- or maybe it's his dragon talking to him -- because he turns to you abruptly, "the cadets are coming," he looks back towards the Riorson manor, "I'll tell Xaden."
Turns out that Garrick and Bodhi are not the only ones that you get acquainted to. Soon enough, you find yourself jostled around with names too unfamiliar on your tongue to remember, although the only string of recognition that does help is the fact that all these people seemed connected to the girl who'd died. The woman that Xaden had loved. And they all wear the same scars, the same faraway look in their eyes whenever they mention her, and guilt curls along your chest whenever they do because somehow, it almost feels like she's right here, this woman that had big plans to change the world.
You're more comfortable with the quiet blonde who apparently had been one of the main reasons for Violet's death. His name is Liam Mairi and unlike the rest of the cadets, has not said more than two words ever since his arrival. You find his silence somewhat comforting, a sanctuary amidst the other cadet's loud voices and arguments as they run through their daily plans. But the blonde just sits there, hulking frame hovering over what seems to be a carving that he works on, leaving little shells of wood everywhere he goes.
You find yourself reading through your book on medicinal herbs as you keep Liam company, and soon enough you feel his blue eyes boring into the side of your head.
"You're the healer," Liam states like it's a fact. His voice is rough, but lighter than Xaden's. Like pine.
You shift and draw your eyes to his face, "Yes, I guess I am."
"You were the one who flew with Riorson?"
"Yes," you bite the inside of your cheek, the memories playing behind your lids still so fresh. Sometimes, the nightmares plague you.
"And you are..." you trail off while motioning to him, continue on shyly, "Liam Mairi, right? I've ...heard a lot about you."
"Me?" the ghost of a smile dances across his lips, "do tell me more."
"Well, you've got quite a reputation among the healers," you say with a timid grin, "something to do with being a flirt."
"I'm impressed," he chuckles, "you healers seem to know a lot more about us than we do."
"That's because we're the only ones that history does not write down," you grimace, "we're irrelevant, after all, unless you're a mender. Like Brennan."
Liam's smile fades at that, "I'm sorry."
"No don't be," you're the one to chuckle now, "I didn't sign up to be a healer to change the world, that's for sure. I'm too much of a coward to be doing what you guys do."
"And yet, you're vital to whether we make it or not."
Maroon eyes clash with blue.
You blink at him. He gazes back, challenging you to bring yourself down again. It seems he can read right through your blunder, right through your insecurity. And for someone who's been brought up as a weapon, you find that his gentleness is more than surprising.
"I--thank you," the words stumble out before you can stop them, cheeks flushing bright pink when he grins back, "that's not something we hear often."
"Pleasure's all mine, miss...?"
"Tala."
"Tala," he tries out your name and cracks another grin, bigger this time, more natural, "cool name."
You blush again, "thank you."
As the cadets make themselves comfortable in the Riorson house, it's inevitable that they have questions about you that they seem intent on knowing. And since asking Xaden is not an option -- for he'll probably just tell them to fuck off and run laps -- they've all decided to try and get to know you.
Ridoc is more persistent than most, finding you as you walk along corridors and always making it a point to accompany you no matter the distance. He's chatty and easy to talk to, with a big barking laugh that is contagious and jokes that make double over and hold your tummy. Soon, he's the one dragging you out during mealtimes, forcing you to sit at the rider's table so that you have no choice but squeeze in-between gorgeous Liam and a scary-looking woman you think her name goes by Imogen.
"Riorson definitely needs to get laid," Ridoc announces like it's a completely normal thing to do and you almost spit out your hot milk.
You cough into your napkin and send Liam a grateful look when he thumps your back for good measure.
"Ridoc, it's just been a year. Can you not be a dick?" The pretty rider with the dark colouring and beautiful braids -- whom you think is called Rhiannon-- scowls at him.
"I didn't say he needs to fall in love! I just said he needs some distractions," Ridoc replies like it makes things easier, head whipping back and forth across his friends, "Don't tell me you're against the idea! You've seen the way he makes us train our butts off like he has a personal vendetta against us."
"I have to agree to that," Sawyer raises his hand half-heartedly.
"Sawyer!" Rhiannon slaps the said young man's shoulder.
"Don't be a pushover," Imogen glowers. Her eyes find Ridoc across the table, "and you," her glare intensifies and you all but shrink away as she leans towards Ridoc with narrowed eyes.
But she surprises you with, "I think you're right."
There's silence. Everyone stares at her like she's grown an extra limb.
"What?" Imogen shrugs, "Xaden's being an ass. Wouldn't mind him getting off my back a little."
"Thank you!" Ridoc thumps his chest like a proud kid.
"Are they always like this?" You whisper into Liam's ear as they keep on babbling about Xaden like he's not the most scariest rider in the room that can take out anyone within a second.
Liam's chest rumbles as he laughs, "unfortunately, yes,” his blue eyes crinkle with warmth, “You'll get used to it though."
All that talk about Xaden and has you flushing red to the tips of your toes. It is no secret within the rider quadrant -- as told to you by none other than Rhiannon one day when the squad had casually convened to talk about it so openly -- that riders are far more active in the sexual department. Unlike the Healers, the high-risk high-reward concept built into their training system and the fact that they never know when they might die results in a swarm of sexually-driven individuals who believe in having fun instead of preserving what Imogen labels as "prudeness."
By the manner in which you'd blushed a deep, bright red during that discussion, it had been clear as day that you were not used to being so open on such matters, hence where the teasing starts.
"Can't believe it. How do you de-stress, honey?" Rico's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his sockets. He stares you down like you're a new species of dragon he's never seen before. It makes you squirm in your seat and look away, shrugging it off to appease the heat rushing through your cheeks.
"Healers are very much like scribes in this respect," you say in what you hope is a half-decent argument, "we don't frolic amongst ourselves...as easily as you do."
"Well I don't blame you," Imogen rests her head atop her arms, "Riders are hot. And I suppose it doesn't help that you're dressed like--" she motions towards your body, covered up in swaths of white cloth, the standard healer uniform that once upon time you would've been proud of wearing, "--like this."
"Have you ever been to the rider's quadrant?" Rhiannon asks.
You shake your head, "not really. We only see them when they come to us."
"And you've never felt attracted to any rider that walked through your doors?" suspicion lines Imogen's tone.
You try not to think of Xaden despite the fact that he's the first that comes to mind. You can feel your ears going red as you blabber, "no. Not really."
"Aw come on Tala! Give us something to work with!" Ridoc whines and pounds the table with his fist, "what if I told you, you could have sex with any rider in here?" he makes a grand gesture to encapsulate the entire manor.
Your cheeks betray as they blossom with pink, "uhm...I don't--"
It's at this particular moment that Brennan walks by and Ridoc takes this as opportunity.
"`What about Brennan?" he waves wildly into the said rider's direction, who stops in mid-walk to look at the table with a confused frown.
"What about me?" he asks.
Ridoc ignores him, eyes focused solely on making you dig a deeper grave for yourself, "isn't he hot? Wouldn't you have sex with him if you could?"
"Ridoc, please for the love of all that is holy--" Rhiannon rolls her eyes at him, "ignore him Tala. He's the one who's sex-deprived. He's just missing his usual hookups. That's all."
"No no," Brennan merely sidles closer and you let out an exasperated squeak before proceeding to hide your face with your hands, "do continue. Now I'm curious."
"Nope. Alright. I'm going now," you blurt out, bursting from your seat and making a beeline for the dining hall exit as the group of riders gaze at your retreating form with growing amusement.
"She's cute," Rhiannon quips, taking another bite of a muffin.
"I agree with that," Liam adds.
The rest of the week goes by and as the riders settle into a routine, you scurry back to your Healer duties by shadowing Brennan as an assistant. He teaches you about the variety of herbs and medicine available in this kind of terrain, spends time to explain through theory and hands-on exercises which medicine is best used in urgent cases, and as the days go by you can't help but wonder that the Healers at Basgiath seem to be lacking of knowledge that Brennan seems to know of.
When you ask him about it, he merely shrugs and says, "most books found at Basgiath are relevant to an extent. But these conditions, this environment is different. That doesn't make them wrong, though."
"How did you learn all of this by yourself?" you ask while your fingers focus on tearing apart each herb leaf and dumping its stems into the medicine bowl.
"Trial and error, I suppose," his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. He sends you a look from the book that had his focus this entire hour, its contents splayed across the granite counter, "but you're a quick learner."
"Thank you," your head ducks at his compliment. Coming from him, it means a lot.
Xaden doesn't make an appearance until later that night. And at this point you haven't seen him for days, with rumours that he was out flying and checking over the perimeter. You hadn't bothered asking for more when you had managed to piece together the information by yourself.
But you are more than surprised to see him waiting by your doorway as you shuffle through your bathroom door, cheeks pink from your shower and hair still wet.
His dark eyes flicker over the wet strands curling along your collarbones, before darting back up to your face.
"Oh--hi," you stammer over your words in a mixture of shock and surprise, "what are you doing--did you need something?"
His jaw ticks. Wordlessly moving away from the door, he tugs his shirt upwards and turns to show you his back.
At first, you can only see the dragon relics curling along his skin, the design a beautiful onyx tattoo that crawls up his spine and ends just shy of his jawline. A man made of steel and muscle, that's what he is.
Your mouth dries up as his arms bunch. Gods.
He's beautiful.
And you're pathetic.
You spot the gash along his left side. It runs along his left shoulder blade, the blood so dark it looks black.
It’s not that, though, that makes your breath stutter.
Your heart sinks in your chest and you just stare.
It’s the multiple slashes, the scars that line his back with such uniformed precision that it’s unfathomable to think of someone at the other end of this terrible, horrifying act.
Cruel. Inhuman. That’s what it is.
It’s Xaden’s voice that brings you back.
“You’re staring.”
He’s right. It’s been years after all. And it’s not your place to have an opinion. So you silently re-direct your gaze towards his wound and feels your shoulders deflate.
“Again?" you can't help the worry that laces your voice as you step closer, head cocked to inspect the wound, “why don't you go see Brennan?"
Xaden's jaw clenches once more, as if there are words he can't quite formulate. It takes a long moment for him to say, "he's occupied."
"Surely not occupied enough that he can't mend you?"
"I did not come here so that you could question me, cadet," it's clear from his last word that he doesn't want you probing.
Fine. You won't. But that doesn't mean he can disappear for days on end without at least telling you what he's up to.
You wordlessly motion for him to sit on the couch -- the couch that he'd slept on just a month ago. Sometimes, you get a whiff of his scent (or maybe it's just you) -- before you find your emergency medical kit from your nightstand. He sits, back to you, as stoic and as stiff as a statue while you prepare the disinfectant and press it to the base of the wound.
A small hiss falls from his lips.
Though there is a wink of satisfaction that at least there's a reaction from the shadow-wielder, you mutter out a soft, "sorry."
It’s routine at this point, one that you can do with your eyes closed. The wind howls, rattling the window at the other end of your room as a lone dragon roars in the distance.
Xaden doesn’t offer any conversation as you clean his wound, nor do you entertain him. You’re tired from training and you’re more than happy to collapse into bed at this point, and it’s merely the thought of owing him your life that keeps you from snapping at him because god he can be so moody.
You’re almost done, pressing on a linen gauze to ensure he doesn’t infect it when you catch a glimpse of something that makes you frown.
You grab his arm without warning.
He hisses and yanks it back.
But you’re sure of what you’ve seen.
Xaden’s eyes are dark with rage. But you hold his gaze, locking your chin so that it doesn’t tremble.
Your words come out shaky when you murmur:
“Show me.”
But Xaden’s already grabbing onto his tunic and striding for the door so that you have no choice but scramble after him, “Rider Riorson I am asking you officially as a Healer—“
“It’s nothing,” he throws over his shoulder.
You catch his forearm at the door, “please,” you breathe out in desperation, “is this why you’re not seeing Brennan—“
“Out of your rank, cadet—“
“I am not from your quadrant,” you snap, “do not order me like I am,” anger and worry flare through you as you jerk his arm up and sure enough, much to your suspicion, you notice the multiple lacerations, still fresh like they’re days old, that line up his arms in scarlet lines.
You swear you hear your heart break a little.
Throat tightening, your eyes slowly flutter up to his.
His are averted towards the far wall, jaw locked, and if you don’t know better you’d say he looks guilty.
“Xaden,” your voice breaks slightly, “tell me…this isn’t what I think it is.”
It’s probably the first time you’ve used his actual name, which is probably why he finally tears his gaze from the wall and looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes are lined with some kind of overwhelming sadness, the kind that you’ve never quite seen on his face before.
Guilt and remorse curl into your stomach, “tell me,” you plead. And then, like it’s not enough, “please.”
Still, he opts for silence and the moment drags out slow and filled with tension until it gets a little hard to breathe. After a while, you tug at his forearm— the one lined with scabs that can only be done by a human—and say so softly you’re not sure he can hear you:
“Let me treat you, at least.”
You wait a beat. Then another. And another.
Finally, his head dips into a nod.
Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you quietly walk back to the couch and wait until he follows before grasping his forearm and pressing an ointment-filled cotton swab to the red, angry skin that seems to sizzle with heat. You do it quickly and efficiently, then mutely motion for his other arm and do the same, trying not to panic at the number of injuries scattered across his skin, trying not to focus on the thought of this young man doing this to himself on purpose.
Your heart aches for him.
“Done,” you finally pull back with a soft sigh. It’s past midnight at this point and god knows you’ll need the sleep when Brennan has you waking up to a strict routine.
Xaden doesn’t say anything as he stands and walks back out of your room. You follow closely at his heels, halting only when he pauses by your doorway, back to you, as though he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.
“Can I—“ you swallow thickly, “can I say something? You don’t have to answer me. You don’t even have to acknowledge it. Just…”
Trailing off, you find that he stays still, an indication for you to continue.
So you do after another deep breath.
“I don’t—know exactly. What you’re going through,” you start slow, unsure and hesitant, “the riders told me…about you and your past lover. It’s not like I was probing or anything, but I guess word gets out.”
You know he’s listening because he doesn’t move an inch. So you continue, “I don’t know what it means to love someone this much. Gods, I’ve only been in love once, but not like they describe it, not like you. So… so who am I to talk right?” You let out a small laugh that cracks like broken porcelain in the gaping silence of the room, “but you cannot—please don’t hurt—please don’t do this to yourself. There are other ways, I don’t know what yet but I can help you and I will help you if you just tell me and I—“
Your voice breaks at the last set of words as emotion lodges the back of your throat, “— just please don’t do this to yourself again, Xaden. Please.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Loud and still, with the ghosts of your words still ringing like an echo. You don’t dare look up at the rider, not when you might have accidentally crossed a line that might cost you your life, and your hands quickly find each other, fingers wringing in growing nervousness as the weight of his gaze settles upon your figure.
You hear him letting out a soft breath, and you bite your lip when you feel him shuffle away. He allows the silence to fill the room in his absence, the only sound being his receding footsteps across the marble floor as you hold your breath for what seems like a lifetime.
And when you’re certain that he’s gone, you allow yourself to fall to your knees as tears silently trail down your cheeks.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
He shouldn’t have let you in.
He shouldn’t have allowed you to be near him. Should never have allowed his instincts to hover over you like a protective figure when you’re clearly more of a nuisance, a thorn in his side.
Xaden’s knuckles are bruised and battered, but that doesn’t stop him from beating the hell out of the sand dummy in the training room. One the remaining few, it seems.
The rest lie in a broken heap around him. A testament to his growing frustration, no doubt.
She’s smarter than she looks, I’ll give her that, Sgaeyl drawls.
I don’t need this right now, Xaden growls at her.
You’re the one who was so keen on trusting her, on keeping her close, she huffs in annoyance, and now you’re pushing her away? Do tell me how that makes sense shadow-wielder.
The thing is, you’re too close. And you’re too smart.
And Xaden— Xaden allowed his walls to slip.
He never breaks. He never bends.
But that night, he had.
Maybe it had been circumstance— a result of knowing that this particular day officially marked one year since Violet’s death and that had left him more vulnerable. Alone. Torn from within by the sadness that threatened to consume him. He hadn’t been in his right mind when he sought you out to clean up his wounds that night, too overtaken by the gaping hole in his chest to care. And when you’d found the lacerations, the result of the countless nights he’d blame himself and let the pain consume him so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt, the remorse of still being alive while Violet is dead, he hadn’t had the energy to fight you when your own face seemed to echo the pain he felt deep within the grooves of his heart.
In your eyes he’d found comfort. Tenderness as you handled him like a broken bird. Like he was fragile.
And Xaden was not— is not— fragile.
A mistake. That’s all that it was. That is all it is ever going to be.
And he’s made it clear the days that followed, never bringing up conversation, not even acknowledging your presence, walking out of rooms as soon as he saw you walk in.
It’s for the best. Because he’s a monster. A walking, living monster. And with you, he feels vulnerable and cracked and open.
He cannot allow it. He won’t allow it.
Of course, you’re too fearful of him to approach on your own and for that he is grateful. Which is why he opts to send Liam to check up on you during your shifts so that he has the peace of mind, makes it a duty to avoid your eyes at all costs and only reply in one-word answers if needed. He knows without looking at you that you’re more than hurt from his lack of communication, of the fact that he’s already broken your promise from that night. But it’s easier to pretend that nothing happened rather than admit that there is something that keeps on hurting from within. Something he cannot simply solve.
And because when he’s with you, for some reason, it dulls the pain. It makes it easier to breathe.
He hates that.
“Did you and Tala have a fight?” Asks Garrick one day as Xaden accompanies him on a flight trip around the perimeters of Aretia. Word from Basgiath sources state that the college still isn’t certain about their location, giving them extra days— weeks even— to be prepared once Basgiath does send their troops out to battle.
There’s an upcoming war in the vicinity. Talking about you is completely irrelevant to that war.
“Why would you think that?” Xaden tries to pass it off as nonchalant, though he can’t help but clench his teeth.
Idiot, Sgaeyl rolls her eyes.
“Because you're usually very uptight about who she talks to and where she goes. But you haven't been asking about her for a while,” the broad-shouldered rider spares him a look from underneath his flight goggles, bracing his weight against his dragon while Xaden steadies his gaze on the landscape beyond, “So what did you do, Riorson? Because I can tell she’s not doing good.”
“What makes you think I did something?”
“Why would she be upset then?”
"How should I know?"
“Why are you like this?” Garrick throws a hand up in exasperation, “if you didn’t care for her, mate, you wouldn’t have saved her. End of story. So— tell me, should I be worried about her or not?”
Damnit. Garrick has a point. And it hits a little too close to home.
The shadow-wielder rocks back on his feet as his arms go up to cross over his chest. He surveys the landscape, onyx eyes flickering past the clouds in attempt to locate anything out of order. That, and to bide his time about what to say to his friend when clearly there is a bit of truth in Garrick's statement.
"Define 'not doing good'," He finally turns to look at Garrick.
"I mean, I'm no expert but I think I can tell when a girl's been crying."
Shit.
If there's anything that Xaden hates more than having to take all the hard decisions and the brunt of it -- it's girls crying. He loathes it. It's weak. It's terrifying. And it's pathetic all at the same time.
But for some reason. For some undulated, strange reason, his chest tightens like he can't breathe when he hears you've been crying.
Because of him?
Surely not.
Surely it must be because you miss your home, or the comfort of Basgiath. Or the fact that life will never be the same for you, if you don't choose soon.
His suspicions are confirmed a few nights later when you appear outside his room with the medicine box in hand, looking up at him through red puffy eyes like he'd personally attacked you and you have taken full offence for his actions. He lets you in and silently does as told when you hold out your hand for his arm, doesn't say a word, doesn't even ask how you're doing while you dab the ointment at his scarring injuries lining his skin. He just watches, dark eyes focused on every flicker of your eyes, every downward tug of your mouth, every time you flinch and look away when you think he can't see.
But he sees you. He knows. Because he's learnt to read your mannerisms and your ticks, whatever information he can find to make up for the fact that he cannot pick your brain.
Still, not knowing what's going through your head leaves room for suspicion and doubt. And Xaden doesn't enjoy picking apart puzzles he knows he won't figure out.
It's only when you finally draw away -- when Xaden feels your absence in the cold that sweeps through the tiny distance you put between your bodies-- that his hand shoots out and grips at your arm.
Solid. Firm.
A silent order.
You look up at him. Shock flitters across your face.
"Were you crying?"
His question comes out more like an accusation of sorts. He himself would've winced at his tone. It's not the most friendly.
He catches a glimpse of pain before you mask it with a dull nonchalance that only weeks in Aretha have managed to ingrain in you.
"No."
His grip tightens. He stares you down.
You stare right back unflinchingly and slowly lift your chin, a small act of defiance.
"Is that all?"
Xaden searches your eyes for anything else. But all he finds is simmering anger that you don't bother hiding, laced with the pain that you bear in your heart. And maybe...is that guilt? For the secrets that you know?
He releases your arm.
You stumble back, cradling the limb to your chest as you hurriedly pack your stuff and scurry out of his room. The deafening bang of the door signals your departure and in its echo Xaden sits with his shadows, trying his best to ignore the way his heart lodges in his chest at your reticence.
She is hurting, Sgaeyl confirms from the other end of the dark bond.
Xaden presses his mouth into a tight line before he gazes out of the window overlooking the silhouettes of the snowy peaks that surround his manor, so now you're sympathetic?
I am merely stating a fact, she growls.
And how would you know that?
Because I see her crying every night, shadow-wielder. You might not be able to read her but I see what you riders don't just by being a little more observant.
A pang of guilt so intense rushes through him that a small exhale escapes his lips. Leaning back against his chair and pressing a hand to his nose, part of him wonders whether he should've pressed you earlier, maybe he should've been more insistent about your personal feelings towards everything that's been happening around you.
Damnit. He really is getting a little too soft.
You are already too far gone, Sgaeyl lets out a sigh that caresses his mind, more gentle than she had been. Clearly you are concerned for the girl. What is stopping you?
Don't be ridiculous, Xaden snaps as his hands tighten along his thighs, I am concerned because she's part of my responsibility. Nothing more.
If you say so.
The rest of the week passes by and Brennan makes plans to fly out of Aretia to find more ammunition and food that can carry them over for the rest of the winter. With the new arrivals and plans to make more space for more riders to come, they're bound to run out of resources if they don't find any backups to ensure that everyone is well-fed and well-kept for.
The rest of the cadets are busy preparing their armour along the field where all their dragons wait, when Sgaeyl's voice rushes through the bond in a border of panic:
Shadow-wielder, I think you need to go to the healer.
Xaden frowns, still in mid-conversation with Bodhi and Garrick about their plan, something wrong?
She is unconsolable, it seems.
He dismisses them quickly and swivels to stride back into the manor, where is she?
I spotted her along the turret when I flew over.
Gods, you can be anywhere. In your room, in the dining hall, the healer's quarters that you and Brennan have made your own--
But he follows his gut, forcing his shadows through the rooms before him before he senses a glimpse of your presence down the corridor that leads straight to your room.
He doesn't hesitate, twitching his knuckle to unlock your door only to spot you atop your bed, your back to him and hunched over, a small figure that seems all too fragile amidst the room that seems to swallow you whole.
Something twinges in his chest. He swallows thickly, making sure that his booted feet clatter over the marble floor to make his presence known as he approaches your hunched form.
You must've heard him by now. And yet, you insistently keep your back to him like he's not here.
It irks him, how stupidly strong you think you're being.
You don't have to be, not when you're not like him; made to be a weapon that kills without question.
Xaden's patience finally thins out when he snaps out, "what's wrong?"
You don't answer, though your back stiffens like you've just received a blow.
Closing the distance between the two of you, he rounds the bed so that he comes back to face with your hunched figure. And what he sees makes him suck in a breath.
Your eyes flit up to his, red and swollen. Puffy. Tear stains mark your cheeks, turning them pink as your chest rattles with every breath you take.
The sight causes his chest to squeeze tight. He cannot quite breathe, seeing you this way.
All bite leaves his tongue, dissipates along with any remarks he would've said as he stares at you with growing uncertainty.
But you turn away and avoid his gaze, "go away," you whisper brokenly, your words stinging the air like bees.
Xaden does the contrary, steps forward until he's just a few millimetres from you before he bends down so that he's the one having to tilt his face up to look at yours.
"Tell me," he commands.
Your lips wobble but you turn your head, "go away," you repeat with a little more conviction.
A warm hand comes up to cup your cheek. You still, eyes blowing wide, body freezing from his sudden touch.
But Xaden seems unconcerned as he slowly turns your face towards his, until his eyes lock on yours. Dark onyx clash against soft maroon with such intensity that you have an innate urge to squirm.
"Tell me," he repeats, voice dropping an octave.
Your stomach curls deliciously in response, a traitorous move when you're more than angry with the said man.
"I--" you swallow thickly, "I have nothing to say to you."
Xaden merely searches your gaze for a moment, "I think you have a lot to say to me."
"I don't." you persist.
"Why are you crying?" he fires back.
"I'm not--"
"Don't lie to me," he snaps.
"Stop yelling at me!"
Your voice cracks like a whip and Xaden sucks in a breath as it bounces off the walls of the room, the air heavy and laden with thick walls of tension that can only sting from the aftermath of your words.
He pins you down with his gaze, waiting for you to say something else, anything else, really.
And then, when he notices the fresh set of tears at the corner of your eyes, a sting reverberated through his chest.
Before he knows it, his arm is winding around the back of your head.
He pulls you to him without warning.
Your gasp is enveloped by his arms as your hands shoot out in attempt to stop his actions. But Xaden is stronger, forcing you into him until you're practically buried into the material of his tunic, arms winding around your frame within a matter of seconds to halt any kind of escape.
"Wha--let me go!--"
"Stop it," Xaden growls.
You try to speak but your words dissolve into a soft squeak when he tightens his grasp. Your nose is practically shoved into the crook of his neck and his is lodged at your temple.
What the fuck does he think he’s doing?
What the fuck is this?
Xaden feels like losing his mind.
It’s almost like he’s not here, because he’s acted before he can think and now—
Now he waits for the guilt to crash into him like a tidal wave and pull him under—
Except— there is no guilt.
Just the smell of vanilla and citrus, and something else. Something soft and dewy that makes him want to bury his face into. Like fresh laundry sheets on a Sunday morning.
And you’re— soft.
Soft and small and tiny, so breakable—
He might just break you if he’s not careful.
It takes a long moment, but your body finally gives in to his warmth. You melt slowly, leaning into him as all the fight drains out of your body. Your hands curl over the dark material of his tunic like he's the one that can ground you when your head feels full with too many thoughts, and Xaden almost dissolves when he feels your head cuddle closer almost unconsciously.
He shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he is. But he cannot bring himself to care.
When he speaks next, his voice has dropped to a soft murmur:
"Tell me."
He doesn't have to look at you to know that more tears are trickling down your face. He can feel the wetness of them caking along his shirt and he cannot bring himself to care about how inevitably weak of a reaction this is, how in any normal circumstances he would've scoffed at the pathetic picture you make.
His arms merely tighten around your waist instead, a silent comforting act of tenderness. A cue to keep going.
"Don't laugh at me," is what you whisper against his shirt.
A beginning of a smile starts to curl at the corner of his lips. His murmur brushes over your hair, "I won't."
You shift slightly and lean back so that your brown eyes flutter up to meet his. In the dim light of your room, he spots the caked trails left by your tears and clamps down onto his hand so that he does not do anything he might regret.
"I--" you start, pressing your lips together with hesitation, "everything is different here, and I'm not sure--I mean, knowing what Navarre has done, knowing all their secrets...it--it scares me."
Your admission to the truth is somewhat refreshing. Nobody talks about fear behind those walls. Nobody dares utter the words that everyone believes to be true because admitting to it is weakness. And riders do not show weakness.
But you are not a rider, and your humanity is a strength that takes him by surprise.
"I'm not like you. I don't think about not living to tomorrow, or about this being my last day here, or about--I don't know. I'm a healer, I'm meant to just heal sick people," your lower lip trembles with effort, "and I'm sorry if that's not--I know you hate weaknesses. I didn't want to tell you because I suppose that for you, this--me being like this -- is kind of pathetic."
Xaden gazes down at you unflinchingly as he tries to piece together every single piece of truth falling from your mouth. That had been...surprisingly easy to know and part of him thinks back to his discussions with Violet about trust and communication.
To you, it seems communication is definitely not a problem.
And for you to admit all your secrets like that, provide it to him like it's a gift...
Xaden is not used to that.
His heart stirs, but he shoves it at the very back of his mind as he tries to find words.
"It's not pathetic," he says, eyes blazing down with such intensity that you cannot help but look away. His thumb reaches out though, grasping your chin to tug you back insistently, "don't look away from me."
His words cause a troop of butterflies to explode through your tummy. You nod and swallow, half-intimidated, half-impressed by his sense of authority.
No wonder he was a Wingleader.
"You are not a rider," Xaden continues, "and I don't expect you to act like one. So when things get tough, I expect you to tell me. Cry, fight, kick--whatever you want. These are not normal circumstances, and trust me, whatever's coming next is just as scary."
He holds your gaze for a minute too long as your heart flutters. You nod, quickly turning your face away so that his hand drops, your skin still tingling from the aftermath of his touch.
"There's..." your hand finds a stray thread from the edge of his shirt and you start picking at it to distract yourself, "there's another thing."
Xaden's brow cocks in that seductive way of his and a thrill of adrenaline zips down your spine.
"Well, like you said, I'm not a rider," you bite down onto your lower lip, keeping your eyes along his chest, "so I won't act like one. The truth is that--these days, well, I know I shouldn't be because you're Xaden Riorson and you're like, maybe the strongest rider in here but I--" your gaze falls onto his scarred arm as if on impulse and you feel the said shadow-wielder tense underneath you when realisation dawns, "I am worried about you."
"It's not your job to worry about me," he snaps.
You flinch, "you're the one that told me to be honest," your whisper is a shaky exhale.
Xaden's eyes are dark and stormy as he watches you with an expression you cannot quite place, as though he isn't certain whether he should be angry or concerned or guilty about how he has treated you. But you keep your eyes on his face despite the fact that your body starts trembling with the growing fear that this man can do whatever he wants and you likely won't be able to outrun him.
No. You trust him.
If there's one thing he's taught you about being around him these days is that no matter what, he will not hurt you without reason.
"If it's any consolation," Xaden starts, "there have been no new injuries as of that night."
Surprise flashes through your gaze. You stare at him, and then, quickly look down to analyse his arm.
"You're telling the truth?" your voice is hoarse, tentative.
He nods and before you can question him, extends his arm out to you.
Your fingers grasp at his elbow and you turn his arm this way and that, humming in satisfaction upon noticing that most wounds are almost gone, the scarring practically invisible with the ointment you've given him. You beckon for his other arm which he gives after a slight scoff, the one with the tattooed relics swirling up his skin like a beautiful midnight artwork that seems to glimmer in the shadows of the dark.
Finally, you drop his tattooed arm and a small smile curls along your lips when your eyes flutter back up to his.
"Thank you," you say, "for being honest with me."
Your words are like a slap as Xaden watches you, heart twisting in his gut at the way this thankfulness easily slipped past your lips like water.
It makes his heart waiver. It makes his throat constrict. There are things he wants to say, things he cannot say because he's not used to being so open.
But you're different. You tell him whatever comes to mind and despite the fact that he cannot read your mind, he realises that he can read you because he knows you.
It's time to go, Sgaeyl's rumble echoes through the back of his mind.
Xaden lets out a soft sigh. Slowly, he starts pulling away. His hands fall to your hips, not missing how you look up at him in confusion.
Fucking adorable. His jaw tightens, "I need to go."
"Ah," your head dips into an understanding nod, "okay, yeah."
"You--" his thumb unconsciously brushes over your hipbone through the material of your healer uniform and heat sizzles through your skin, but you keep your wide eyes on his dark ones, "you'll be fine as long as you stay inside the manor."
"How long will you be?"
"Can't say," he straightens and you feel his absence a little more than you would like, "could be a few hours. Could be a few days."
"Okay," you quickly wipe at your cheeks and stand to follow him, "I'll come say goodbye."
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
Ever since then, it seems that you have come to an unspoken agreement with the shadow-wielder.
Oh don't get you wrong. He's still the same snappy, grumpy grunt that roams the corridors like a shadow about to bite anyone's head off for breathing wrong, always walking about with a scowl on his face and a glare at the ready to anyone who might displease him. And withe the new training regiment they've been implementing for the cadets and the new arrivals of Gryphon Fliers that are supposed to be present in a few days, it is no secret that Xaden Riorson has a lot on his plate.
But still, he makes a very conscious effort, as you have noticed, to seek you out in the evenings when everyone has fallen asleep. Sometimes you're still working, cleaning up the healer's quarters so that it is fresh and ready for the next day. Sometimes, he walks up to your room with the excuse that he's checking up on the crybaby of the group (an inside joke that makes you blush every single time he says it, though from the way he chuckles you're certain he doesn't seem to mind the fact that you're easily sentimental).
"Do you trust the Fliers?" you ask one night while sitting atop your bed and brushing your hair. Xaden is sprawled along the couch, his brows furrowed into a frown as he busies himself analysing a map of god knows what.
"Unfortunately I have no choice," he glances up from the tinted papers, "it's either that or we let them die."
His sharp words are a contrast to the kind nature of his actions. You stifle a smile as you comb the brush through your strands, wincing when it tugs on a particular knot.
"What?" he scowls at you.
"What?" you blink at him.
"You're smiling," his scowl deepens, "is there something funny?"
"Not funny at all," you grin now.
He straightens, attention now fully on you as he grinds out, “tell me.”
“Well,” your grin widens tenfold before you can control yourself, “you’re kind of like an anti-hero, aren’t you? The kind of guy who saves everyone despite being a total jackass.”
“I’m a jackass?” His eyebrows fly up to his hairline.
“I—I mean,” you stammer upon realization of what you’ve said. Oh shit, “in a good way, right?”
He scoffs, unimpressed, before going back to his map. A silent indication that he is done with the conversation.
Life is not all that bad in the Riorson Manor, not when you’re finally comfortable enough to hang out with the cadets in-between duties. Liam is more than willing to teach you a few moves one day when you gape at the sparring going on between riders and soon a circle forms around the pair of you as he teaches with the patience of a scribe, as gentle and as kind as one could be.
You, on the other hand, suck at fighting.
“No no, balance on your back leg—“ Liam’s words cut off mid-sentence when you flail and practically tumble onto the mat, butt first and face flaming red. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Imogen and a tiny blonde — Sloane?— snickering and your embarrassment deepens tenfold.
“Nevermind,” you stammer out and brush his helping hand away as you straighten, “I think I’ve had my fill for today.”
“We barely got started,” Liam responds, “come on Tala. Don’t be a coward.”
“Come on princess!” Ridoc squeals from the bleachers, “you can do it!”
“I say knock him dead!” Rhiannon calls out next to him.
You definitely do not knock Liam dead.
On the contrary, you’ve lost count of the number of times he’s swiped his leg under your feet and caused you to tumble to the floor in a heap, or the amount of times he’s punched you (albeit lightly, though you can already feel the bruises forming along your arms). By the time you are done and he’s had his fill of butchering you into little pieces, you can barely feel your legs as you trail them off the mat.
Xaden is definitely not impressed when he joins the riders for dinner that evening, practically choking on his food when he spots the yellow bruise along your cheekbone.
“Who the fuck did that to you?” He snarls like an enraged beast, Garrick’s hand restraining him into his seat.
“No one! I was—uhm, sparring with Liam,” you explain with a smile, wincing when it causes your bruise to ache.
Xaden’s dark eyes fly over to the blonde cadet as a scowl forms on his face, “you did that?” His voice turns low, dangerous.
“She wanted me to teach her,” the blonde splutters.
“I did,” you add in a rush, “it really is nothing—“
“You’re a Healer,” Xaden’s eyes narrow, “heal yourself.”
“I—yes—I will,” heat rushes to your cheeks and you turn away, trying to ignore how Rhiannon and Ridoc’s gazes are darting between the two of you.
It’s a few hours later, in the Healer’s Quadrant, as you are crushing a few herbs for next day’s assignment, that Rhiannon finds you.
She steps in as quietly as a shadow, so silent you barely notice her presence until she speaks.
“Hey.”
You jump and almost spill the contents of your bowl, swiveling in panic and wide eyes, “oh hey. Hi,” you send her a small smile.
To be completely honest, Rhiannon is probably one of the only cadets you hadn’t had the chance to speak to, mainly because you know she’d been closely tied to Violet before her death.
“Is there anything you need?” You ask tentatively.
“No,” she hovers by the doorway, her black riders outfit a stark contrast against the white canvas of the healer’s quarters, “well, yes. I do.”
You pause amidst your grinding, “are you hurt?”
“No I’m fine,” she takes a few steps closer before her eyes flit down to your bowl, “what’s this?”
“I’m just preparing a few medicinal herbs for tomorrow,” you say, “Brennan might need them.”
Rhiannon hums but provides no answer. She still lingers as though unsure of what to do with herself and amidst the silence that grows awkward like curdled milk, you bite the corner of your cheek and ask:
“Is there… something that I can help you with?”
Rhiannon’s beautiful face pauses. She opens her mouth. Closes. Opens it again.
Finally, she says, “can I ask you a question?”
You pause and take in her seriousness, “sure,” you reply warily.
“Do you like Riorson?”
You blink at her.
Heat flushes through your face. You swallow, “no— it’s not like that.”
Rhiannon scoffs, “I can read you like an open book. You don’t need to lie to me.”
Her gaze makes your skin prickle with fear and you look away.
“It doesn’t matter,” you tell her quietly as you resume your task, glad that your hands have something to do, “how I feel.”
Surprise lines her tone, “what do you mean?”
A small smile dances across your mouth, “I’m not like her,” you look up to see the bronze skinned woman now getting comfortable against one of the spare beds, arms crossed and measuring you with her dark-eyed gaze, “I never will be like her. And I know that he can only love someone who’s just as strong. I’m anything but, so I don’t have any expectations. Not from him anyway.”
Your words ring with truth and it hits hard, reverberating through the space with an unforgivingness that rattles you to your bones. Something in your stomach curls and knots, but you stow it away and clamp down on your lips so that you retain some sense of control— the little bit of it that you have left.
“So whatever you wanted to say— to defend your friend, to keep her honour— it’s okay. I get it,” you give her a shaky smile, “I won’t steal him. He wasn’t mine to begin with.”
Rhiannon’s dark brown eyes bore into yours like she is trying to read through your words, decode any lie you might be hiding. But it’s not just that— you swear you spot a flash of sympathy in those dark irises, probably the memory of her dead friend playing at the back of her mind.
“Thank you,” is what she finally murmurs out.
She turns to leave but then hovers by the door with hesitation.
“I—“ she shakes her head slightly before looking back at you over her shoulder, “I wasn’t going to defend her honor though. I was just going to ask you to take care of him.”
Your mouth dries up. You can’t help but stare.
What is she saying?
But Rhiannon merely shrugs and leaves. Her words ring through your ears and you look down at your crushed leaves, wondering if you’ve understood that wrong.
Surely she hasn’t just asked you to— what? Take care of him?
Like you have a chance? Like Xaden Riorson could love someone like you?
No way.
Tossing and turning that night does nothing to help when sleep escapes you nevertheless, and you’re a little groggy-eyed you’re woken up by a few knocks at your door a little shy past six in the morning.
Your eyes widen when you come face to face with none other than Xaden Riorson.
“What are you doing here?” You rub at your eyes in growing confusion.
“Get dressed,” it’s clear from the way he eyes your bedhead that he is more than amused by your countenance, “we’re training.”
“Excuse me? Training? But I—“
He shoots you a scowl.
You flinch and mumble out a soft, “fine.”
The sparring gym — or the makeshift area that cadets have now converted into a small training arena— is void of people as you step into the grand hall, palms sweaty and heart fluttering with nervousness.
Xaden strides over to the row of chairs scattered along the far wall and places down his bottle and flight jacket while you watch, flexing your fingers as your eyes dart around to take in your surroundings.
He’s not going to bash your face in, is he? Or worse?
But you’ve seen the way he fights. The ruthless grace, the deadly precision in which he strikes.
Fear races up your spine and goosebumps rise along your skin. You shiver.
“Shall we begin?” The shadow wielder steps forward onto the mat while rolling his neck from side to side.
“Do we really have to?”
His eyes narrow, “I thought you wanted to learn how to fight.”
“I did,” you bite down onto your lower lip, “but…with you?”
“I trained every single one of them,” his eyebrow cocks up in that sultry way of his and your stomach flutters at the way his eyes scan you down, “are you questioning me?”
“No,” you say reluctantly.
He’s seemingly satisfied, body extending into a fighting stance before he makes a “come hither” motion with his fingers.
You were right. Xaden is a force to be reckoned with.
And not just that, he literally kicks your ass.
Not in a nice way.
You sprawl out onto the floor with a groan, butt screaming in pain from the heavy fall and the way you’d skidded right off the matt that you’re bound to have a few burn marks. The rider stands before you without even breaking a sweat, looking like he’s having too much fun messing around with you and not even calling it his warm up.
“Come on,” he motions for you to stand up. You do after a few seconds of hesitation, muscles screaming in pain as you struggle to straighten your spine.
He comes at you again; fast agitated movements that make you dizzy as you spin in an attempt to block him out. You pathetically try to do as he’d told you from the beginning, reigning in your core and focusing on tracking his movement patterns. But he’s too strong and no sooner have you started that Xaden lands another blow that sends you sprawling over the floor with a cry.
You curl up on yourself as tear prick at the corners of your vision, wondering why on earth you thought this would be fun.
“Stand up,” Xaden commands.
But you can’t. Your body shakes and you scream at yourself inwardly to do as you’re told.
It doesn’t cooperate. Your muscles are locked in place, a small sob falling from your lips.
A shadow falls over you and Xaden crouches, brow furrowed, “hey,” he says it roughly, though his touch is gentle when he prods your shoulder, “you okay?”
“I—“ you gasp out in a stammer, “I can’t— move—“
In one swift motion he’s swept you up into his arms before carrying you over to the corner of the room. His hold is strong and secure, his scent a lovely whiff of bold flowers and something you cannot quite place. Something smokey. You want nothing more than to curl up into him and the thought is enough to set your cheeks on fire.
He sets you down onto one of the spare chairs with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter before he crouches, face levelling to yours.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble with downcast eyes, “I did warn you though. I’m really not good at—“ you motion towards the mat, “all this.”
Xaden lets out a soft chuckle, “yeah, you are terrible.”
Throwing him a scowl, you straighten, “it’s not fair. You’ve been learning this your whole life. I’ve literally never battled before last week.”
“Which is why you were crying,” he shoots back, “sore loser.”
“I am not a sore loser,” you huff.
He sends you a pointed look, eyebrows raised, “you are.”
“I am not,” your scowl deepens even more, “I’d rather Liam teach me. You’re horrible.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” with one final prod at your forehead, Xaden straightens up and moves towards his discarded jacket, throwing a set of words over his shoulder, “get cleaned up. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait, how do you know—“
He’s gone like a whisper, too fast for you to track, and you want to bonk yourself on the head for being a total nutcase around him.
It’s almost as though he takes it as his personal mission to train you; catching you during early mornings only to have you run drills across the arena until your lungs threaten to burst, snitching you away during late afternoons when he has nothing better to do and showing you the art of self-defense. When you protest that you will probably never use such skills in your lifetime you’re rewarded by a white hot glower from the said shadow-wielder.
“I am teaching you how to defend yourself, if ever something happens,” he shoots back, “be a bit more grateful.”
“Oh thank you mighty Riorson for being so kind,” you mutter under your breath as you squat down for what seems to be the millionth time.
“What was that?”
“Nothing!” You send him a fake grin.
From the litter of bruises and scars you carry along with you after every training session, the cadets can’t help but worry that he's going a little bit rough on you.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” It’s probably the fifth time Liam has asked you that.
“I’m really fine,” you wince as you reach for some more curry to add to your rice. Your arm has been aching and sore for days now, “really.”
“You don’t look fine,” Rhiannon’s brow furrows.
“I am. He’s training me to defend myself,” you try to sound as convinced as you think you are, “I thought you guys were used to his … brutal ways.”
“Yeah we are,” Ridoc says, “and the fact that you’re still standing is a miracle.”
They’re not wrong. Xaden is probably the toughest teacher you’ve ever had. Not that you have any to compare with, considering that Healers are pretty much tame. But still, him taking time out of his busy schedule to train you does mean something and you try not to question the warmth buzzing in your heart every time you think about it.
Things — unfortunately— take a turn for the worse when the Gryphon fliers make it to the Riorson Manor. They’re angry and bitter, with sharp tongues and hungry eyes that can devour you with a single glance. You make sure to stay the hell away from them, but that doesn’t mean they do the same.
Together, Fliers and Riders have no other choice but to bridge the barrier they’d once built so high that it’s going to take a lot of rough work to destroy and put it the past. You linger on the sidelines, watching with fearful eyes every time a narrow-eyed glance is sent towards the riders.
But it’s not their interaction that renders you uncomfortable. It’s not the fact that the air is now thick with tension that you can cut with a knife straight down the middle. It’s definitely not the fact that your training sessions have ceases in favour of meetings and plans leading up to the so-called revolution.
It’s the way this particular Flier has her eyes on you.
They’re hazel, unsure whether to settle on brown or green. And her lips tug into a snarl whenever she spots you. Almost like you did something personal to her when you barely even know her at all.
“Cat,” Rhiannon’s voice drips with disgust, leaning towards you so as not to be heard over the dining table that same evening, “she was apparently Xaden’s betrothed when he first got to Basgiath. They spent some time together back then, as lovers.”
Every word on your mouth turns to sawdust. They taste sour along your tongue.
You can only stare at her.
“You’re joking,” Ridoc is the one to speak, “how come?”
“Well she’s a princess. Riorson’s the heir to the Tyrrendor throne. She would’ve been invincible.” Rhiannon lifts her shoulders in a shrug, “you do the math.”
Sawyer whistles, “bet she’s regretting it right about now.”
“Ain’t gonna argue with that,” Imogen pipes up from the other end of the table.
From then onwards you make sure to steer clear out of her path, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention when all you want is peace and quiet. Alas though, it seems that fate doesn’t have the same plans for you, for you bump into her a few days later when you’re out training with Xaden.
He’s currently fixed on your form, prodding and pushing at your spine, “back straight. Face forward,” he instructs with his Wingleader voice on.
He rounds your silhouette until he stands before you. Then, without warning, his arm lashes out.
You block it, a small yelp echoing past your lips when it almost slams into your cheek.
“Good,” he steps back and pushes up his shirt sleeves, “you’ve gotten better.”
He strikes. Again.
And again.
And again.
And you block him. Every single time.
You grin. You can’t help yourself. This is exhilarating. No wonder riders are addicted to it—
A fist comes flying and slams into your face.
Pain explodes across your nose, sending your body sprawling to the ground as rapid fire consumes your very being.
“Fuck. Tala!” Xaden’s hands grab at your shoulders in an instant. He pulls you up, brows furrowed as a small hiss escapes his mouth once he catches sight of the newly formed bruise blossoming across your cheekbone.
It’s pulsing. Practically vibrating.
Your hand goes up to press against the skin and you wince when your cheek throbs, bouncing all the way up to the back of your skull.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” Xaden’s turning you so that you have no choice but to face him, onyx eyes filled with worry. One of his hands grasp the back of your elbow, the other turning your cheek this way and that, “I’m so sorry. Why the fuck didn’t you evade? I thought I taught you better than this.”
“I’m sorry,” you mutter through the stinging burn now spreading through your entire face.
He lets out a loud sigh, “that’s gonna form a nasty bruise.”
“I'm sorry," you repeat once more. Like it might make it better.
That is when you spot a figure in the distance, body instantly tensing in Xaden's arms when you notice that it's none other than the Flier Cat, with her dark mane tumbling over her back and her hazel eyes currently narrowed as she takes in the scene in front of her.
Fuck. You're screwed.
Xaden notices the look on your face, for he quickly swivels, his entire body turning to stone.
"Cat," he says her name without warmth. Devoid of emotion.
And yet, you can feel the tension, simmering underneath your skin.
You quickly scramble up and blubber an excuse as you scurry away, not wanting any part of this and leaving Xaden to fight his own battles. Your legs burst into a sprint as soon as you find the staircase leading to the Manor and you run for your life until you manage to round a corner, chest heaving with effort as you double over right beside one of the victorian columns lining the edge of the doorway.
Maybe it's the fact that Xaden has had a past that he'd shared with her. That she got to know him how you didn't. And how you never will know him that way.
That's why there's a terrible knot in your stomach, some kind of queasy jealousy that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.
Because you actually like him. This dangerous, cruel monster. You like him.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
a/n: things are heating up and xaden and tala are getting closer! Any ideas on what's going to happen next? comment your thoughts down below! xx
You confuse healing with hurting others; Azriel's ready to let you hurt him anyway.
WC: 3.5k
Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, my poor boy Azriel is sad.
a/n: I'm so thankful for all the support and kind comments for this story! There will still be at least 2 more parts. Sorry for this one being a bit shorter.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
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Azriel hadn't interacted with you much since lending you his dagger.
He was always there, sure, but he seemed to be letting you lead wherever your friendship would go. He did not try to force you into speaking with him or being around him, but you did notice his nervous energy when you were around.
When you'd pass him in the House of Wind, run into one another in the library, or sit across from each other at dinner, you couldn't help but study how he'd changed. While he had been quiet before, he had always held a certain peaceful arrogance about him. Now, his silence seemed more insecure and anxious, as if he was not quite sure of himself in his own place of residence.
You hadn't had anyone stay the night with you since that night with Azriel either.
You noticed that he kept his bedroom light on every night, though. You weren't sure if he did this to pretend he was still awake, so you'd be less embarrassed if you needed to wake him, or if he did this to reassure you someone was aware and ready in the house during a time of the night you felt more vulnerable. Either way, you tried not to let it effect you too much.
Some nights when noticing the change between Azriel and yourself got too much, you would cry until your eyes became swollen and burned with exhaustion, finally allowing you to fall asleep. Other nights, every noise in the house caused your anxiety to skyrocket, and you found yourself heading to the library to read as a distraction, knowing you would have to try to rest the following night instead.
Nightmares came every now and then. You had mentioned this to Rhys, assuming that he might have experienced something similar with how much he had gone through, and he suggested a sleeping tonic from Madja. You took it nightly, and it seemed to help the majority of the time.
It had been two months since that night, and while your progress was no where near finished, and your trauma would forever be a part of you, you felt less fragile than you did in those previous weeks. You had started showing up to group events again with the whole inner circle, laughing had become more of a consistent part of your days with the help of Cassian and Mor, and the House had even helped prepare food you could keep down until your appetite was back to normal.
The only thing that didn't seem to be getting any better was your relationship with Azriel.
He tried to help in his own way. He left books out in inconspicuous locations that he thought you would like. There would be a box of your favorite pastries on the kitchen counter in the morning, as if anyone else in the household liked their tart flavor. Sometimes you would even notice shadows slinking into your room at night, tugging at the window locks and blinds to ensure everything was secure.
And you knew he wasn’t trying to be noticeable with these things. In fact, it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to not draw attention to himself. He would instead scan through the pages of the books to see if you had made any notes, check the pastry boxes to make sure you had eaten something, or have his shadows close the window when the cold air was beginning to wake you up.
The fact that it all helped only made you angrier.
The inner circle noticed your frustration around the shadowsinger as well, especially during Winter Solstice celebrations.
You had felt good enough to join the rest of the group at the River House, but it was obvious enough how tense things were between you and Azriel:
Friends exchanged gifts, hugs, and laughter, but Azriel kept to himself the entirety of the night, only occasionally sending one of his family members a small smile or taking a sip of his drink.
He had gotten everyone very thoughtful gifts, and he seemed genuinely touched at the presents he received in return. You tried not to flinch at the gardening book he had gotten Elain or the decorated sheath she had gotten him for one of his daggers.
Azriel and Elain didn't speak much that night though, as much as you tried not to notice. You really did try not to notice Azriel so much, but it was as if your gaze was being pulled to him by some unknown force, demanding that you acknowledge that he was here, close to your side, his attention all on you.
And you felt that attention more than ever when Feyre handed you a box wrapped in midnight blue, the wrapping paper glinting from where you sat by the fire.
Swallowing, you refused to look up at Azriel, knowing it would only make the feeling in your stomach worse.
You heard Rhys making conversation in the background, trying to ease the tension and take some attention away from yours and Azriel's exchange.
The shadowsinger also tried to give you privacy, chiming in here and there to add to Rhys’ conversation, but you still felt his eyes keep moving to you.
Fingers fumbled with unwrapping and pulling apart the box before finally revealing what lay beneath.
Underneath a layer of tissue paper sat a delicate piece of glass about the size of a piece of paper. It was transparent, but somehow held some light and color at certain angles, adding a sort of whimsical iridescence to it. It was stunning, and your careful fingers felt unworthy of holding such an awe-inspiring thing. Your only problem was you had no idea what it actually was.
Azriel cleared his throat, and you couldn't stop your eyes from floating to his.
"It's a translator." He fidgeted from the chair he sat in. "From the Day Court. If you place it on a page of writing, it will translate the text to whatever language you request. I thought you might want to expand some of the books you have access to."
Your heart pounded in your chest. He knew you loved reading. He knew you loved studying. He knew you and had gotten you a gift that made you so excited you had to actively scold yourself to loosen your grip on the glass.
His hazel eyes were filled with so much emotion as he tried to gauge your reaction, you felt something physically crack in your chest.
You tried to will your tears down.
"Thank you," you whispered, unable to make your voice louder. Azriel accepted it all the same, giving you a small nod before clasping his hands together and averting his gaze back to Rhys.
You hadn't gotten anything for Azriel.
You didn't have much to give him anymore. He knew that, despite the sadness that surrounded him that night.
Maybe it was because you would have gotten him a solstice gift before. Not only would you have picked something out months in advance, you would have teased him about it, gone giddy with excitement over the surprise.
After what happened, there hadn’t been a gift in that pile addressed to him from you, and it only served to show the damage that had been done to your friendship.
You tried not to let what he had done damage you further, continuing to build up your walls both physically and emotionally.
Cassian’s training was great for the body and mind, and you put all of your focus into that.
Training had allowed for you to channel some of the agony harbored in your chest into exercise. Every night around 9pm you would meet the general up in the training ring, going over anything from conditioning and weight lifting to actual battle tactics like sword training and hand-to-hand combat.
You knew that Azriel normally came up to train late at night, but it seemed like he pushed his time later in order to give Cassian and you some privacy. You tried not to think about how little of sleep he must be getting if he wasn't coming up to train until midnight. It wasn't your problem.
At first, you were scared both intrusive thoughts and your body's memory would hinder your sessions. You had been hesitant and nervous, but Cassian had quickly made you feel at ease. You knew he had trained Gwyn, and Cassian was a trusted friend, so you shouldn't have been surprised when the sessions went swimmingly.
Cassian was such a steady presence, someone you knew you could always rely on. He made sure to check in on you every night, casually asking questions that seemed nonchalant enough to not be overbearing or annoying while still showing he cared. That didn't stop him from overstepping at times though.
Hours ago, Cassian had been sparring with you in the training ring, his steps circling your own and hands raised ready to strike. You had followed his movements, trying to remember everything you had been taught while silencing outside noises.
You weren't sure if he had said it to get under your skin, to win the upper hand, or if it was something he had actually been pondering for a while.
When you had taken a step as if to attack, Cassian had eyed the dagger in your hand — Azriel’s dagger —and had bluntly asked, "Do you think you'll ever forgive him?"
You had nearly stumbled in your stance.
The inner circle had been very careful to tiptoe around you and Azriel. They didn't ask about your relationship or where you stood, never tried to force interactions or situations upon the two of you, and you had gotten used to the peace of their feigned ignorance.
You had to shake off the shock of his question before it festered in your chest.
"What?" You had decided to ask instead, buying yourself some time to think.
You didn't know what you were doing with your body anymore, if you were still on physically guard, fighting, or if all of your energy was being put toward guarding your emotions.
"I'm not saying you should," Cassian had quickly amended. "But I am wondering where your head is at."
Only staring at him, your eyebrow arched in challenge. "Should it be somewhere specific?"
Cassian's sigh had been near silent in the large room, and the large warrior seemed to deflate at your answer. "No. Of course not."
"Good," you had only replied, voice hard and final. "Then let's keep going."
Cassian had gone right back to his teasing, difficult self, but he left not too long after that sparring round ended.
That had been hours ago, but you were still there, knives and daggers lined up, throwing them at the boards across from you. Each throw had you huffing, and with your strength depleting, your aim became further and further off through the night.
Your arms were sore and numb, both from throwing the weapons and from sparring with Cassian earlier. But it felt good, knowing your muscles were being used, knowing you were growing stronger, more powerful and less vulnerable.
Sleep should have found you about an hour ago, but you knew you wouldn't be able to get any tonight. Cassian's words flowed nonstop through your head: Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
I don't know Cassian, do you think he'll ever stop being such a fuck-up?
The question made you angry, because this situation was never about him, and you didn't owe Azriel anything.
You knew Azriel was Cassian's brother. You knew everyone wanted your family to be whole again, to stop seeing each other hurting. But you were angry at the expectations placed on you by your friends to offer forgiveness, you were angry at Azriel for being too late in every area of your life, and you were angry at yourself for missing him.
Gods, you wanted to scream, to thrash, to hit yourself until you could force yourself into just minutes of peaceful rest.
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
Do you think he deserves forgiveness?
You paused, breathing heavily as you thought over your own words and reaction. You knew he was trying, but you also knew some things didn't change. And some people weren't worth getting hurt over again.
Before you could pull the dagger in your hand back and launch it forward toward the wooden board, you noticed the shift in the air.
Shadows danced along the floors, curling and floating around training equipment.
You knew Azriel moved back the time he would come up here to train independently so that you and Cassian could have privacy. You knew that you were technically the one infringing on his claimed time and peace now. That didn't stop the wave of frustration that rolled over you, though.
Azriel's presence mimicked that same wave shoving you under. You were sick of it. Sick of feeling like you couldn't breathe, like you couldn't fight back, like every single inch of your body wouldn't listen to you anymore. You were sick and tired of feeling worthless, like you would never be loved, like you would never be someone's priority. And you were so fucking tired of being sad.
Fire burned within your veins, but it wasn't because of shame or hurt. You were angry again. You had deserved better, and you had gotten left in the dust like a piece of trash. And he thought a pretty present could fix things? Could fix you?
As if the iridescent glass sheet could blur the memory of the male's tongue on your neck, the feeling of his fingers touching where they shouldn't, translating the history written on your body into something more pleasant, more beautiful, like a tale of a hero rescuing the dame and whisking her off to safety.
Before you knew what you were doing, you took the dagger Azriel had lent you and turned with a speed and strength you had never aimed at another person, heaving out a noise of frustration and sending the weapon flying toward Azriel's form just inside the doorway.
You saw red. The red of the male's blood in the alleywall, the red of your own blood, the red of Azriel's blood now beading along his bicep, the red of pure unfiltered rage.
"You are a piece of shit, Azriel. A fucking selfish, cruel, shallow bastard. Do you know that?"
Your chest heaved as you tried to control yourself, your fingers already itching for another weapon. It wasn't enough to see you had nicked his skin. You wanted him to fight back, you wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt you.
"Is that why you go after damaged females? In an attempt to find something redeemable about yourself? To act like the hero, like some sort of protector?"
He flinched at the words but otherwise remained unmoving. You hated him for it.
"You're no hero. You're a joke."
You watched as the blow landed, and a wave of adrenaline rushed over you. You deserved this. You had been bleeding for months, crawling up the well of your depression until your fingertips were raw and worn, and these attacks against him felt like a hand reaching down from the heavens, like an extra surge of energy to keep yourself going. You didn't want to be the one bleeding, it was someone else's time to bleed for once.
A step toward him, but he didn't move.
"Do you know what the priestesses tell me?"
He blinked, swallowing harshly.
"They say it's not my fault, what happened to me." You shrugged, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I guess they are partially right. Because it's your fault too. And the male's. But I'm not completely blameless here. I mean what in the Cauldron's name was I thinking, putting my trust in you?"
That got him. Eyes squeezed shut suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as if he had actually been stabbed. Good.
"After all," you continued, beginning to pace around the training area, languidly taking small steps as if you were telling your own tale. "How many of those close to you have you let down before? Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, Elain, your mother... I really should have expected to get hurt because of you."
You could see wetness on his cheeks, but you still did not back down. And he did not move from his spot, his hazel eyes not even hardening at the onslaught.
You'd just have to go harder.
"Sometimes in my nightmares, your hands are the ones hurting me in that alley. I can feel your scars as you pin me to the wall, as I'm violated." You let out a humorless laugh. "I think my mind keeps trying to tell me that's all you're good for: inflicting damage."
A drop of blood from his bicep fell to the floor in a perfect circle.
You stopped your pacing, only about fifteen feet in front of him, and dropped your hands to your side. With your head held tall, you looked him directly in his eyes, pausing to memorize the broken look of him.
His chest was hardly rising and falling. He stood completely and utterly still. Hazel eyes on your own, jaw clenched, cheeks wet.
He was a beautifully broken portrait. And you had just torn him to shreds.
Summoning the rest of your courage, you spit out the thought that had been tormenting you, curling its way around your heart until you felt it would be strangled.
A thought, and a promise.
"You may have thought me worthy of being forgotten, but I will make sure you never forget what you have done to me."
Breaking eye contact, you walked past him out of the training ring, refusing to turn back. If you thought you heard a wounded noise travel softly from his lips, you ignored it.
Maybe you were a bad person, maybe deep down you were a sadistic, cruel being, but saying those words finally lifted something from your chest. Air came easier, and some part of you felt vindicated after unleashing yourself, despite the shaking that immediately overcame you in your retreat.
You might have been confused. Your chest might have been swarming with overwhelming, conflicting emotions and adrenaline. You were filled with so much love and hate, so much yearning and anger, but you at least felt like you had a release, the swirling poison in your chest no longer sitting so close to your heart.
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
It was cathartic. The sharp words, watching them pierce him down to his core, seeing as he cried over what you'd become. And for once, as you let the cool breeze wash over your overworked muscles, you felt tears build in your eyes not from sadness but from relief.
Like a fire burnt out, you dragged your weary body back to the House of Wind, barely making it to your bed before collapsing.
You imagined Azriel standing where you left him, bleeding from where you had slashed him. He hadn't even said a word — he had just let you tear him to pieces.
Was it his own way to punish himself? Was this about him all over again?
Do you think you'll ever forgive him?
Maybe if you knew what was coming in the days following, you would have said yes. Maybe you would have wanted to be around him more, to actually try, instead of pushing him away. Maybe you would have realized that you weren’t just punishing him but yourself as well.
But you didn’t know what was coming. So you pushed the image of his wounded expression, the way he had physically flinched at your words, away from your mind, closed your eyes, and went to sleep.
If you dreamt about his scarred hands scooping you up in that alleyway, bringing you close to his chest and keeping you safe, you'd never admit it.
Azriel couldn’t sleep. He went to her room after their argument, stopping himself from knocking when he heard the sounds of her crying. Oh, he had made such a mess. Did the bond snap for her too? Was she crying because she was fated to someone who had been so mean to her?
No, Azriel. Stop that. He chided himself, remembering her words in the library. “Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you?” Maybe he was. Although, she didn’t give him much reason to think her actions weren’t aimed at him. It wasn’t his fault that she never talked to anyone. He groaned, trying to banish that thought from his mind. He needed to stop blaming her for all of this. He had allowed his own feelings to cloud his judgment, never once stopping to think if there was some other reason why she may act so cold.
Azriel looked at his hands, at the scars tracing the skin. Why had she always stared at them in such a disgusted way? He couldn’t figure that one out. He was confused. Painfully confused. His mind ached with the thoughts running through it, wishing he could just forget everything. He couldn’t figure this out on his own.
He had to find Rhysand.
***
Rhys was not pleased when he opened his door in the dead of night to the Shadowsinger. Though the sleep disappeared from his eyes the second he took in the expression on Azriels face. “What has happened?” He demanded, body tensing as he prepared for the worst.
Azriel simply shook his head, suddenly unsure of what to say. “I-“ He started, “I don’t, I don’t actually know what happened.” He felt ashamed, not ready to admit how he’s been acting unfairly for all these years. Her name fell from his mouth, a quiet plea. “I need to know her story.”
Rhysands lips thinned. “That is not mine to share, Azriel.” He sighed at the distraught look on his friends face, running a hand through his hair. “You have to ask her yourself. She hasn’t even talked about it with me in all this time, and I was the one who found her.” Azriel ducked his head, more guilt piling on top of his shoulders. How bad must it have been for her to not be able to talk about it a hundred years later? Rhys clapped a hand on Azriels shoulder, trying to comfort his friend. “She’s not who she pretends to be. Give her a chance, Az. Let her come to you.” Azriel nodded, thanking him before heading back home.
Let her come to you.
***
READER POV
You woke up before the sun, laying awake in your bed as you planned what you were going to say to Azriel. You never spoke about what happened to you, but you knew you had to at least give him some of the story so he could understand. Understand that it wasn’t his scars that upset you, but your own. That he had never wronged you, it is your mind that’s the curse.
You were scared.
You didn’t know how he would react. You never expected that Azriel would be the one you ended up opening up to. You hardly knew him. Maybe that was better. Or was it worse? You groaned and covered your eyes with your hands, wishing you could make your thoughts make sense. How were you supposed to get through a conversation if you couldn’t even think straight?
You pulled yourself out of bed as the sun began to shine over the horizon, dressing to go find Azriel. You knew he tends to rise early, getting early training sessions in before breakfast. That would be where you looked for him first, then.
You took a deep breath and headed to the training ring.
***
You half expected him to not be there. You weren’t sure if you were happy or disappointed to see him when you entered the ring. You paused in the doorway, slightly hidden from his sight. You watched as he practiced, the way his body moved was almost an art. You had never really looked at the Shadowsinger, always too wrapped up in your own head. You felt your heart quicken while you watched, observing the beauty of him in the early morning sun. You watched as he moved, the muscles rippling on his arms, his wings flaring out slightly. His wings. You felt a sharp pain in your heart, seeing the sun shine through them. You felt the ache of where yours used to be, just as beautiful as his.
You had to make your move now or you were going to talk yourself out of it. You stepped forward, giving a little cough to signal your arrival. Azriel halted, spinning towards you like he’d seen a ghost. He said your name like a question, blankly staring at you. You bowed your head, kicking the sand with your foot. Now that you were here you didn’t know how to start.
You swallowed and looked back up to him. “You’re really good at that.” You blurted out, embarrassment instantly coloring your cheeks. “I mean, I knew you were good. I’d just never watched you like that, moving so freely.” His eyes widened slightly as he looked you over, saying nothing. “N-not that I was like, standing here for long. I just wanted to come talk to you, after last night, and I saw you and I didn’t want to interrupt.” You silently cursed. You were rambling. You needed to get it together. You opened your mouth to speak again before shutting it quickly, leaving room for him to respond.
Azriel looked into your eyes, an interesting expression on his face. “Uh, thank you.” He spoke politely, seemingly unsure of how to talk to you. That made the guilt even worse. You looked down again, staring at the ground like you were hoping it would open up and swallow you. You jumped a little as Azriel started speaking again; “I’m sorry, for what I said. It wasn’t fair of me to lash out at you like that.” You looked up in shock, not really expecting him to apologize.
“No, i’m sorry. I see now how my actions made you think I was being unnecessarily cruel. The truth is, I-“, You stopped. You couldn’t do this. You felt your throat closing up, the panic threatening to overtake your body. Azriel seemed to sense it too, stepping close to you.
“Hey, hey, you don’t owe me any explanation. I was only thinking about myself, you were right.” You could tell he wanted to reach out and touch you, comfort you. You couldn’t tell if you wanted him to or not.
You took a breath, clearing your mind. “Azriel,” you started, forcing calm through your body, “I have scars of my own. Like yours.” You looked into his eyes, gauging his reaction.
He nodded, hands fidgeting at his side. “I see.” He said quietly, gaze flitting over your body. “Where at?” The question was barely a whisper, and you almost pretended you didn’t hear.
But that would not be beneficial to anyone.
“Here.” You said softly, turning your back to him and beginning to raise your shirt.
“You don’t have to show me.” He spoke quickly, hands covering yours, stilling their movements. You sucked in a surprised breath at the contact, mind going temporarily blank.
“It’s okay. I want you to see.” You finally said, pulling your hands out from under his. “You can lift it the rest of the way.”
You shivered as the morning breeze ran over your newly exposed skin, his hands raising the back of your shirt up slowly. You heard the sharp intake of air as he saw the jarring, burnt stumps where your wings used to be. All was quiet for a moment, Azriel taking in the damage in front of him.
“Who did this to you?” His voice was harsh, anger dripping from every word. You were mortified at the fire that ran under your skin at his tone. You pulled away to look at him, taking in his darkened eyes.
“They were dealt with.” Was all you said, not sure how much you were ready to reveal. Azriel could sense your hesitation, giving a curt nod.
“By Rhysand?” He asked.
“Yes.” You whispered.
“Good. I know he didn’t make it pleasant for them.” His eyes were a raging fire.
“It was my father.” You suddenly said, not even realizing you had decided to tell him. “And my soon-to-be-husband.”
If you thought you had seen anger on Azriels face before, you were wrong. Pure rage ran over him, every muscle in his body tensing. You took a small step back in fear, having never seen him like this. “Azriel?” You whispered out, trying to bring him back down.
“Let me see them again.” He commanded, turning you around. You allowed him to lift your shirt again, shuddering when one of his hands lightly traced the scars on your back. “Is this okay?” He whispered, breath fanning over your ear.
You could only nod, unable to handle all the different emotions coursing through you.
Azriels hand traced your scars for what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute. When he was done he pressed both of his hands to your back, letting your shirt fall over all the scars between the two of you. Your skin was tingling at the contact, a part of you never wanting this to end. You didn’t realize that you were sinking back into Azriels touch until his hands slid down and around to your waist, your back hitting his chest.
You jumped away from him, every inch of you buzzing from his hands. What was wrong with you?
You turned to face him, not wanting him to think you were upset. “Sorry I, it’s been- it’s been a long time since anyone has, since I have, I haven’t-“ You stuttered out, your words jumbling together and making no sense. You slid your hands down the front of your shirt, trying to soothe your racing heart. “That’s all to say, uh, I haven’t had much physical contact in a, a long time.” You pushed a piece of your hair out of your face, trying to read Azriel. “Not that, not that I didn’t like it, I just, it’s been…a while.” You wanted to melt into the ground. You were making it so much worse.
He laughed. A warm, welcoming sound. You couldn’t help but smile as he did, feeling warm all the way to the tips of your toes. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I shouldn’t have kept going, you just seemed so calm and I didn’t want that feeling to fade.”
Oh. Oh. A wave of emotion crashed into you at his words, your vision growing blurry. He cared about you. Somehow, after the way you’ve acted towards him for so long, he cared.
Azriel was too good.
You had to say something, needing to break the silence that was now growing. “The children,” you began, “You saw me teaching them.” He nodded, signaling you to continue. “After all that happened, Amarantha, the attack on Velaris, Hybern, I wanted to make sure our youngest could protect themselves. Training had made me feel strong, before…” you trailed off, gesturing to your back. Azriels eyes grew sharp for a moment, understanding what you meant. “Anyway, I asked Rhys if I could train them. I figured I wasn’t doing much else, and I know enough from you and Cassian that I could teach them basic maneuvers. I love children, I used to dream of having my own with Ga-“ You stopped yourself, horror flooding through your bones. You hadn’t said his name since he heartlessly sliced your wings off.
Azriel noticed the fear start to take over, gently reaching out and grabbing your hands between his. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” He said softly, running his thumbs soothingly over your skin.
“Yea, yea I know.” You mumbled, looking at your hands in his. You cleared your throat, connecting your eyes back with his. “I wanted them to feel safe. That they can protect themselves. It gives me a small piece of hope, that even if something happened they could defend themselves through it.” You felt a tear slide down your cheek, not realizing you had started crying. You pulled one hand from Azriels, wiping it away.
“That is a selfless thing you are doing, training them. I wish one of us had thought of that long ago.” He said, squeezing your remaining hand. You smiled softly at him, not trusting yourself to speak again.
***
It had been a few weeks since your talk with Azriel, something changing between you that day. You now stood with him in front of your students, their little faces lit up with excitement. You had promised to bring the Shadowsinger to them, and their excitement at having a “real warrior” was almost overpowering. You weren’t sure he was going to say yes when you asked, knowing he tends to stay on the quiet side. You almost kissed him when he agreed right away.
Almost.
You couldn’t deny the feelings in your heart as you grew closer to him. They scared you as much as they excited you. You never thought you would feel this way about anyone ever again, especially with the dark shadow of what happened the last time you felt this way looming over you.
Azriel was different, you kept telling yourself. He would never be as evil as Gannon had been. Azriel was a better soul, a soul who knew the pain you’d gone through all too well. You looked up at him, smiling at the nervous look on his face.
“Take it away, Shadowsinger.”
***
The class had been an incredible success. The children loved Azriel, and he seemed to enjoy them just as much. He was able to teach them some defense tricks you hadn’t known, smiling broadly as the littlest of the group caught on the quickest. You were so proud of your students, so inspired by their drive to learn.
Watching one of the little girls run up to him at the end of class and wrap her arms around his legs did something irreparable to your heart. Azriel bent down, scooping her into his arms. “You did amazing, little warrior.” He said, her smile so bright it could contend with the sun. You walked over and pulled the girl out of his arms, giving her a hug of your own before setting her down. “Go on, now. Your mother is waiting at the door.” You watched as she ran to her mother, sending the female a smile as she collected her daughter.
Once everyone had cleared out you began closing all the windows and locking up for the afternoon. You finished pulling the last curtain down, heading over to make sure all the paperwork was done at your desk. You checked to make sure there weren’t any new students joining the next class, marking down those who came today. You were so engrossed in your work you didn’t notice Azriel come stand behind you until you finished and turned, slamming right into his chest. His hands went to your hips to stabilize you, laughing. You tried and failed to glare up at him, a loud laugh coming from you a second later.
When the laughter subsided you looked up at him. His hands hadn’t moved from your hips, and yours hadn’t moved from his chest. “You did great with them,” you said, cutting the tension. Azriel smiled, a hand coming to brush your hair behind your ear.
“They were easy. Their teacher must be an angel.” His words were heavy, his eyes distracted. His hand cupped the side of your face, angling your head up to him.
Your heart was going to beat out of your chest.
For a long few seconds the two of you stood there, daring the other to make the first move. Your resolves broke at the same time, surging forward to join in a heated, desperate kiss. He lifted you up onto the desk behind you, the hand on your hip dropping to grip your thigh as he stepped between your legs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You needed him as close as possible, your body was calling to his. You felt like your heart was pulling him in, a golden string almost tying you to him. You saw it in your mind as he kissed you, feeling that string tighten in your chest.
No, not a string.
A bond.
You gasped, pulling away from the kiss. You were rendered speechless as the bond snapped for you, your eyes wide with shock. Azriel looked panicked for a moment, looking at you with concern. “Are you okay? Was it too much, I understand if you’d-“ You cut him off with another kiss.
“Mate.” You whispered against his lips, his body stilling under your touch. Oh gods, did he not know? Did he not want the bond? Did you just fuck it all-
All thoughts were interrupted by Azriels mouth pressed hot against yours. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say it.” He growled into your skin, biting your bottom lip. You moaned at his touch, at his kiss, at your mate. The one thing you were convinced you would never find. He’d been right in front of your eyes all this time, both of you too wrapped up in yourselves to truly see each other.
You tightened your hold around Azriel, one of your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned into your mouth at your touch, a sly smile on your face. You felt whole as his hand slid under your shirt and up your back. You didn’t flinch when his scars touched yours, embracing the vulnerability you shared. The scars that had haunted you now a connection to the one who was made for you.
For the first time in your life, you felt truly safe.
***
I hope this ending was satisfying for you all!! I am blown away by the amount of support on this mini series. I really enjoyed writing it, challenging myself to bring hard emotions into it. Please let me know what you think of this ending, I can’t tell how I feel about it! I rewrote it several times, I couldn’t figure out which direction I wanted it to go. I appreciate and love ALL of your comments on this, and I hope you come back to read some of my other works too <3
"Cassian can you please take your feet off the table? We eat there." I smacked his leg and took a seat beside him to eat lunch.
He groaned and obeyed, putting his feet on the ground. "Gimme a bite." He pointed to the sandwich I had just made. I haven't even taken a bite of it yet.
"You just ate like, 3 minutes ago." I took a bite of my sandwich, glaring at him. I swear he is always hungry.
"Yours looks better than mine," he whined like a child.
I looked over at Azriel who was sitting across from us. He'd already finished his lunch and was reading a book at the table.
"Azriel did you not give the dog a treat after lunch?" Azriel lifted his eyes from his book, humor in them.
"That was rude," Cassian replied.
"Let the girl eat her lunch in peace," Azriel defended me, going back to his book.
I stuck my tongue out at Cassian and then took another bite of my sandwich. He was glaring at me but I could see the mischief behind his glare. I'm in trouble.
"Ask the house to-" I stopped my sentence. The air grew cold and eerie. Still, everything went so very still.
Azriel and Cassian felt it too, sitting up straight in their chairs. Something was different. We could all feel it.
There was a thud from the balcony. As if something jumped onto it, or someone landed on it.
Azriel and Cassian stood up simultaneously, grabbing their weapons. Their siphons glowing as they listened around.
Who the hell just landed at the House of Wind? No one can get up here unless they have wings. The Illyrians wouldn't dare to step foot up here. It can't be Mor, she's suppose to be in the Hewn City all day.
Azriel's shadows swirled around him, informing him of whatever just entered our house. My heart plummeted as I saw the color drain from Azriel's face.
"What's wrong? Who's here?" I shot to my feet. I was almost tempted to grab one of the daggers at Cassian's hip. If Azriel was scared then-
"I was expecting some open arms, not swords and daggers."
I don't think I ever turned around so quickly in my life.
Rhysand. Rhys. My brother. He's home. He's here, he's alive.
My knees buckled and I would have fallen to the ground if Cassian had not caught me.
My hand covered my mouth, silencing the sob that escaped me, tears poured out my eyes.
I beat Cassian and Azriel to him first, wrapping my arms around his neck so tightly. I held on for life, afraid this was a dream and the second I let go he would be gone. But I could feel him, smell him. He's here, home.
His arms stay wrapped around me as I placed my hands on his face, looking him over.
"Are you hurt?" I didn't dare ask if he was okay. How could he ever be okay from what ever torture she put him through?
"I'm alright," he replied. No signs of injury or bruises. But he was so very pale. Years away from sunlight would do that to you.
"I can't believe you are here." I wiped the tears from his cheeks, he did the same to me.
I wrapped my arms around him once more, kissing the top of his head a few times.
I didn't want to let him go but I know Azriel and Cassian would want their time with him.
The second I stepped from his embrace Cassian replaced me, literally picking Rhys off the floor and spinning him around.
"If you do not put me down I cannot promise that I will not puke on you," Rhys's laugh sent warmth through my body. I never thought I'd hear that again.
It didn't feel real. The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and the fact that Rhys was here still felt like a dream.
Amarantha was dead. Feyre saved us all, Rhys's mate. Rhys's mate... He has a mate. Who's marrying someone else. He showed us her. Showed us all she did. His face lit up telling us the story about her killing the wyrm.
It's been 3 months and I am savoring every last bit of it.
***
"You're different, sister." Rhys stared at me from across the room. He sat at his desk as I lounged in the chair in his bedroom. We did this often. This was where we always had our deep talks or hashed things out if we were upset. He would do work at his desk and I would occupy my time in the chair by reading or writing.
"I'm happy. You're finally home." I looked up from the hat I was knitting, another thing I picked up in the 50 years he was gone.
The smile faded off his face as he looked down at his hands. "Mor told me..."
"Whatever she told you, is in the past. Everything is good, now you're home. I'm good, I promise." Though I looked away from him I could feel the guilt in him from across the room. "Enough with the sadness, please."
"Fine, you don't want to talk about it. I'll respect that. Is there anything you do want to talk about?" His voice was hinting. There's no way he knows. We haven't.... well not since he got back. That was my decision.
"Like what?" I didn't dare look up at him.
"Hey, you guys down for Rita's tonight?" Gods his timing was the worse. Of course Cassian had to come in and interrupt now.
Rhys and I made eye contact. He had a stupid smirk on his face. He knew... How did he know?
"Cass, please join us. We were actually just about to have a chat." Rhys pointed to his bed for Cassian to take a seat.
Cassian went to take a seat, completely oblivious to the situation. "No, leave." He froze in his spot, looking at Rhys and me confused.
"Cassian, take a seat. As your High Lord, I order you." I could smack that stupid smug smile off his face.
"You can't do that." I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. Pulling this High Lord card... I should smack him up side the head.
"Can and just did, sit."
Cassian took and seat and glanced between at Rhysand and I, who were having a stare off.
"Cassian..." Rhys began, now looking at him. Cassian was trying to play it cool but I noticed the sweat beginning to form on his forehead. My heart was racing a hundred miles an hour, no doubt my brother could hear it too. "Are you sleeping with my sister?"
"Oh my gods, really Rhys?" I shot up from my seat. I felt the lie on my tongue, "Cassian and I are not-"
"We're together, yes. We have been for a while now. We take care of each other, watch out for one another. You can be mad at me, beat the shit out of me but I don't give a fuck." Cassian stood back up, no longer looking at Rhys but now me. "400 years I have loved her. 35 years I have been utterly, hopelessly in love with her."
Silence all around. I was shocked he admitted that right away. I mean we were caught, it was gonna be hard to lie to him. Cassian was standing up for us and here I was gawking like a complete idiot.
"Cassian and I are mates," I admitted to my brother nervously, but proudly. "I am madly in love with him. We wish to be mated and married but only with your permission."
That smirk had faded from my brothers face the minute Cassian spoke. His face was blank of emotion and he was silent for a while.
"This is not what I was expecting." He spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked mad but he was silent again for a while. "Fine. You have my blessing. But I'm still kicking your ass for hitting on my sister." He stood up a punched Cassian in the shoulder and then came and wrapped his arms around me which automatically relaxed me.
He placed his hands on either sides of my face, forcing me to stare into his eyes. The eyes we shared from our father.
Are you sure? He spoke to me in my mind. My shields were down for him the second he wrapped his arms around me.
I nodded and replied to only him, I've never experienced this type of happiness before.
His face softened as a single tear rolled down my face, and he wiped it away. He was always the one to wipe away my tears. He placed a kiss on my forehead and pulled away.
"Just don't show it around me," he shivered and I rolled my eyes.
"Rhys I'd like to request some time off work," Cassian said with a smirk, looking me up and down.
"I hate this already. Get out of my face." He waved us off.
Cassian held his hand out to me which I gladly took as we ran out of Rhys's room. The second we were out of earshot, to spare Rhys, Cassian's hands and lips were all over me.
"I'm never waiting that long ever again. It was pure torture not to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you," Cassian growled in my ear.
"I know, I'm sorry." I brought his lips back to mine. "Never again."
"Are we doing this?" He whispered, out of breath.
"Meet me at the cabin in an hour." I stepped out of reach from him, a big smile on my face.
"An hour?" He groaned.
"One hour and then... you'll have me for eternity." I stepped forward and kissed his lips once more, in a slow and achingly long kiss. "I love you. One hour." Then I winnowed away.
Summary: After 500 years spent searching for her, Azriel randomly stumbles upon his mate one day in the marketplace.
A/N: I finally got around to writing this ask by the lovely @ang-taylorsversion and I hope you like it! I really love how the beginning turned out, though I’m worried the ending might feel a bit rushed. I’ll proofread tomorrow… maybe…
Word count: 3851
Warnings: Smut is very briefly/vaguely touched upon
-
Azriel kept mostly to the shadows of an alley as his eyes tracked the bustling marketplace before him in search of a gift Mor wouldn’t return within the first week of the new year. Granted, there was still plenty of time to find something, what with Solstice being a little over three months away, but if the last 500 years had taught him anything at all, it was to start his search sooner rather than later to avoid desperate last-minute purchases that would only end up forgotten at the bottom of one of her drawers.
Every year he came here, and every year he saw himself faced with the fact that it got increasingly difficult to buy something for a person he’d already spent some 500 Solstices with. But he came here anyway, and when he did, he endured the crowds, and he kept to himself, because however much he loved this city—its people had never truly warmed to him.
Which was exactly the reason he failed to suppress a flinch when, out of nowhere, a voice tore him from his thoughts.
“Hello there!”
His head whipped around, and Azriel shot a bewildered glance at the faerie woman that had randomly appeared at his side, somehow utterly escaping his notice. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had willingly addressed him in public, let alone got close enough to even spot him. He was the Night Court’s spymaster. Technically… he’d been laying low just now.
He blinked, and she must’ve noticed the flash of surprise that had flitted across his features before he’d been able to school his face back into the carefully neutral expression he’d already perfected as a child.
She smiled, and Azriel’s eyes tracked the way her lips stretched as she did so. The skin by her eyes crinkled with amusement, and Azriel followed her hairline to spot the graceful tip of a pointed ear. She was… very beautiful.
He cleared his throat at the thought.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you—oh!” her words gave way to a delighted little laugh, and Azriel watched in horror as she lifted her hand to reveal his shadows winding their way around her wrist, threading through delicate fingers to curl up her arm.
He took a step back, calling his shadows with him as he went. “Forgive me,” he said, a little breathless with surprise. He couldn’t deny the heat that crawled up the back of his neck in embarrassment. “They don’t usually do that.”
“That’s okay.” She chuckled when a remaining, shadowy tendril brushed along her cheek as though in a gentle caress. Azriel flicked his wrist, and it disappeared. “They’re sweet.”
He blinked.
Sweet.
“They don’t usually are,” he said, doing his best at maintaining a neutral tone in the face of this faerie that hadn’t shied away at the touch of his shadows and somehow still looked at him like he was the sole centre of her attention.
She gave another beaming smile, and Azriel cleared his throat again.
“I’ll consider myself lucky then,” she said, and the way she kept her eyes on him—the curious gleam as they moved across his face as though to memorise every detail—it seemed almost… intimate.
Azriel’s eyes darted down at a stray shadow winding its way towards her foot, and he huffed as he took yet another step back. What was up with his shadows today?
“You’re Azriel, right?” she asked, and when he lifted his eyes back to the strange faerie, he had to force himself to keep his cool beneath her attentive gaze. “The spymaster?”
He tilted his head, and she elaborated. “I just—I don’t suppose there are that many shadow-wielding Illyrians walking around Velaris.”
At her words, a thought entered Azriel’s mind, and his eyes darted around the marketplace in search of anyone watching this encounter. Perhaps this was a trap of some sort. A distraction.
Perhaps she was to throw him off guard for unknown foes to attack.
“I’m Y/N,” she went on, seemingly accepting that she wouldn’t be getting an answer to her question any time soon. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just spotted you from that booth over there, and the bond snapped, and so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself before you vanished.”
Azriel noted a few people looking their way, though most were brief glances in passing and none of them really looked like they were planning to attack anytime soo—
His head whipped back around.
“What?”
Her eyes tracked his reaction, and for the first time since she showed up, her smile shrank the smallest fraction, and a barely-there hint of uncertainty sneaked its way onto her face.
“I… didn’t mean to offend—”
“No,” he interrupted, taking half a step forward to bridge some of the distance he’d created earlier. “No, I mean… what did you just say?”
“Oh, the bond?” Her face returned to the chipper expression she’d been carrying since she spoke her first word to him. “Yeah, I felt it snap when I saw you. Nearly knocked me off my feet.”
Azriel stared at her. He tracked her features, more thorough this time, and he recognised her attentiveness for what it was—curiosity. She’d wanted to memorise the face of her mate, find out who it was she’d just been bonded to.
Azriel remained frozen where he stood, and as he lost his grip on his shadows, a few of them darted back to her skin; sliding against her neck, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She giggled, and suddenly her laugh shot right down Azriel’s spine.
Mate. He had a mate.
He’d waited 500 years. He’d loved, and he’d lost, and he could write the damn book on unrequited love, and through it all, he had spent hours and days and years wondering what his mate would be like. He’d had lovers, sure, though none of them had been the one, and as he’d gone through his centuries of life without a trace of the one whose soul was supposed to match his, he had begun to doubt he even had a mate.
He'd longed for this very moment countless of times, but as he frantically searched his brain for all the scenarios he’d dreamt up, and all the possible ways he’d pictured this moment to go, standing in front of her now, he found his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth.
She tilted her head as he stared at her, unblinking.
“Yeah, that was me about ten minutes ago.” The look in her eyes softened. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?”
-
There was no person in the entirety of the Night Court that Cassian knew better than Azriel. They had known each other since they were kids, they’d grown up together, even fought together. He’d known him for some 500 years, which was time enough to notice when his brother behaved oddly.
Cassian watched closely as Azriel ate with his eyes trained on his plate. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the Shadowsinger was… off. And it had been for a while now.
Only last week, Azriel had vanished right after sunrise when usually that was the time they began their first training of the day. He hadn’t returned until late afternoon and when he did, he’d seemed somehow… blurry. Like his mind was somewhere else, his head carried in the clouds.
As a matter of fact, he’d carried a similar expression as he did now.
“You’re being weird,” Cassian blurted through a mouthful of meat.
Azriel lifted his eyes without lifting his head, giving Cassian a look. When the latter just stared back without saying anything, Azriel raised a brow.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I don’t know.” Cassian shrugged. “You seem… different. And I can’t figure out what it is.”
Azriel hummed and returned to his food. “You’re imagining things.”
Cassian narrowed his eyes, never taking them from Azriel, even as he noted the way the shadowsinger’s shoulders stiffened beneath his stare.
Azriel cleared his throat and rose from where he’d sat facing Cassian, his meal not yet finished. “I have to go.”
“You’ve been gone a lot lately.” Cassian watched closely as Azriel made his way to the kitchen, unceremoniously dumping the remainder of his food in the trash and his dishes in the sink. “Where are you off to?”
A beat of silence passed before Azriel answered, and Cassian took it as a sign that his brother was calculating his answers more thorough than usual. “Town.”
“What are you doing in town?”
Azriel gave an exasperated sigh. “Aren’t I supposed to be the spymaster of this court?”
“I wouldn’t have to spy if you told me what was going on.” An unsettling thought entered Cassian’s mind as he stood to follow his brother to the door. “Are there problems in Velaris that I don’t know of?”
“No, brother,” Azriel slapped his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “Everything’s perfect in Velaris. Do not worry.”
It was only when he turned to leave that something in the air shifted, and Cassian’s nostrils flared before his face fell and he locked a stare on his brother that had Azriel stop in his tracks.
“Cauldron boil me,” Cassian muttered, unblinking as he stared at Azriel with wide eyes. “How could you not tell me?”
All of a sudden, and while Azriel remained utterly silent, a third voice appeared behind Cassian.
“Not tell you what?” Rhysand asked as he strolled into the room, a curious note in his tone and hands buried in the pockets of his sweatpants.
The look in Azriel’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly, but Cassian uttered the words before the spymaster could do anything to stop him.
“Azriel has found his mate.”
-
Azriel had never been on an actual date before, which was… shocking, considering he’d been alive for five whole centuries.
Most of his past conquests had been in-the-moment flings; brief flames that burned out as quickly as they’d started. Some had sprung from loose friendships, most from strangers, and some had originated from just the usual proximity that had come with the war camp barracks.
He’d never actually… dated before.
The past weeks had gone by in a heartbeat. Days spent with this beautiful stranger who’d sought him out at the market, and hours passing as though the world lay in a blur and she was the sole point of his focus. He’d found out things about her—trivial things, one might say, though to him each little detail she laid bare felt like it contributed to the very air he breathed.
When she laughed, he felt his toes tingle, and whenever she touched him, however small the touch might have been, his heart picked up its pace.
He’d never been on a first date before, let alone a second, a third, a fourth. And he was glad he hadn’t, because all those past lovers, no matter how lovely, or kind, or beautiful they might have been, would ever have compared to the way he felt whenever she opened the door to meet him with bright eyes.
“Why, hello there, handsome stranger,” she grinned, tilting her head in the way she always did when she waited to see how he’d react to her words.
Azriel gave a smile and stepped into the apartment he’d gotten to know well in the course of the last few weeks.
He’d barely turned around when she closed the door and looped her arms around his neck, standing on the very tips of her toes. Azriel loved this part.
He bent down to catch her lips with his and gave a sigh as though stepping into the warm water of a bath. He could feel her smile into the kiss, and it was one of his many favourite things about her. Each one of their kisses so far had been laced with a smile, and he never seemed to get enough of it.
When she pulled back, Azriel felt his own smile grow.
“You’re late,” she hummed, running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head while her eyes flitted across his face only to rest on his lips for a few seconds longer.
Azriel tightened the arms he kept slung around her waist, pulling her close enough for her breath to hitch.
He felt the incredible urge to close his eyes when her nails began to gently scratch his scalp, and a part of him never wanted to leave here again. She was everything he’d dreamt of for all those years, everything and so much more.
“Cassian has been getting on my nerves again,” he mumbled, turning his head to the side to breath a kiss to the soft skin of her arm.
Ever since the mating bond had snapped for Azriel too, and his brother had found out about it only days later, Cassian had come to adopt all the features of a textbook pain in the ass.
She chuckled. “He really is nosy. I can’t wait to meet him.”
Now Azriel was the one to tilt his head. “You want to meet them?”
“Well, of course,” she seemed amused by his surprise. “They’re your family. Were you not going to introduce me sooner or later?”
“I’d… love to,” Azriel said, and meant it.
“But?”
He hesitated, gently lowering her arms from his shoulders to wrap his fingers around her wrists and hold her hands to his chest. There once again lay that spark of curiosity in her eyes—open, and kind, and interested in every word he’d say.
“Well,” he started. “I’d want you to be… sure first.” She blinked, waiting for him to continue, and Azriel exhaled through his nose. “Of this… of us.”
She stared at him for a while, and Azriel half expected her to laugh, but the smile she finally gave was soft.
“You think I’m not certain yet?”
Azriel held her gaze. “It’s a big commitment, and I’m—”
“You’re my mate,” she said, her tone final. “And even if you weren’t my mate, I’d be sure of it. I’d be so sure of it, Azriel, because I love you.”
Azriel felt each of his muscles freeze, his lungs coming to a sudden stop as he stared at her—at this woman, this faerie that had entered his life like a summer storm.
“You—”
“I love you,” she said, her eyes alight with amusement. “Honestly, I thought it was obvious by now. You’re very easy to love, Azriel.”
Never in his 500 years had anyone ever said something like that to him.
He still hadn’t moved when she cleared her throat and gently took her hands from where he held them against his chest. Instead, she took his arm and signalled him with a nudge to turn around.
“I planned this much smoother,” she chuckled as he lay eyes on her tiny kitchen table. “But be that as it may. I made it for you.”
Azriel’s eyes fixed on the plate loaded with food, and his mind emptied.
“I planned to bake those tarts you liked when I dragged you to my friend’s bakery, but as it turns out, I suck at baking.”
Azriel swallowed thickly, not taking his eyes of the set table. A single candle burned in its centre.
When he spoke, his voice was low. “You’re aware of—”
“Aware of the fact that this will mean I’m accepting the bond?” She lifted her hand to his cheek to gently turn his head to the side so that she could look at him. The pad of her thumb ran a soft line along his cheekbone. “Very much so.”
Azriel didn’t know what to say. He was so overcome with emotion that all he could do was stare at the woman he’d come to love within the few short weeks he’d known her.
She studied his expression when he remained silent. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you’re not ready yet. We can postpone, maybe slow do—”
“I love you.” Azriel rasped, fingers once again wrapping around the wrist of the hand she held against his cheek. “I don’t ever want to be parted from you. You, accepting me as your mate… it is the biggest honour of my life.”
The smile took over her face now, and the kiss they shared felt like the start of a life even better than the one Azriel had dared to hope for.
When he sat to eat, she kept her eyes on him, and when he was finished, he felt the glow in her chest mirror his own.
All of a sudden, heat began to surge through his veins, and he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself as he stood.
So, this was what it felt like. Being overcome with desire for the one his soul called out to, the one he was now bonded to for the rest of his existence. Every inch of his skin longed to touch her even more than it had earlier. What had been a mere wish before now was a need—one he saw reflected in her eyes as she rounded the table to meet him in a kiss that set fire to every fibre of his being.
His hands rose to hold her head as she began to tear at his leathers, and Azriel felt that he was sinking deeper into this love he’d harboured for weeks now. He kissed her harder and walked her backwards until her back hit the wall. His hands slipped to mimic hers and tear at the fabric of her clothes.
They hadn’t yet lain with each other, and suddenly Azriel wondered how he hadn’t yet lost his mind with want. He was cautious of every emotion flickering across the bond, attentive when he knelt before her, gentle when he lifted her thighs to his hips, and rough when she needed him to be.
She took over his senses when she dug her nails into his shoulders, when her breath came in choked pants, when he buried himself inside of her over and over again, delighting in the intensity that came with a bond set aflame.
He’d never get enough of her; he was sure of it. And when his name passed her lips in a gasp against the wall, and on the table, and on the couch; and when he loved her with everything that he had all the way to the first sunbeams of the day, he felt her light at the other end of that bond, assuring him that she wouldn’t either.
-
Cassian hadn’t seen Azriel in weeks, and even though Rhys kept assuring him that their brother checked in with him on a regular basis, Cass began to worry. Perhaps he’d badgered Az too much about that mysterious mate of his.
“Cassian,” Rhys sighed from the other end of the breakfast table. “Stop brooding. I assure you, he’s fine.” He exchanged a look with Feyre, who sat next to him, cutting an omelette. She smirked.
Rhys cleared his throat, but it was Feyre who answered. “Let’s just say that Azriel has probably never been better.”
Cassian huffed at their shared amusement.
It was then that heavy steps rang through the townhouse and Azriel himself appeared in the kitchen door, his shadows nowhere to be seen.
Cassian turned in his chair to face his brother fully. “Where the hell have you—”
“Hello everyone,” an unfamiliar voice suddenly spoke, and a pretty fae woman squeezed past Azriel to stumble into the kitchen, beaming at them all. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Azriel has told me so much about you!”
She seemed like a chipper little thing, and Cassian’s mouth snapped shut as he noticed the shadows twirling around her arms. So that’s where they’d gone.
Azriel cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Cassian,” he said. “Rhys, Feyre. This is Y/N.” He turned to look at the woman standing beside him, and his gaze softened the way Cassian had never seen before. “My mate.”
Silence fell over the kitchen as the word passed his lips, though Feyre was the first to snap out of it, rising from her seat to bridge the distance and throw her arms around the newest addition to their little circle.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said. “Azriel has told us absolutely nothing about you!”
Y/N laughed as she returned the High Lady’s hug, and Cassian watched her throw Azriel a wink over her shoulder.
“Well as pretty as he is, I’ve found that he’s not much of a talker.”
Cassian couldn’t believe his eyes when Azriel—his shadow-wielding, spymaster, has-fought-in-multiple-wars brother—blushed. He could hear Rhys snicker, and a shit-eating grin split Cassian’s face in two.
Rhys rose from his seat now, too, and when he came to face his brother’s mate, she lay her head back to look up at him. He bowed his head. “A pleasure meeting you, Y/N. We’re overjoyed to welcome you into our family.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” she grinned. “My, my, Azriel, you have such well-mannered friends.”
The spymaster grumbled deep in his chest. “Give them a minute.”
She chuckled and turned to face the third one.
“You must be Cassian, then.” She tilted her head, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “I heard you’re quite the gossip.”
Cassian’s mouth flew open in outrage. “Am not!”
“Oh please,” Feyre laughed. “You’re the worst gossip I know.”
He huffed when his friends shared amused looks and rose from his seat to inspect this strange faerie with narrowed eyes.
“So,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest. “You live in Velaris, then?”
She gave a single, enthusiastic nod and crossed her arms behind her back as she straightened her shoulders and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Born and raised.”
“Got any dark secrets we should know about?”
“Well… I once stole a banana from my best friend’s lunchbox.”
Feyre snorted.
“Any bloodthirsty exes?”
“All ranging from harmless to mildly annoying.”
“Still hung up on one of them?”
“Nope.”
“How’d you and Az meet?”
“At the market.”
“Accepted the bond yet?”
“Are you kidding?” she all but gasped and inclined her head towards where Azriel stood with his back as straight as a pole. “Have you seen this tall drink of water? How could I not?”
Rhys snorted, Feyre giggled, and when Cassian looked at Azriel with a shit-eating grin edged into his features, he delighted in the look on the spymaster’s face.
Azriel blinked, speechless. There was once again a distinct tinge of red crawling up from beneath the collar of his leathers, and Cassian might have squealed with excitement.
When he turned back to this woman that had apparently cracked the solid exterior of his shadow-wielding brother, he failed to wipe the grin off his face.
Summary: MC has a hard time coping with Rhys, her brother, being under the mountain. She originally leans to alcohol until Cassian confronts her to lean on something else...
Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of vomit only at the beginning. Mentions of smut but nothing detailed (sorry)
Word count: 2k
"Oh, gods," Cassian groaned. He gagged, stuffing his nose into his arm to try not to smell it.
"You can leave," I slurred. My head was currently in a toilet, puking my guts out. Cassian was behind me, holding my hair back.
"Yeah and let your drunk ass choke on your own vomit and die? Don't think so." He gagged again as I threw up again.
"I'm not drunk," I replied. I was so very drunk. Of course I would never admit that cause that would mean he was right. And I don't like when he's right.
"We're having a long talk in the morning. You can't keep doing this every night." His voice was soft and full of concern. I wouldn't remember this conversation by the morning.
I would wake up with a pounding headache. A glass of water and a piece of bread with an elixer to help with the headache on the nightstand by my bed. I would see a fresh pair of clothes layed out in the bathroom beside a warm bath, kept warm from the magic of the house.
After my bath I would go back to sleep and wake up around lunch time. I would go to the kitchen and most likely find Cassian and/or Mor sitting at the table eating lunch. We wouldn't say anything to each other. I would eat lunch and then go about my day with whatever duties was needed of me. That following night I would either drink myself into the same pattern or cry myself to sleep.
I couldn't deal with my emotions very well. It seemed like everything was always heightened, especially sadness and anger. I found it hard to cope which is why I leaned toward alcohol. Just to numb it all. The night I didn't drink was punishment to myself. The guilty feeling just made me want to feel it all. I couldn't do anything to help him.
That next morning was different though. There was nothing layed out for me like usual. I deserve that. I never deserved Cassian's gentleness in the first place. It was never spoken but I always know it was him who left the stuff for me. Guess last night was the final straw. Whatever... I didn't care.
I ran my own bath and changed into clean clothes. I brushed my hair and pulled it up away from my face. I walked out of my bedroom in the House of Wind and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Cassian, Azriel and Mor were all there. I knew if they weren't out early in the morning they ate breakfast together sometimes. Rhys and I would join a lot in the past before but...
I wasn't ever awake for breakfast nowadays. If I was up that early I would skip breakfast and spar with Azriel at Windhaven. It felt like forever that I had been in the same room as all three of them. Thank the gods Amren wasn't here.
"Good, you're awake!" Cassian said loudly. I winced and closed my eyes. He did that on purpose.
"Would you mind keeping your voice down, please?" I whispered. I sat down at the table with them and some hot tea appeared in front of me. I loved this house.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have a headache or something?" He didn't lower his voice. He was angry. That's fine.
"Azriel, there is something I wanted to show you," Mor said to him.
"Right, you mentioned you wanted to show me that. How about now?" Azriel replied. They both stood up from the table and walked quickly out of the dining room.
"You guys aren't slick." I rolled my eyes. I knew what they were doing.
"The drinking has to stop." Cassian went straight to the point. "You're not helping yourself."
"You don't get to dictate how I deal with my pain," I replied taking a sip of my tea.
"It's been 10 years," Cassians voice was soft and quiet now. "You have to find something else to lean on. You're going to drink yourself to death and I-... We can't lose you too."
I couldn't help the tears roll down my face.
"Our brother is in the hands of a monster. I cannot imagine the horrors he is going through and there is nothing I can do to help him! I can't save him, Cass... I can't free him. I do not know if he is okay. And I miss him so so much."
I hadn't let myself cry in front of my family since the day Rhys never came home. Since he spoke to all of us mind-to-mind that he couldn't come home.
Cassian was knelt in front of me, pulling me into his arms to cry into his shoulder. I knew he was crying too. We all shared the same pain. We all dealt with it differently. After a few moments of just holding onto each other, oh so very tightly. That deep fear of losing each other just how we had lost Rhys, we pulled away.
Cassian held my face in his hands, forcing me to look him directly in the eyes, our noses basically touching from the close proximity. "The drinking needs to stop, or slow down at least." He brushed away the tears on my face with his thumbs. "You are not going through this alone. We need you. I need you. You can't push us away."
"How do you deal with it?" I sniffed.
"I don't always. It hurts like hell and I'm fucking terrified for him... But Rhys wouldn't want this. He'd want us to be strong. For him, for each other, and for our court. Our people look up to us." Cassian pressed a longing kiss to my forehead. "You are not alone."
"What do you do when it gets to much?"
"Fight. Scream. Cry.... Fuck," he shrugged and I couldn't help but laugh a little. Cassian smiled when he saw he made me laugh. "I'm being serious. It's a great stress reliever."
"I'm aware. I just wasn't expecting you to say that when we are having a serious talk." I leaned away from his embrace, wiping the remaining tears from my face.
"You think highly of me if you think I can be serious for more than ten minutes." Cassian's smile matched my own now. We both bursted into laughter.
"Why did they send you to do the talking then?" Cassian stood up from his crouching position and sat on the table in front of me.
"Because Azriel would cave the second you started crying, Amren would most likely be the one to make you cry, and Mor didn't have the balls to confront you about it. We agreed that I could talk to you, comfort you and make you smile afterwards."
His smile fell after a moment of silence. "I need you back. This was the first time I've heard you laugh in 10 years. I need the old you back. And I'm not leaving your side until you are."
"I can't get back there. Not until Rhys is home and safe."
"I know... But you're not alone in this. We go through this together, okay?" Cassian held his hand out to me. I hesitated before I nodded and took a hold of it.
*** 5 years later***
"I gotta get to the Illyrian camp, Az is expecting me in 20 minutes." Cassian was walking around the kitchen of the cabin looking around for his things.
"Can't you tell him you're running late?" I pouted.
"You know he hates when people are late. He's already pissed at me for last week. 2 minutes late and he has a come apart." Cassian pulls on his boots.
"Yeah he really went hard in our training yesterday since I was late." I walked him over to the front door.
Cassian turned the knob to the front door and opened it slightly. He let out a yelp and jumped slightly.
"What's-?" His hand clamped over my mouth and he pushed me back to where my back was against the wall.
"Mor! Hey!" My eyes went wide. Oh shit. "What are you doing here?" He sounds so suspicious. Was he even trying to act normal?
The wards in the cabin will mask my scent and basically soundproofs the whole cabin to the outside. There's no way she will know I'm here until she steps a foot inside.
But if Cassian doesn't stop acting all shady then she's gonna know somethings up.
"Why are you acting all weird?" I could just imagine the confusion on her face right now. We are so screwed.
I was trying so hard not to laugh right now. Cassian's hand pressed tighter over my mouth. His thumb ran gently back forth on my cheek.
"I've got a female over. Look I don't need your judgement, okay? A guy has needs. But I would really prefer you not come in." Okay he's not wrong. He didn't say who he had over. Cassian is awful at lying so telling the truth is more convincing.
"Oh, really Cassian? Ugh," Mor gagged. "You couldn't have taken her somewhere else? This is our place. We share it."
"Don't act like you haven't brought someone up here to fuck before. We've all done it. Now, what do you want?" I smirked against his hand. I reached out my arm and ran a finger down the inside of his wing. Cassian inhaled quickly and tucked them in away from my reach.
"I left a book here that I need. Can I come in and get it?" Cassian moved more to where he blocked more of the entrance.
"Where is it? I'll get it." Mor told him where she left it and what it looked like. He closed the door in her face quickly. His hand that was covering my mouth now gripped my jaw.
"You cruel, wicked thing. Are you trying to get us caught?" He towered over me. His eyes flared with passion as he looked down at me.
I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes up at him. "Maybe," I smiled innocently.
His hand trailed from my face down to my throat where he squeezed gently. "You're so in for it tonight." He leaned down so close I thought he was going to kiss me. I craved it. I wanted him. I know he could smell my arousal.
His lips brushed against mine before he pulled back and walked away. "You're not the only one who can tease." He had Mor's book in his hands now. "I've gotta go. When you touch yourself later make sure you think of me." He winked at me before opening the front door and walking out.
Asshole.
Ok so I stopped the excessive drinking that day Cassian talked to me 5 years ago. But I was having a hard time channeling my emotions into something else. I think I definitely wore Azriel and Cassian out with the constant sparring. Which was a shock. I screamed a lot, cried a lot. Cassian was by my side the whole time like he said.
400 years. 400 years I have known Cassian and not once have either of us made a move. I know Cassian never did because I was Rhy's little sister. I never made a move because I didn't want to anything to change between mine and Cassian's friendship.
But one night. Just one night I was so tired of screaming and crying. My whole body hurt from sparring with Azriel that morning. But I still needed a release. Some sort of release.
I don't think I remember exactly how it happened next. I think 400 years of pent up sexual frustration finally broke between the two of us and neither one of us gave a fuck about what the repercussions would be.
And we haven't stopped since. We can't tell the others. No one can know. It's our secret. Mor and Azriel wouldn't understand. Amren couldn't give a fuck. I think she already knows anyway.
Azriel probably suspects something is going on. He is the spymaster overall. He knows everything. He hasn't said anything otherwise which I'm grateful for.
Maybe this happening between Cassian and I wasn't so surprising. I've always been attracted to him. I've always loved him as my family and best friend. Who am I kidding though? It's obviously been more than that.
We have something special.
I think he could be my mate. I love him so much. If he's not my mate I don't even care. I want him forever. I need him for eternity.
A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | azriel x rhy's sister (OC)
Summary: Daughter of the Night Court's High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand's little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.
-a story in which Azriel and Valeria are mates-
A/N: I am going through ACOTAR withdrawals after finishing the ACOSF. Rhysand's sister is a character I think of a lot and I love Azriel so when I saw a theory/imagine of her and Azriel being mates, I couldn't help myself. I didn’t initially plan to actually write a story that follows a plot, it’s just something that kind of fell into place. There is a collection of imagines titled “Val’s Early Life,” which consists of stories about her upbringing. It’s not necessary to read them to read the story but it is a nice backstory for Valeria (Rhy’s sister.) I did put a little "𖥔" on where the imagines start providing further context as they build up to the storyline I have planned. Once I upload the last imagine, I will post the prologue for Val’s story.
I made a playlist for this and you can find it here, if interested.
angst= ♥️ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎
*the ones that have no symbol are neutral or have subtle hints of angst/fluff and are put at the top of the imagine. a
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊Val's Early Life˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
-> The Night she was born
-> The Night her powers came
-> The Night she met Cassian
-> The Night she met the shadowsinger ☁︎
-> The Night Azriel took his first flight ☁︎
-> The Night she made her first friend ☁︎
-> The Night she caught Cassian
-> The Night of their first solstice in Velaris ☁︎
-> The Night she asked about Love
-> The Night Azriel found out her secret ♥️
-> The Night she gets her heartbroken ♥️
-> The Night she met Noctis ☁︎
-> The Night of her 18th Birthday ♥️
-> The Night they join the Bloodrite ♥️𖥔
-> The Night they return from the Bloodrite ♥️
-> The Night she left Windhaven ♥️
-> The Night she made Azriel dance
-> The Night she made Azriel lose control ☪︎
-> The Night she played the violin for her father ♥️
In no particular order, here's an extensive list of Azriel x Reader or Azriel x OC fics that I've compiled for those who can't get enough of him. I literally maxed out the number of tags/links you can include on a post for this 😂
🌼 personal favorite
🥀 angst
💞 fluff
🔥 smut
by @acourtofmenandthirst
You Called 🥀💞
by @moonlightazriel
Before you 🔥🥀
The truth about you 🥀💞🔥
The family we choose 💞
by @thelov3lybookworm
I Didn't Ask For This 🌼🥀
Finally Safe 🌼🥀
My brother. 💞
by @writingsbychlo
SWEET LIKE SUGAR 🌼💞🥀
false confessions 🌼🥀
how we survive 🥀
by @readychilledwine
Slow Hands 🌼💞🔥
Bound by Fate 🌼🥀💞🔥
Little Bat, Big Dreams 💞
Beauty in Pain 🥀
Devotion 💞
by @leafsandstarlight
Forced Revelations
by @lalacliffthorne
the basic rules of friendship 💞🔥
motorcycle 💞
by @bubbles-for-all-of-us
Hear the lonely cry out 🥀
Can you love me most? 🥀
Baby daddy 💞
by @draemgal
master of disguise 💞
by @azsazz
Nightlight 🥀
Wrong Side of the Right Coin Azriel x Reader x Eris 🥀
Warnings: Heavy Content (nightmares, SA Trauma, flashbacks)
A/N: After a long hiatus, IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!! If you’re new to this fic then welcome and if you are one of my og readers welcome back. I can’t thank you all enough for your support for this story and I am so ready to continue this journey. I hope you guys like it!! (also this one is definitely for the Lucien shippers ❤️)
It had been months since Azriel came to the Day Court, but our conversation replayed on a continuous loop in my mind:
“Please don’t go y/n” he begged “Not like this please just- fuck I know how it seems but I have been honest, doesn’t that count for something? I know- I know I hurt you and I hurt Elain but If you just give me a chance, I can fix this, I can fix us.”
“I can’t Az” I said, my own tears falling in tandem with his “maybe someday I can forgive you and we can move past this, but not right now” I made my way to the door, reaching for the knob to leave when his voice halted me.
“I’m not giving up y/n” he said “I promise you; I don’t care how long it takes. Even if it takes an eternity, I am not giving up on this.”
I went over our last interaction constantly, the desperation in his eyes as I left him on his knees in that room. I felt confident in the moment but leaving him there didn’t make me feel better about any of this, about Elain or our situation. If anything it had left me more confused about what I wanted.
It had also been months since the incident, and I wasn’t sleeping. I found myself plagued by nightmares. No matter what I tried I would wake up every night in a cold sweat the sound of that voice ringing in my head.
“you’re a pretty little thing aren’t you?”
It was paralyzing, I knew that I was safe and in my own bed, but I could feel the chill of the night air as it sank into my bones, I could feel the rough texture of the alley as it scraped my back. I could smell the smoke and liquor on that male’s breath as he leaned in close to me.
“You can scream, but no one’s coming to save you”
I covered my ears, but I could still hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt, the sound of fabric ripping and sliding. Every night I woke up to the feeling of being completely helpless.
But I wasn’t alone in my pain anymore.
I had my first nightmare after the meeting with Azriel and I remember three things distinctly: screaming, throwing the bedsheets off my body, and Lucien.
That night Lucien had heard my screams and barreled through the door ready to fight off an intruder only to find me curled in a ball on the floor at the foot of my bed.
He pulled me into him and didn’t let me go through it alone. He smoothed my hair from my face and let me cry into his chest while whispering words of encouragement in my ear, not that I was cognizant enough in that state to process he was even speaking.
It had become a habit, him holding me when I woke in that state. He would pick me up and tuck me into bed seating himself beside me. I would lean my head on his shoulder, and he would gently ask me If I wanted to talk about it and the times I said no, He would distract me with stories to make me feel better.
He told me about how Feyre was when she came back from under the mountain, that she would have nightmares every night about what she had done to those faeries and he told me he often wondered how Tamlin did nothing when her pain was so loud she was practically screaming to be heard, to be felt, to be understood and he told me how he was so grateful to Rhysand for bringing her back to life. During these conversations he would often tell me that if she could become who she is now out of what she endured that I too would survive and come out of this all stronger than ever.
There were also times when he thought I was asleep that he told me about his own demons, about Jesminda and his family, about lying to Feyre when she first arrived in the Spring Court, and his regret helping Tamlin align himself with Hybern for selfish reasons and how he wished he could explain that to Elain, to Nesta, how he just wanted a chance to apologize.
Lucien had become my savior and he never let me be alone, he was bringing me back to life, whether or not he knew it.
Today was a late morning, the kind that followed a rough night of shit sleep because the same tired nightmares kept me awake, but Lucien’s calming presence was keeping me sane, he rarely slept in his own bed these days. I stretched out my limbs careful not to wake him beside me and rubbed the sleep from my eyes sitting up to appreciate the day.
It was springtime now and the Day Court was in full bloom, the vibrant colors exploding on every surface as the flowers blossomed, their aroma constantly wafting through the halls, the entangled scents of lavender, gardenia, Hyacinth, Peony and gods knows what else was constantly invading my senses.
Lucien stretched out next to me, making that small little noise in his throat he makes every morning when he wakes up.
“Good morning” I said softly
“Mhmm” he muttered into his pillow; I had learned that despite his consistently friendly demeanor Lucien Vanserra was not a morning person.
“So, what’s on the agenda today” I asked, gently hitting him with a pillow to rouse him faster.
Lucien turned over, sitting up and grabbing the pillow from my grip “Well…” he drawled out with a yawn “I was thinking we could go to the equinox festival.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“Well, you would probably know it as Starfall but it’s a weeklong endeavor here and everyone really goes all out. I mean there are markets and live music and food stalls everywhere. It’s truly a celebration and I think it would be fun.”
“Oh gods- It’s already Starfall?” I asked; my voice much smaller than I intended it to be, Lucien knew that it was one of my favorite celebrations in the Night Court and the thought that I wouldn’t be participating in it this year brought tears to my eyes, but I swiped them before he could see.
“I know how much it hurts not to be there” Lucien said pressing his forehead to mine as he grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers as his thumb drew circles on the back of it.
“New traditions right” I said softly, reiterating our agreement to work towards moving forward despite our pain.
“Right” he agreed.
“This equinox festival…it sounds like exactly what I need.”
Lucien flashed me a smile, before getting out of bed and pulling on his slippers and dressing robe.
“I’ll meet you downstairs for a late breakfast in an hour?” he asked “Then we can head into town and do some shopping.”
“Only if those lemon blueberry muffins are involved.”
“I will personally see to it.” He said with a smile.
“Then it’s a deal, see you soon Vanserra.”
He made his way to my side of the bed and pressed a kiss to the top of my head before quietly making his way to his own rooms.
I took my time getting ready, enjoying the warm bath and soothing salts. I only got out because the water was tepid, and I was hungry. I chose a simple green dress for our outing, it was short sleeved with a flowy skirt that was decorated with floral embroidery, it reminded me of the things I loved about springtime: the way the flowers bloomed, the way the sun shined, the way the birds sang, it reminded me of new beginnings, and I needed that kind of thinking today. I slipped on my everyday boots and pulled my hair into a braid securing it with a ribbon to keep it out of my face during the day and I made my way downstairs.
Lucien was wearing what he usually did, a simple pair of linen pants and a sleeveless vest brocaded with intricate swirling patterns, today it was gold and green. I smirked at his choice because we were practically matching. I had to admit that the green really brought out the color of his eyes, the russet one in stark contrast to the gold mechanical one that was always subtly watching, the green also brought out the fiery orange of his hair, which he had in a loose knot at the back of his head.
I turned sharply at the stairs to make my way to the dining room when Lucien gently grabbed my arm.
“I figured since we were already having a late start that we could make a day of this.”
“How so?”
“Well…” He winnowed away and appeared a moment later holding a large wicker basket “I figured we could set off to the town, taking the scenic route of course, and that we could stop by Larimar Lake to have lunch.”
I went silent, mostly because I was taken aback at the quick planning and his attention to detail. I had just mentioned last week how much I loved that lake and how I wished I could find time to visit more.
“I think that’s a great idea” I said interlocking my arm with his as we began our journey.
We walked towards the stables talking about nothing really, the weather, the flowers and our excitement for the day.
I saw the horses saddled and ready to go. Helion had gifted me Adira, she was a beautiful black mare with a thick wavy mane, she was good tempered and docile. I had taken up riding a few weeks upon arriving as a hobby and had immediately bonded with her and Helion had seen that, He gifted her to me a few days later and we had spent countless hours together. Next to her was Arion, he was Lucien’s horse a chestnut stallion, he was larger than Adira, but they got along well. The stable hands had prepped them both and were waiting for us in front of the stable. Lucien helped me get on Adira first, making sure I was settled comfortably with the reigns and secured the basket to my saddle bag before mounting Arion with ease. With a click of his tongue, both horses began at a slow pace up the winding road towards the lake.
It had been maybe two hours into our ride when we approached the lake, I could smell the water long before I saw it. It was a sight to behold. I remember Lucien told me the first time we came here that they called it Larimar Lake after a crystal of the same name that is a dazzling sparkling blue, according to an old wives tale, when the mother created Prythian she left the crystals to grow in the lake which is how it got its magnificent blue color.
I swung my leg over Adira, jumping off her onto the soft ground below and handed the reigns to Lucien who took them both to a nearby stream and secured them to a tree. He picked a spot close to the lake on a grassy patch and began setting up. He started by putting down a large blanket and setting out the contents of the basket he brought. I however had other ideas.
I quickly took off my boots discarding them and my socks near the blanket Lucien had set up and made my way to the lakes edge. I just wanted to feel the cool water on my skin, as I looked out over its vast depths I couldn’t help but admire the way the sun glittered on the surface like crystal. This- this felt like an integral part of healing, being able to see the beauty in a world that had wronged me so badly.
As I stood barefoot on the sand, letting the delicate waves wash over my feet and up to my ankles. I tipped my head back soaking in the sun’s gentle warmth.
And for a brief moment, everything else slipped away.
I had that thought earlier when she came downstairs in that green dress. I loved her in green, the way it complimented her eyes and the perfect tone of her skin. Y/n looked good in everything but oh gods did she look radiant today.
Our relationship was complicated to say the least. In the last few months all of our time has been spent together. I mean I practically lived in her bedroom returning to my own only for a change of clothes. I also found myself craving the comfort of her presence, the way she laughed, and I mean really laughed from deep in her chest which was becoming more and more common; or the way she clung to me after her nightmares, I even found it hard to fall asleep without the steady soft snoring she did when she fell into a deep sleep.
I felt guilty for developing these feelings for her. Especially when I knew what she endured, when I knew what haunted her, the demons she was avoiding that came for her at night, I held her while she screamed and thrashed and cried and I lulled her to sleep with various stories I thought she would like. Stories that would distract her from her pain, and when I couldn’t think of any, I shared my own pain, to show her that I understood to some extent what she was going through.
I seemed to be the only person she could trust right now, and I valued that more than anything. I would never do anything to jeopardize that, but I couldn’t help but have these feelings for her. Not all the time but there were moments and I wonder if she felt them too. I don’t know exactly when it started but maybe they were always there.
I reminded myself constantly that she wasn’t ready to consider a life without Azriel, he was her mate and he would always have a hold on her life the same way Elain seemed to have a hold on mine, but I also knew that over time the mating bond felt like a headache, a dull pain that would come every once in a while as a sullen reminder of a life that could have been, but one that isn’t a reality and how could I think of what could have been when she was here and she looked so perfect, barefoot with her face angled to the sun.
Here on the lake, she was alive, and she was vibrant, and she was beautiful. Here on the lake, there was no trace of the broken woman I found that night curled into herself, no inkling of doubt, or despair, or pain. I wish I could keep her like this. In fact, I would resign myself to loving her in the shadows so long as she was happy.
I brought myself back to reality at the soft sound of her padding over and plopping herself on the blanket.
“Thank the mother, I am starving” she said grabbing one of the lemon blueberry muffins she requested, as well as various berries and popping them into her mouth
“When are you not?” I teased handing her a plate of all her favorites and a glass of wine.
“Very funny Vanserra” she said grabbing the glass and taking a sip.
“So how far out are we from the town?” she asked after a while.
“Mmmm” I took a sip of my wine “I would say another two hours or so to Illmire”
She nodded, a sly smile crossing her face as she tossed a blueberry at me. I made sure to feign a disappointing smirk at her as it bounced off my forehead and into the grass.
She saw right through it, she always did.
“So, we have a little time?” she asked
“That depends on what you have in mind.”
“I just want to enjoy this a little longer.”
“Okay, I’ll be right here.”
Her face morphed into a frown.
“What?” I asked.
“I want you to come with me.”
“Absolutely not” I said firmly “I have to pack this up and get the horses ready”
“You can spare a few minutes” she pleaded tugging my hand softly “Come on Lucien…come lay in the sun with me.”
I rolled my eyes, getting up from my position to follow her to the water’s edge, and I followed her lead, laying out on the sandy beach letting the sun warm my face.
I looked over at her, her eyes closed as she simply soaked in the sun on her face, letting the cool water gently touch her feet before receding.
I was surprised Lucien indulged me for as long as he did.
After a while he stood, pulling me up with him and made his way to the blanket, packing away the containers and folding the linens. He piled everything into the bags and secured them to Arion’s side.
I stood in anticipation, fiddling with my hands.
“Go” he said with a smile “I know you want to.”
“you’re the best” I said pressing a kiss to his cheek as I turned and ran towards the water, I pulled my dress over my head and dove in wearing just my undergarments. The water was so clear and cool. I submerged my head, diving to the bottom to look up at the sky through the water. I loved the way the sun reflected off the surface. I came up for air and floated there with my arms outstretched.
Lucien chuckled as he approached with a towel.
“Don’t worry…I planned accordingly.”
“You know me so well” I shouted.
“Take your time” he said “but there are some clouds rolling in from the north, looks like a storm.”
“Help me out?” I asked gesturing my head to the towel in his hands.
Lucien unrolled it, holding it out for me. I walked right into his arms, and he bundled it around me.
“You ready to go?” he asked
“Mhmmm” I nodded toweling my body dry and putting my dress back on, I had to re-braid my hair but it was definitely worth it.
Lucien helped me back into the saddle and we were off to Illmire.
He was right, it was about two hours, but as soon as we got into town the skies opened up and it started pouring. The townsfolk were all scrambling into shops and taverns to get out of the rain, I didn’t mind it so much and neither did Lucien but we made haste to the inn.
The innkeeper’s name was Rasmus and he was a sweet old man, he immediately took Adira and Arion to the stables and set them up for the night. Not to mention he recognized Lucien immediately and refused to let us pay for a room, he even insisted on bringing us dinner later, which worked out because the storm only worsened.
Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.
Warnings: angst, suggestive situations
➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Part V
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Azriel couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Not when she was wearing those leathers that clung to her frame, highlighting her body from head to toe. Not when she had her wings out, her beautiful, magnificent wings.
She was so effortlessly stunning. The most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He knew no one would ever come close. No one had ever quite captured his attention like she had. His own personal forbidden fruit.
Every night he thought of her as he touched himself, of what it might feel like to have her, to claim her as his. The noises he would draw out of her. How beautiful she would look with a flushed face and swollen lips.
And every morning he thought of what it might be like to wake up with her in his arms, for her beautiful smile to be the first thing he saw every day. He wanted that more than anything, more than even sex. He just wanted her.
A large hand clamping down on his shoulder jostled him from his thoughts. Cassian stood next to him, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop now,” he murmured under his breath. “Rhys looks seconds away from murdering you.”
Azriel’s eyes flashed towards his High Lord, now noticing the piercing stare directed his way. Fuck. Had he been so obvious? He needed to get a hold of himself. It had gotten harder and harder to ignore his feelings for Rhys’s sister after she had confessed to feeling the same way about him.
His eyes went back to watching the female Illyrians go through their training exercises. That's what they were here for after all. To check on their progress. Not to ogle at the High Lord's sister in her tight, enticing leathers.
"He acts like her godsdamn father," Azriel hissed, unable to stop himself.
Cassian gave him a troubling look. "He practically is, Az. He had to raise her himself since she was thirteen."
"And?" Azriel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's not thirteen anymore."
"Yeah, I can tell you've noticed," Cassian bit back, crossing his own arms as he stared at his friend. Azriel felt like rolling his eyes. It was enough dealing with Rhys and his overprotective nature. He didn't need Cassian to join.
"Oh, fuck off. I'm just pointing out how ridiculous he is when it comes to her. She's nearly three-hundred. Do you remember all the shit we got up to at that age?"
"No, I won't fuck off," Cassian snarled, unusually serious for once. "You're walking a very fine line, brother. It doesn't matter how old she is. He will always see her as that thirteen year old girl he found covered in their own mother's blood in the snow.”
“I was there too you know,” Azriel muttered, darkly. “I was the one that found them, the one that scared off Tamlin’s father and brothers.”
Cassian’s eyes softened. “I know, Az. I know. And I know how much Rhys thanks the Mother every day for that. But we made a promise to him, remember?”
Azriel scoffed. Of course he remembered. That day would always haunt him. He hadn’t even known at the time what exactly he had been giving up.
“What are you trying to insinuate, Cass?” He glared at his brother. He could feel his shadows getting riled up behind him—a reflection of his mood.
“I know you, Az. And I know that look on your face. You want to get your dick wet—go find some other female to stick it in,” Cassian murmured under his breath. “Stay away from Rhys’s sister. He might love you like a brother but he won’t hesitate to rip your throat out if you touch her, if you hurt her in some way.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Azriel replied, his face slipping back into a cold mask, his voice flat as he stared down Cassian.
But Cassian only shook his head at him, patted him on the shoulder, and walked away, muttering a small prayer to the Mother under his breath.
Azriel went back to observing the Illyrian females. If Rhys was so fucking concerned about him messing with his sister, than he could excuse him from his duty as her guard.
Besides, none of it mattered. As long as that tattoo was on his body, it didn’t matter how he felt. He couldn’t touch her. And she would never be his.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ever since that night in the study, you and Azriel had kept your interactions to the bare minimum. He was still your personal guard, which meant you couldn’t just stop seeing or talking to him while doing business in Hewn City. But the wound was still fresh, your heart was still aching, so it hurt just to be around him.
You had put off answering the Prince in hopes that Azriel would start making sense, would give up on whatever weird notion he had in his mind that he couldn’t act on his feelings for you. But he had offered you no more answers to the millions of questions you had. Had refused to even discuss it any further, so there was nothing you could do but move on.
Which is why you and the majority of your family were in Vallahan. Rhys and Prince Cedric had exchanged some correspondence back and forth and while you weren’t accepting any marriage proposals any time soon, you weren’t completely opposed to getting to know Cedric more.
So the Prince had invited you, your brother and a few of his courtiers to visit King’s Cross in Vallahan as his esteemed guests. Rhysand had brought along Feyre, of course, Azriel, Cassian and Nesta. Since Mor was already familiar with the faeries here, she had stayed back with Amren to run the Night Court while you guys were away.
Elain has also stayed back to watch over baby Nyx in Velaris with Nuala and Cerridwen. Some of the Valkyries had agreed to act as guards for the River House as well, to ease Rhys and Feyre’s minds. It was the first time they were leaving Nyx for longer than a day. But they didn’t want to bring him into foreign territory—especially not one across the seas.
You had just finished getting ready for the first formal dinner here, deciding on wearing something from the Night Court instead of something in Vallahan fashion. You didn’t want the Prince getting any ideas that you had made up your mind.
The dress you put on was a dark, midnight blue. It fell to the floor, two slits on either side to show off your legs. The top was cut into a deep v and ended right below your breasts, connected to the skirt with leather straps that criss-crossed over your stomach.
You left your hair down and opted for minimal makeup. Just the usual kohl around your eyes and a dark red lip oil. You looked at yourself one more time before stepping out of your room and into the quiet corridor.
Azriel was already waiting for you, leaning against the wall opposite in his black Illyrian leathers. His expression was dark, his hair tousled with some pieces falling on his forehead. He looked up at you as your door closed shut behind you. You watched his eyes trail over your form, bringing some color to your cheeks.
You started making your way towards the dining chambers, Azriel following a pace behind you as your official guardian. You felt his shadows caress your thighs, cascade down to your feet. You clenched your fists in frustration.
“You cannot deny me and still try to have some claim over me,” you hissed under your breath. “Take your shadows back, Az.”
“I am your guard.” You heard his dark voice from behind you. “And they are simply helping me. It is for your protection, Princess.”
You whirled around at him with a glare. “That’s bullshit and you know it!”
He stared at you with that cold, unfeeling face that only riled you up further. “You can think what you want, Princess. But I am only doing my job.”
You stalked towards him, pushing him back with a finger to his chest. “Send them away. Now.”
“No.”
You released a noise of frustration and pushed him against the wall. “I mean it, Azriel. I’m done playing your stupid games. Call your shadows off.”
“You’ve never had a problem with them before. Why now?” He stared down at you, unflinching. He flipped you so it was you pressed against the wall now. “It is for your safety so you will deal with it.”
“I hate you,” you growled, pounding a fist against his chest weakly. It was one of the biggest lies to ever come from your mouth but Gods, you were just so frustrated.
Azriel leaned down, his hair brushing against your temple. “Hate me all you want, Princess. But if being your guard is the only way to keep you close to me, then I will be the best damn guard in all of Prythian so your brother has no choice but to let me stay near you. The shadows stay.”
“You won’t have me but you won’t let me go,” you whimpered. “How is that fair, Azriel? You said you don’t want to hurt me but this…this is far worse than you rejecting me and moving on.”
“Because I can’t stay away from you,” he hissed back. “I can’t stay away from you, Princess, no matter how hard I try.”
Your heart was pounding in your chest and you opened your mouth to shout at him, to scream and cry and demand he leave you alone but another voice cut you off.
“What’s going on over here?”
You both froze as your brother’s voice traveled down the corridor. You turned your head to see him standing at the end of the hallway next to Feyre, his arms crossed as he stared intently at Azriel, who immediately took a step away from you.
You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the weird tension between the two males. “My earring got caught in my hair,” you lied. “Azriel was helping me untangle it.”
Rhysand didn’t look convinced but he finally looked at you. His face softened and he held out his free arm, the one not linked with his mate. “Come, little dove, walk with me.”
You scurried past Azriel, not sparing him a glance, and took your brother’s arm, letting him escort you to dinner.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
You tried to suppress your yawn but it had been another hour of being dragged around the castle by the Prince and you were so tired. He seemed happy to give you a tour, a tour you swore you had already taken the first time you were here, so you obliged him. But now you just wanted to go back to your chambers, take a nice warm bath, and go to sleep.
Your family departed from Vallahan two days ago, after spending three days here. You had extended your trip to the end of the week by the Prince’s request. Part of you did it to spite Azriel who seemed to detest Cedric and the other, miniscule part of you was genuinely curious about the Prince. But he was turning out to be a total bore. Nice, but dull. He lacked the sort of dry wit you liked in others. He was also extremely soft—too soft. As if he had never had to fight for anything in his life.
“Are you tired, Princess?” Cedric asked, noting your yawn. Before you could even answer the question yourself, he continued. “I only have one last area to show you. I promise I saved the best for last.”
You gave him a half-hearted smile. “Okay, lead the way.”
He extended his arm out to you and you placed your hand in the crevices of his elbow. He led you out of the library he had just been showing you back into the hallway. Azriel trailed behind you, along with one of the Prince’s personal guards, Lasos. Cedric had insisted that the pair of you didn’t need guards whilst together, but Azriel had swiftly rejected that notion and Lasos had joined after realizing that Azriel wasn’t going to let you two be alone.
You didn’t care. If Azriel wanted to be a brooding asshole, then you would let him. You weren’t forcing him to watch Cedric court you, he was doing it all on his own. And maybe you had acted a little extra flirty with the Prince just to rub it in Azriel’s face. If he didn’t want you as his own, then he would have to watch you be with another.
“This is the Queen’s quarters,” Cedric announced as he came to a stop in front of two large double doors. “This is where my future wife would live.”
“The Queen lives separate from the King?” you questioned as he pushed the doors open, revealing a lavish sitting area. The walls and floor were made of white marble like the rest of the castle, gold embellishments decorating the interior.
“If she chooses to,” Cedric smiled. “This is simply a space for her to have all to her own, to use for whatever she wishes. There is a similar area in the main castle where my parents live. My mother uses it as a music room.”
“That’s lovely,” you replied with a bow of your head.
Cedric went to close the doors before either guard could enter, but Azriel quickly stuck a hand out and stopped him with a glare. “It is improper to be behind closed doors with an unwed female,” he growled.
You wanted to roll your eyes. Since when the hell did the Night Court ever care about that? Cedric’s eyebrows rose but he gave the shadowsinger a nod. “Of course, my apologies.”
You turned your back to them, not interested in watching them have another one of their dick measuring contests. It had been like that the whole week so far. Instead you walked towards the window on the other side of the room that overlooked the gardens.
You nearly jumped in fright as two hands ghosted over your waist and a sudden presence was behind you. It wasn’t the first time the Prince had touched you, but it certainly was the most intimate. You had occasionally brushed hands, shared a kiss on the cheek, perhaps walked too close together, and shared some charged looks in the past couple days.
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Cedric asked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
You blushed a bit at his closeness, swallowing before answering him. “Yes, the gardens here are gorgeous.”
“Not quite as beautiful as you, though,” Cedric whispered, moving your hair to one shoulder. Your eyes widened as he pressed a soft kiss against your neck. And then another. His lips brushed against your ear and you gasped. “Never quite as beautiful as you, Princess.”
“Prince Cedric,” you mumbled. “We are not alone.”
He twisted you in his arms until you were facing him, his bright blue eyes sparkling. “Lasos is my most trusted guard. I can assure you he won’t speak a word of our transgressions.”
You peaked at the male in question from over Cedric’s shoulder. Lasos had already turned around, his back facing the two of you. But then you looked at Azriel to see him intently staring at you, anger in his eyes. You were reminded of a time like this only a few weeks ago. Except it had been you watching Azriel and Elain.
So when Cedric asked, “What about your guard? Do you trust him to keep your secrets?” You smiled as you continued to stare at Azriel, whose anger was morphing into rage and whispered back, “Yes.”
And let the Prince crash his lips against yours.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
You hummed to yourself as you brushed your hair, sitting at the vanity in your guest room. You were surprisingly feeling a bit more light after your time with the Vallahan Prince. You two hadn’t gone any further than kissing, especially considering you were never truly alone, but it felt nice to be wanted by someone. You were a bit sad that your time here was coming to an end.
Soon you’d be back home. Back to reality.
You set down the brush and stared at your reflection in the mirror with a sigh. You weren’t sure what you were going to do if Azriel started up again with Elain. You had no idea if what he had told you was true because everything he had said to you that night had only confused you. In the few weeks since then, you hadn’t noticed them together but you didn’t exactly go looking for them—not wanting to see something that would further hurt you.
He still made no sense to you. You had seen the way he looked at you, watched you, like a starved male. Seen the anger on his face every time the Prince so much as brushed his hand against yours. His behavior was just so confusing.
You would be returning to the Night Court tomorrow after sharing one last meal with the Prince and his courtiers. You wondered if he would ask you then, about his marriage proposal. Neither of you had brought it up in the time you had been here but you hadn’t forgotten. But you didn’t want a marriage that felt like a contract. You wanted to marry someone you loved.
And you did love someone…just not the Prince. But perhaps you could.
Your eyes focused on the mirror in front of you as you noticed darkness forming in the corner of the room behind you…no, not darkness. Those were shadows. They whirled in a frenzy, spreading into your room.
And then there was Azriel, stepping out from them. His face was cut from stone, his hazel eyes darkened, his hair in disarray. But there was something different about him now…a heavy resolve in his eyes. You gasped and stood, spinning around to face him.
“Azriel, what are you doing here?” you breathed out.
He said nothing as he stormed towards you, his wings spread out behind him. Gods, he looked like a fallen angel. A creature of the night. So beautiful, but so lethal. You braced yourself against the vanity behind you.
“Has Prince Cedric won over your heart then?” he asked, his voice as dark as his shadows. He didn’t stop until he stood right before you, so close you had to angle your head back to look at him.
“What?” You were so confused. What was he doing in your room? Why was he asking about Cedric?
“Has the Prince won your heart, y/n?” He asked again. “It’s a simple question.”
Your eyes narrowed at his tone. “Don’t come barging into my room and act like an asshole. I don’t see why you’re so concerned about me and Cedric. It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business,” he growled. “As your guard—”
“Oh please,” you snapped. “Me and you both know you’re not asking me about this because you’re my guard.”
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then as your friend—”
“Is that what we are, Azriel? Friends?” You scoffed. “I don’t think you want to be my friend.”
“Just answer the godsdamn question,” he snarled, ignoring your remark. “And for fuck’s sake, stop letting these males put their godsdamn hands all over you.”
“No,” you bit back, poking him in the chest. “This shit needs to stop. You know how I feel about you. You know and you’re the one who says we can’t be together. So stop acting like you have some claim to me, Azriel.”
“Do you think I’m happy about that?” Azriel growled. “Do you think I’m thrilled to fucking want you all the time and not be able to have you, to claim you as mine?”
A few frustrated tears escaped down your cheeks. “I offered myself to you. I was ready to give you everything, Azriel. My heart, my body, my mind. And you are the one who rejected me.”
Azriel grabbed the sides of your face and rested his forehead against yours. He was breathing heavily. “You make this so hard when you say shit like that. Please, tell me you hate me again. Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I-I can’t,” you cried out. “Gods, I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t feel anything for you. Why are you doing this to me, Azriel? Why?”
His eyes shut, his forehead still resting against yours. “Because…Because you’re Rhys’s sister. I can’t…We can’t cross that line, Princess. He’ll kill me.”
“I am not just Rhys’s sister,” you argued. “I am my own person, with my own wants, with my own dreams. That is a bullshit excuse, Azriel. Rhys will understand. I will make him.”
“You don’t understand,” he sighed. But he stepped even closer, pressing his body against yours, pinning you to the vanity behind you. His leathers were rough against your silk nightgown, and your body sang at his touch.
“No, I don’t,” you breathed out, closing your own eyes. His scent was so intoxicating; his presence so overwhelming. You couldn’t think this close to him. Couldn’t focus on anything but your desperate need for him. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me, Azriel. To us. You said you never wanted to hurt me but can’t you see how much you are by doing this? By telling me you want me as much as I want you but denying us the chance to be together? Can’t you see how much it hurts me.”
“I don’t care anymore, Princess. I don’t care if it hurts you as much as it hurts me,” Azriel growled. “I’m done trying to be a better male. I can’t watch you be with other males, can’t watch them put their filthy hands all over you. Not when I want you as my own.”
Your eyes blinked open, staring into the hazel ones already watching you. You could see the pain behind his own eyes, the longing, the want. They were a mirror to your own.
“So have me,” you whispered.
You saw the break in his resolve just a second before Azriel crashed his lips into yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and you were stunned but as soon as you realized what was happening, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He moaned against your mouth, one of his hands sliding up the back of your neck into your hair as he deepened the kiss, so full of passion, so full of love.
Butterflies erupted in your stomach, fire lit its course through your veins. Kissing Azriel was everything you had dreamed of and more. It felt perfect…it felt right. Like everything in the world had disappeared and it was just you and him.
His hard arousal pressed into your stomach and you gasped at the feeling. He used it as an opportunity to flick his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, with a groan. His other hand slid down to your waist and to the backside of your thigh. He lifted you with one arm as if you weighed nothing and placed you on the edge of your vanity. The bottles of lip oils, the pots of kohl, all clattered to the floor as it shook under you at his ferocity.
His hand slid back to your waist, yanking you closer to him as he pressed himself between your legs. You moaned into his kiss, electricity licking your skin. Azriel let out a growl at the noise you made, his lips pulling away to begin tracing kisses along your jaw, down your neck. You tossed your head to the side, granting him more access as one of your hands slipped into his hair.
His nose grazed the column of your neck as he took a deep inhale, soaking in the sweet smell of you. “Say it again. Tell me you want this.”
“I want this, Azriel,” you breathed out, panting. “I want you. Have me. I’m yours.”
He let out a low growl at your words and sank his teeth into your neck, at the spot of your pulse pounding. You gasped and his lips were on yours again. He let out an almost pained grunt, slipping his hand up your nightgown to grip the soft skin of your thigh. His hard length pressed against your clothed core and sent another wave of electricity up your body.
He groaned again, his grip on you tightening. His fingers were digging into your skin, his other fisting your hair so tightly it caused a small whimper to leave your lips. The pain and pleasure mixed together to create a feeling you wished would never end. But then Azriel grunted again, his hold on you so forceful, you couldn’t help but wince.
He pulled away from you with a pained groan. Your eyes shot open to see the male before you grimacing in pain. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Azriel…Azriel, what’s wrong?”
His teeth clenched, the veins in his arms protruding like he was trying to fight against something. You slid off the vanity to stand, running a soothing hand down his arm. That only seemed to make things worse and he crumbled to the floor with another grunt of pain. His hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs as he pressed his forehead against them, cursing.
“Fuck,” he groaned in pain.
You knelt on the floor in front of him, grabbing his face with your hands. “Azriel, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
His hands covered your own and gently pried them off his face.
“This…is…why,” he managed to ground out through gritted teeth, “why we can’t do this.”
Your arms hung limp at your sides. “Azriel, I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
He let out a painful sigh and sat back on his haunches, lifting his shirt up. You stared at him in confusion before your eyes fell to his bare chest, tracing over the Illyrian tattoos that curled around until you noticed another, smaller tattoo. Not an Illyrian one. But a…bargain tattoo?
“Azriel? Is that a bargain tattoo?” you breathed out, bewildered. He nodded in answer. “I don’t get it. Why are you showing me that?”
“Your brother,” he grunted out.
“My brother what?” Your eyes flickered back and forth between his own, trying to understand.
“He forced us…”
He trailed off and your eyes darkened. “Forced you to what?”
“Me and Cassian,” he finally said, hanging his head down. “Years after, when you…when you finally matured, I think your brother saw the change in how I looked at you. I think he grew suspicious of my feelings towards you…and he didn’t like that, y/n. You were still just a kid to him…you’ll always be, Princess. And he made me and Cassian promise him that we would never touch you in that way, that anytime we touched you with less than innocent intentions, we would feel the pain of a thousand blades striking down on us.”
Your mouth dropped open, your eyes falling back to the tattoo on the side of his hip. At the Illyrian wings with a blade running down the center of them. Your brother had…What the fuck had your brother done?
“Cassian agreed without any hesitation, Princess,” Azriel continued, his voice full of sadness and regret. “And I knew if I didn’t, your brother’s suspicions would prove true. I knew he’d kick me to the curb, toss me out, if I didn’t. And I thought it was just a crush, something I could get over. So I agreed. But Gods, y/n, I’ve regretted that day ever since. Because it wasn’t just a crush. My feelings for you never went away. Which is why I tried to hide them in others.”
“I-I…” you choked out, unable to form words. This was the last thing you had expected. You knew your brother was protective over you…but to make his friends form an official bargain with him. “So you can’t touch me without…without…”
“Without feeling one of the worst pains I’ve ever known. He made you untouchable, y/n. To us. To me and Cass. It's why I tried to push you away, tried to make you think I wanted others. I couldn’t give you what you wanted, what I wanted.”
“There has to be a way to undo this, Az,” you whispered. “Maybe I can convince my brother to release you from it—”
“It doesn’t work like that, Princess, you know it doesn’t,” Azriel sighed. “Besides, he would never agree. If he knew I tried to touch you like I have tonight, he would sooner stick a dagger through my heart than ever allow you to be with me.”
“I will make him see how wrong he was for doing this, Azriel,” you said with conviction. “He was probably still traumatized by what happened to me…by what those males did to me. We just need to tell him how much we want to be together, how much—”
“It wouldn’t matter, y/n, don’t you see? Your brother might be the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, but even he cannot break bargain bonds. Even The King of Hybern needed to use the cauldron to do that.”
“I won’t accept this! I can’t, Azriel. Why should we have to! We want to be together and it's not fair that we can’t!”
“I know, Princess, I know,” Azriel grimaced. “And I’m so sorry for making that promise. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I should’ve left you alone. I shouldn’t have ever—”
“No, don’t say it. I refuse to believe this is it. I refuse to believe we just have to live always wanting each other and never having it. There has to be another way.”
“He did put one condition on it, one way to break the bargain. But…”
“But what? What is it?”
Azriel looked up at you, his hazel eyes filled with such longing it made your heart ache. “If we were mates…if the mating bond ever snapped between us, or between you and Cassian, the bargain would be completed.”
But nearly three hundred years had gone by since then and…and a mating bond had never snapped between you and Azriel.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
a/n: omgggg I hope this chapter didn't disappoint! But now we all know the bargain Az made with Rhys soooo it's gonna be fun to see how this all pans out ;) are they mates? or will we have to find some sneakyyyy way to be together? who knowssss ;)
Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕
Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.
Word Count: 6.9k
Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.
It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.
It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.
But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.
This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.
Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.
Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.
He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”
Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.
“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”
“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”
Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.
And yet jealous, you are.
And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?
You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.
“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.
Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”
“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”
It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.
“Y/N!”
You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.
“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”
You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.
“We should really get out of here—”
“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.
You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.
“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”
“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”
“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”
“Possessive, more like—”
“It’s my fault.”
Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.
“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”
Oh.
Oh.
That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.
Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.
You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.
He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.
“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”
Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.
This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.
Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”
“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”
Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”
You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—
But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.
“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.
Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”
You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.
Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.
You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.
And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.
“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.
Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.
And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.
This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—
It’s between him and Kaeda.
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.
But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.
And that is precisely what you do.
You are pissed the fuck off.
So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.
He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.
And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.
Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.
Lust is one hell of a blinding light.
Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.
If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.
By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.
Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.
You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.
Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.
Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.
“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.
He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.
You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”
Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”
“With your cocks, probably.”
He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.
He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.
Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?
And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.
But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.
Again — probably your jealousy talking.
But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.
“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”
You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”
It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”
You almost flinch at the words.
Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.
It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.
Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.
He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.
“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”
He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.
“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”
You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.
But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.
“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”
Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”
“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”
“…the flying?”
“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”
“Y/N—”
“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”
Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.
“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”
For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.
Something worth feeling.
You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.
And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.
You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.
You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.
But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.
What follows is not slow nor tentative.
You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.
Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.
And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.
He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.
This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.
You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.
You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.
“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”
You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.
Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”
His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.
“Turn around.”
You do.
You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.
You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.
His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.
He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”
You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”
“Hard?”
“Hard.”
“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”
You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.
He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.
“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”
You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.
The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.
And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.
And gods, it feels too good.
There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.
“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.
You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”
“Thank the Mother.”
You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.
He is not gentle.
He is not soft or tentative or even kind.
This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.
And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.
Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.
He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.
You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.
“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”
He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.
“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”
“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”
He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.
Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.
And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.
As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.
He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”
You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.
“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.
You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.
“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”
He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.
He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.
So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.
You are well and truly fucked out.
You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.
“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”
You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”
“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”
Oh, bless his heart.
Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.
“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”
He stares at you. And you stare at him.
The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.
Is that bad? Perhaps.
But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?
“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”
He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”
One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”
You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.
“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”
He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.
“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”
You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.
You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”
He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.
You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.
You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.
✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.
One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.
You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.
You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.
Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.
You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.
You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.
“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.
You shake your head. “You?”
“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”
With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”
“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger’s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”
Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.
But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.
He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.
The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.
Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.
“Sit.” He says coldly.
You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.
“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”
The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.
“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”
“She’s not our—”
“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”
The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”
“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”
Your friend bows his head once more.
“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”
None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.
“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”
You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.
But it always returns to you.
It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.
You’re female.
And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?
A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.
“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.
You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”
“The blacksmith’s daughter.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”
You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.
But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.
“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”
These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.
It boils your blood.
Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”
Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”
Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”
“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”
There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.
“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”
You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.
“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”
All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.
“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”
“Yes, but—”
“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”
“Obviously—”
“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”
“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”
“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”
“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”
“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”
He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.
You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.
“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”
They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.
“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”
He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.
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