If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...
YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.
Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.
If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".
Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.
YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.
Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.
Know your rights. Don't let eccentric detectives put you away.
Finally, I can present you my little comic ‘Hearts for Sale’. These are the first 10 pages.
I’m very nervous about this since it’s my first self-published book. I hope you like the story.
Read Part 2/ Part 3
Summary: You and Azriel have been seeing each other for a few months now and it's time to introduce you to his family, which doesn't exactly go… well.
A/N: Oh, wow! Hello again, everyone! I don't know what I was expecting when I posted part 1, but 500 likes in 3 days was not it, and only continuing to grow. And over 130 followers! Thank you all so much. You have been amazing. I tried to get this out as soon as I could, but I don't write fast and the dinner scene was fighting me on this one. I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but I'm tired of wrestling with it and I love the ending so... here you go! There will definitely be at least 4 parts (maybe a part 5, or at least an epilogue, we'll see).
This is my first time using links, so if they don't work, please let me know. Also, I'm trying out the taglist thing, so, we'll see how that goes.
Word Count: a little less than 9K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, more angst (my fav!), talk of pregnancies and complications during pregnancies (see previous note about medical inaccuracies, but with more fae and magic nonsense 😊), Rhysand means well, sort of, but… well, you'll see 😉
Part 1 | Part 3
————
Azriel stares at the empty hearth in the main sitting room at the River House, seemingly unaware of his knee bouncing. Shadows swirl around him restlessly, his thoughts drifting back to you, as they often had these past eight months. The time flew by, feeling like only yesterday he had first met you in the waiting room of Madja's clinic, yet, at the same time, he felt like he has known you his entire life.
He spent every available moment with you, taking you out to dinner or coffee if your schedules allowed, but mostly just… being with you, whether in his apartment or yours, it didn't matter. Just being around you lifted something inside him, eased an ache he never knew existed before, and he couldn't get enough. Your quiet presence is a balm he didn't know he needed, your voice a melody he longed to hear.
Still, it wasn't always blissful; your silence often speaking more than your words ever could. The shock on your face when he would arrive at your place with dinner, at the small gestures that came second nature to him, spelled out a rocky romantic history, with those who, Az had concluded, did not treat you like you deserve. The subtle shifts of your body, a flash of… something across your face as you moved, told him you were uncomfortable most of the time. Why, you had yet to tell him, but Azriel wasn't going to push, as much as he longed to. Your trepidations about this relationship was clear with each shift of your eyes to him for approval and your hesitance over simple decisions. He was taking this at your pace, determining that you would tell him when you were ready.
Azriel smiles faintly at the hearth; he was happy, happier than he's been in his long life, and in love. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that there was something different. He knew when you first walked into his apartment that you would have him wrapped around your finger in no time, even if that wasn't your intention. It wasn't until three months after you met, he realized he loves you. But it is different from the love he felt for Mor or Elain; it grows somewhere deep within him, fast and unyielding until it consumed him whole. It took root with a fierceness that could never be destroyed, not fully, even if he didn't fully understand.
His family noticed, of course they did, how smiles grace his face easier, how much looser he carried himself, how he sneaks away early to head into the city. They made comments of the female that had stollen the stoic Shadowsinger's heart, joking about it often the past few months, but they let it be, knowing Azriel would bring the mysterious female around when they were ready.
But, that didn't stop Rhys from extending an invitation to bring you to family dinner, and he did a double take when Az said he would ask. Azriel was just as surprised the night before when you had agreed, quietly, hesitantly, but seemed to gain some confidence when you reaffirmed. You had an appointment with a patient that afternoon, the same couple you had interviewed with the day you met Azriel for a drink, now in the final few weeks of getting ready to greet their babe, so you agreed to meet him at the River House.
Dinner is still a few hours away, but the excitement in the house is palpable ever since Az announced that you are coming. Azriel's heart beat erratically in his chest, one leg still bouncing, staring intensely at the masonry around the unlit fireplace. Feyre sat across from Az, with sixteen month Nyx sitting on her lap, staring intently at his mother's necklace, chain now dangling from his palm.
"I don't think I've ever seen you like this," Feyre comments, amusement filling her voice.
It takes a conscious effort for Azriel to still his leg, turning to look at his High Lady, at his friend. Sighing, Az leans back in the armchair slightly. "Don't tell Rhys," he mumbles dryly, "or Cass."
"I'm pretty sure they already know," Feyre says, shifting Nyx on her legs. "You don't need to be nervous, Az. She's important to you, so she's important to us."
Az nods, he knows that, he really does, but it doesn't stop his heart thundering, or the pins prickling beneath his skin. There are just so many things that could go wrong, and he wants so desperately for his family to like you and for you to like them. You who are so much like him, preferring the quiet, the shadows, to blend in with the background, and his family who are loud and boisterous and will certainly make you the center of their attention. He's not sure how the two will mix.
"I know," Az says instead of voicing his concerns, looking back at the hearth.
Feyre sighs, recognizing she's not going to get much more from the Spymaster. Az watches her stand out of the corner of his eye, gently pulling the necklace from Nyx's grasp as she walks over to him. "Here," she says, plopping Nyx in Azriel's lap before he starts whining about losing the necklace. The shadows instantly surround Nyx, his little eyes widening, watching them swirl up his arms. "Play with your nephew, you need the distraction," the High Lady orders leaving the room.
The hours pass only slightly faster with Nyx scrambling after the shadows, his laughter filling the sitting room.
—
The knock is gentle, barely heard outside of the empty foyer, but the shadows hear and Azriel is at the door a few seconds later. The tension in his shoulders melts slightly when the door opens revealing you shifting on your feet in a simple blue dress, your work bag clutched tightly in your hands. "You made it," Azriel breathes, stepping aside to let you in.
Your eyes flicker around the entry way, a hesitant smile gracing your lips. "You sound surprised," you remark softly, slowly handing over your bag when Az offers.
A light chuckle escapes him, placing your bag on a nearby hook. "Just glad you're here," he admits, resting a hand on the small of your back, drawing your attention to him. You flush lightly as he leans down, placing a faint kiss on the top of your head, his smile growing at the sight. "Everything go okay?"
"Um… yeah," you answer, absentmindedly picking at one of your fingernails as you look around again. "As well as can be expected." You pull away from him slightly, the blush still gracing your neck and cheeks. A small flash of hurt washes over Azriel, his brows furrowing for a moment before he wipes it away. Even now, without his family present, your discomfort is evident, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.
"That doesn't sound very promising," he comments, shifting subtly drawing your eyes back to him.
Your tight smile falters for a second, eyes catching his. "You- you know that's all I can tell you," you remind him quietly. He nods, having figured out early on you take your patients privacy very seriously.
"I know, love," he assures gently, a small sigh of relief escaping you at that. "It just doesn't sound like a good thing, when you say it like that," he explains.
Tilting your head slightly, your brows furrow. "Well, I-"
"Azriel!" Cassian's voice echoes down the hall cutting you off. Az forces himself to take a slow breath, watching your eyes widen like you were caught doing something wrong. "I swear, if you snuck off again…" his voice trails off once he rounds the corner, his eyes wide and locked on you.
You take a step closer to Azriel, one hand reaching for his, your body stiffening. A part of Az is ecstatic that he is the one you go to for comfort, for safety, while the other part of him desperately wants to throttle his brother. "Cassian," he says, throwing the general a glare, "this is Y/N." His voice softens when he says your name and Cassian's eyes darts between the two of you.
Cassian breaks out into a grin. "So you are real," he says, walking towards you. Azriel can hear your heart thundering in your chest and you struggling to keep your breaths even. He extends a wing behind you, barely unfurling it, just enough to provide another form of comfort, enough for Cassian to catch. He stops in his tracks, his smile never faltering even as his eyes widen slightly. "We were starting to think he made you up," he quips.
"Hello," you say quietly. Azriel squeezes your hand, adding just enough pressure to ground you, to remind you he is there. Your breathing begins to even out slowly as you continue to shift on your feet.
"Cassian, you better not be terrorizing the poor girl already. We want to make a good impression," Nesta snips, pushing past her mate with ease. "Feel free to ignore him."
"This is Nesta," Azriel introduces quietly. You nod slowly, eyes tracking the eldest Archeron who seems to not notice the exaggerated offended look Cassian gives her.
Taking a deep breath, you force a small smile toward the Lady of Death. "Nice to meet you," you say, removing your hand from Azriel's to offer to Nesta.
The grin that spreads across Nesta's face is just shy of predatory. She loops an arm around yours rather than shaking your hand. "It is so nice that Azriel is finally comfortable enough to bring you around," she starts, leading you to the dining room.
You quickly glance over your shoulder, wide eyes catching with Azriel. He sends you a reassuring smile, following a few paces behind while Nesta continues to talk, Cassian coming up to him. "You really love her."
It wasn't a question, even with Cassian's brows furrowing. "Yes," Azriel answers anyway.
Nodding, Cass looks back in the direction his mate disappeared. "You deserve a little peace, Az. Cauldron knows you don't get enough of that around here." Looking over at his brother, Azriel just nods.
The two males approach the entrance of the dining room, where you and Nesta stand facing each other. Nesta's brows furrow while your eyes are fixed to a point on the floor, face flushed as you once again pick at your nails. "Hmm," Nesta hums, eyes flickering to Azriel. "Well, we would love to see you there one of these days."
"See her where?" Cassian asks, moving to stand beside his mate. You jump slightly at the sound of his voice, eyes snapping up to Cass.
Azriel's eyes furrows, stepping up to your side, gently resting his hand in the small of your back once more. He feels the tension in your muscles loosen the smallest amount as you lean back into his hand. His shadows swirl around your feet, dancing up your legs and torso to play in your hair. They congregate at specific points along your legs and spine, subtle enough that no one other than Azriel notices, he's not even sure if you notice, and it almost looks like they are supporting your weight. They had started doing it on the third time the two of you met, and when he asked why they do that the shadows just replied: Beloved likes it. It helps her. Although Azriel has the suspicion they know as little has he does as to how it helps.
Nesta angles her body to Cass, but keeps her eyes on you. "I invited her to Valkyrie training," Nesta says simply. Your shoulders creep up a bit, eyes refocusing on a spot on the floor. "She says that it's not for her," she continues, shrugging.
Cassian eyes widen, looking over you again. "Oh, you should definitely come. We always welcome those who want to better themselves and become stronger."
Azriel glares at Cassian, your body tensing beneath his hand, his shadows redoubling their efforts around your body. Even Nesta turns her steely gaze on her mate, eyes narrow. Slowly, Azriel leans down, whispering in her ear. "Ignore him, love. You do not need to join." You shift, just enough to look over at him. He can almost feel your embarrassment and shame over his brother's words, tears beginning to line your eyes. "Or, you can come and just watch. See what the fuss is about," he offers instead, giving you a small, reassuring smile, "but you don't have to."
"Just watch?" you repeat, the question barely a breath.
Slowly, Azriel nods, forcing his face to remain neutral. A small knot begins to form in his stomach at the look of dread and guilt shining behind your eyes. "Only if you want to," he stresses softly, only vaguely aware of Cassian flinching at something Nesta says.
Taking a shaky breath, your gaze drops to somewhere along his chest, blinking rapidly, nodding slightly. "Okay," you agree, resignation filling your tone, "but just to watch."
"If you're sure," Azriel reiterates, letting out a long breath, the knot in his stomach quickly souring to disappointment. Not disappointment towards you, of course; it had been obvious from the start that your previous relationships had not been the most healthy ones. The need for his approval was painfully obvious at times, so he is not surprised that you agreed to come, he already knew you would agree after Cassian made his comment. But still, a part of him hoped you would say no when you clearly were uncomfortable with the prospect. You were already stepping out of your comfort zone to come to this dinner, it wasn't fair for any of them to pressure you to do anything else.
Still, you nod slowly, refusing to look up at him. Cassian clears his throat weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it… like that," he says sheepishly. You nod again, remaining still, while Azriel's gaze snaps to Cassian, glaring at him.
"And this is why you can ignore him," Nesta mutters, walking into the dining room, dragging Cassian behind her.
Neither you nor Azriel move for a long moment, his eyes scanning your body like checking for wounds. Eventually, he lifts one hand to rest on your cheek, gently guiding you to look at him, your head leans into him on instinct and you blink back something that Azriel can't quite catch. "We can leave," he whispers, "whenever you want. Just say the word."
"Wouldn't that be rude?" you ask, eyes widening.
Azriel shrugs, running his thumb across your cheek. "I don't care about that," he admits, taking a half step closer. "If you want to leave, we leave."
Your brows furrow, lips pursing, but you nod. "O-okay."
Slowly, he leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than necessary. "I love you," he breaths against your skin.
Your face flushes, a small gasp escaping you at those words. They were still new; while Az knew he loved you only a few months in it has still taken him some time to actually say it, only starting a few weeks ago and only in soft, quiet moments of them alone. He knows you don't believe them yet, not fully, but he is determined to remind you.
"I-I love you," you whisper back, the words more shaky, trailing off at the end. Azriel smiles against your heated skin, the words sending a rush through his body, and he places another kiss to your temple.
———
The High Lord's table is covered with meats, salads, fruits, and dishes you don't know how to describe. You're not sure you have ever seen so much food in one place, except maybe at the markets. Around you, Azriel's family talks amongst themselves, piling their plates high from the assortment, while you sit quietly, back straight, a small polite smile gracing your lips. They had all paused when you walked in, Azriel gracefully guiding you to a seat, effortlessly introducing you to his family.
Once they joined you at the table, they easily slipped into their normal casual conversations, giving you a moment to acclimate, not paying you any mind yet. Still, you could feel their eyes flicker to you every so often, curiosity lingering in the air.
Pursing your lips, you lift a hand to fill your plate, a sharp twinge in your back protesting the movement, your hand shaking slightly. Azriel gently reaches, bringing you hand back down with a smile beginning to fill your plate for you.
You haven't told him of your condition. You are sure he already suspects something, with his sharp eyes and his shadows constantly observing and swirling around you, but you haven't brought yourself to tell him. Each time you consider it, fear grips your heart, memories of past relationships, some romantic others not, flood your mind. People don't tend to stick around long after finding out.
You haven't burdened him with the knowledge of the mating bond either, not willing to trap him in a relationship he would not want. He claims to loves you, and a part of you believes he means it, but you had heard those words before from people who left. And there is a part of you that thinks you could not live with his rejection, especially not after having him these past months. So, you don't tell him, letting the bond fester angerly in your chest, begging to make itself known
After a moment, Azriel angles the plate towards you slightly. "Anything else you want?" he asks softly, unheard by the rest of the table. The plate is filled with your favorite dishes, a small flush creeping up your neck at the thought of him making sure they would be served for you.
Slowly, you shake your head, offering a small smile, careful not to further aggravate your already flaring muscles along your spine. Today had been hard; the patient you were seeing had developed a heart condition during her pregnancy and required more frequent check-ins with both you and a healer. It was a rare condition, but not unheard of. One that the healer you are working with from the Dawn Court, Sira, had delt with a few times and believed the mother would make a full recovery in the years following the birth. But, it meant you were running around more than normal on the days of your check-ins to escort the healer through the city, and your body was rebelling against you as a result.
Azriel puts the plate back in front of you before filling his own and pouring a glass of water for each of you. "No wine tonight, Az?" Morrigan teases, taking a sip of hers. Your flush grows, eyes dropping to your plate. Whether it's because he wants to keep his wits about him or because he doesn't want you to feel alone not drinking, he wasn't drinking wine, or any alcohol, because of you. You never asked him to, and you would be fine if he does, but the guilt over his decision worms its way inside your heart anyway.
The male in question doesn't dignify the ask with a response, just raises his eyebrows and taking a pointed drink of his water. Nesta scoffs across the table, taking a drink of her own glass, while the High Lady chuckles lightly, placing a torn up piece of bread in front of the princeling.
"So," Amren speaks up, swirling the red liquid in her glass, her silver eyes locked on you and you fought to withhold a shiver, "how did you two meet?"
The discussions around the table tapper off as everyone turns to watch you and Azriel. Looking to the male out of the corner of your eye, you gently place the still clean silverware back in their places, hands clasping together in your lap. Azriel glances your way, a gently smile pulling on his lips and one of his hands reaches out to grab yours. "We took over her appointment in Madja's clinic," he explains simply, gesturing vaguely towards the High Lord and the General, but his eyes remain on you. "I offered to buy her a drink to make up for it." His voice softens as a small smile pulls at your lips, your eyes dropping to your untouched plate.
A hum echoes through the room, the High Lord's head tilting slightly. "How long have you lived in Velaris?"
You swallow thickly, trying to keep your heart steady and your focus on Azriel's thumb moving absentmindedly against the back of your hand. "Sin- since I was a child, High Lord," you answer softly.
"Oh, you can call him Rhys," the High Lady says gently. "No need to be so formal and he certainly doesn't need the ego boost." You look up hesitantly to see Feyre gently elbow her mate, who smiles fondly back at her. There's a shift in his eyes, when he turns back to you, a hardness creping in that makes your skin crawl.
Smiling weakly, you just nod, opting to look back down at your plate. Carefully, you squeeze Azriel's hand, the rough texture grounding you and the shadows immediately swarm up your legs and into your lap, twirling around your hands, offering their quiet support. A few wrapping around to your back, placing gentle pressure on a particularly sore part of your lower spine, and you extend the fingers of your freehand, twining with them in gratitude.
"You're a healer too, right?" Nesta asks, pushing the food around her plate. Your brows furrow, eyes flickering to hers. "Az mentioned you were seeing one of your patients today," she explains quickly, offering a reassuring smile.
"Oh," you breathe, glancing to Azriel, who nods. "No, not exactly. I, um… I'm a midwife."
The table stills, an uneasy silence falling over the room, broken only by the prince's giggling, throwing some of his bread and cooked carrots onto the floor. Your heart thunders and you force yourself to not shift in your seat, the ache in your back already starting to build. Azriel squeezes your hand, leaning just fraction closer to you. Amren hums, taking another up of her wine.
You are aware that the High Lady had… complications during her pregnancy. Almost all of Velaris had heard of how she died, or nearly died, giving birth to her son, only to be saved by her eldest sister negotiating with the Cauldron itself to save her life and that of the young price.
"A midwife?" the High Lord asks, voice dropping slightly.
You couldn't stop yourself from shifting this time, your eyes closing at the sharp pain shooting up your spine. "Yes," you confirm in a whisper.
Rhysand's eyes narrow, looking you over. "And you have been in Velaris since you were a child?" he clarifies, not impolitely, but there was an edge to his voice. A lump catches in your throat, eyes once again locked on your plate as you nod. The High Lord hums thoughtfully. "I don't remember speaking with any midwives in Velaris during Feyre's pregnancy."
"Oh, um…" you start, gaze flickering to Azriel and he nods again, eyes staying on you as Feyre shifts uncomfortably in the corner of your eye. "We- we weren't consulted," you admit softly, eyes lowering again. "I offered my services to Madja when I heard she was researching for the High Lady's pregnancy, but she refused my assistance."
Morrigan leans forward. "Why would she do that?"
Pursing your lips, you straighten in your seat, hoping to ease the sharp ache in your lower spine that continues to grow despite the shadows gentle massage. "I- uh, I don't know," you answer softly. You weren't lying, not really, but there was a reason you no longer consulted the old healer for your patients, even if you were stuck seeing her for your condition. "She just said that she had it handled and refused to hear of it again." Her angry words still echo in your head somedays.
Leaning back in his chair, the High Lord studies you, wine in hand. "And what would you have done?"
"W-what?" you ask, brows furrowing, slowly looking towards him, while keeping your eyes respectfully low.
"Rhys," Feyre murmurs gently, a warning in her voice.
"You claim you offered to help," the High Lord says, not taking his eyes off you. "You obviously heard something about the pregnancy, so what would you have done differently if we had hired you?"
An uncomfortable silence blankets the space, even Nyx quiets, his big blue eyes looking around the room confused. "I- I wasn't there," you attempt to reason, eyes flickering between the High Lord, High Lady, and Azriel. "I don't know all of the… uh, the details. I won't be able to say with any certainty."
The High Lord simply shrugs. "To the best of your knowledge," he prompts.
Azriel leans closer to you, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, the shadows swirling up and down your back lightly. You look to him, eyes wide, heart pounding. "You don't have to answer," he says gently, but loud enough for the table to hear. Your mouth opens, drawing a shaky breath while Azriel's gaze flickers to the High Lord and hardens. His hazel eyes are soft when they meet yours again and you can see the sincerity behind them, but also his curiosity. And, honestly, you are a bit surprised he hasn't asked sooner.
"Okay," you breathe shakily, licking your lips. Eyes falling back to your place, but you barely see it as your mind combs through all the information you heard about the High Lady's pregnancy, separating facts from fiction from rumors, most of it rumors. Your eyes close, a wave of pain emanating from your lower back rolls through your body. "Okay," you repeat slightly louder, eyes opening again, trying to ignore the scrutinizing gazes surrounding you.
Taking a slow, deep breath, you let yourself fall back on your decades of training. "From what I heard, it sounds like the majority of the complications were from… um, from the wings, is that correct?"
"Yes," Rhysand answers taking a sip of his wine.
"Okay, um…" you take a second, recalling your mentor's teachings on Illyrian pregnancies and anatomy. "How far along did you find out about the wings? If you don't mind me asking?"
"About two months," Feyre says, voice almost as soft as yours.
Nodding, you lick your lips. "And, uh, I also heard you have the ability to shapeshift in a way similar to the noble fae of the Spring Court, is that right?"
"Yes," Feyre replies slowly.
"No," Rhysand snaps loudly. You flinch, eyes closing again as another wave crashes over you your empty stomach roiling with nausea. Azriel's shadows rise around you and his grip on your hand tightens, your freehand moving to cover his, keeping him from pulling away. "Madja said any alterations to Feyre's body could've put Nyx at risk."
Your mouth parts slightly, shoulders dropping barely an inch from where they had curled into your ears. Brows furrowing, your eyes open, moving over the table, thoughts racing through your head. "Madja has experience with the pregnancies of shapeshifting fae?" you whisper, more to yourself. There aren't many shapeshifting fae in Velaris and, to your knowledge, they all come to either you or Eda for their pregnancies, or to Priya before her death.
You are only vaguely aware of the looks being shared around the table before the attention returns to you. "Do you?" Nesta asks.
Slowly, you nod. "There are many species of fae who can shapeshift to some degree, with the way the magic changes the body different for each. If Madja is unfamiliar with any shapeshifting pregnancies, or only has experience with some of the more… well, violet shapeshifting magic that's native to the Night Court, I can understand her concern. But, if the High Lady's is more similar to those High Fae in Spring…" you trail off, pursing your lips.
"All magic has its risks, shapeshifting is no different," you conceded with a small nod to the High Lord, but you barely register the action. "Even under the best circumstances, there's always a risk, however small. That early on in the pregnancy though, with the more fluid change of the Spring Court's magic, especially changing into a similar form, the additional risk would have been minimal to both mother and child," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
Several sharp intakes of breath echo around the room. You glance over to Azriel who's watching you, eyes wide in awe. "I- uh," you stammer, a flush rising on your cheeks. "I would have consulted with a midwife native to Spring, since they deal with this type of magic more often," you continue, eyes returning forward. "After confirming with them, assuming they agreed, I would have had the High Lady shift as early in the pregnancy as possible, in a controlled environment, with both myself and a healer present in the unlikely event of a complication."
"And," Feyre begins quietly, "you're sure it wouldn't have harmed him?" she asks, a hand resting on the princeling's back.
"Um," you purse your lips again, eyes dropping to your lap, brows furrowing as possibilities race through your mind. "Sin-since you would have been shifting from High Fae to Illyrian, that in and of itself lowers many of the risks of the shift. The same magic that keeps your heart, brain, and other organs functioning through a shift would have been employed to protect the child, even without conscious effort. And the shift would have resulted in more room for the child to develop. So, if my understanding of the Spring Court's shifting magic is correct, then the likelihood of any harm coming to you or him, my lady, would have been very low."
Azriel squeezes your hand lightly, an uneasy silence filling the dining room. Slowly, you turn back to him, your eyes wide. His lips twitch into a soft smile, even as you watch a war of emotions behind his eyes. Anger, confusion, and grief all seem to try to make a home there, but all outshone by a look of awe, wonder, and price as he looks at you. Your flush deepens, head ducking to look back at your lap, your own smile pulling at your lips.
"If that is the case," the General asks slowly, breaking you out of the quiet moment, "what do you think caused the early labor?"
Your gaze flicks up to him, your smile fading. "Oh… um. There are three main differences between the reproductive systems of a female High Fae and a female Illyrian," you recite. "The pelvis is larger to accommodate the wide birth canal. The womb itself is larger as well, for the wings, and…" you trail off, looking around the table. "Um, as the wings develop, the bones, including the talons, are some of the first parts of the appendage to form, and the talons form… sharp. Illyrian females have multiple additional protective inner linings along their wombs and birth canal to protect against them."
Your eyes landed back on your plate, fingers tangling in the opposite sleeves. Azriel's finger flex in your hand, and the small amount of magic you have rises without prompting. There is no glow to your healing magic, it's not strong enough for that, but it is enough to ease the stiffness in his muscles, to soothe the tender nerves. His fingers relax in your grip, his thumb beginning its soothing circles again. The shadows curl around you in gratitude.
"If I had to guess," you continue softly, "the High Lady's womb was not large enough to hold the wings and with the lack of the protective linings the talons would have been rubbing against the walls of the womb, likely causing no small amount of tears. The body would have known something was wrong and did what it could to get whatever was harming it out, triggering the early labor. Then the wings got stuck in the birth canal and it just made the problem worse."
"So," Morrigan starts, voice low, a dangerous edge lurking in it, "theoretically, if Feyre had shifted when we first learned about the wings…" she trails off, eyes locked on you.
Taking a deep breath, you nod. "Theoretically," you say so quietly it's almost a whisper, "she would have had a normal pregnancy."
The air in the room stilled at the pronouncement. The only movement comes from Nyx twisting in his chair and the shadows. Your lips purse, hands tightening around Azriel's. A part of you wishes you hadn't said anything, had let them believe that what happened was the inevitable. To forget the conversations whispered between you and Eda after one of the few times you worked together to help with a delivery. But, at the same time, you know lying wouldn't help, it would have only made whatever this meal is becoming something far worse.
Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your body begging you to shift in your seat, to find a position to ease the pain licking its way up your spine. You stay still, years of experience teaching you that moving won't help much, if at all, instead possibly making it worse. The shadows rush along your back, placing gentle pressure along the worst of the pain, while others tangle themselves with your legs and finger, a few running up your arms to play with your hair.
Azriel shifts closer to you, the warmth of his body, from a wing partially extending behind you, is grounding, comforting. His body is stiff, tension spilling from him, and everyone else in the room.
You can see them all in your periphery, but you don't dare to look. Amren regards you thoughtfully, her glass of wine resting against one of her cheeks. Morrigan purses her lips, eyes focused on you, taking long slow breaths. Nesta grips Cassian's hand tightly, her knuckles white, but her mate doesn't seem to notice. Feyre reaches for Nyx, hugging him gently in her lap. And Rhysand…
The High Lord glares at you, a quiet fury burning in his violet eyes. "Liar," he hisses, putting his glass down with a deafening thud. You flinch, forcing your eyes shut, your back flaring as your muscles tense. "You're lying. If the solution was really so simple we would have known."
The High Lord's anger fills the room, the glasses and plates shaking. Your breath comes in short shallow breaths, shoulders coming up to your ears as you curl in on yourself. Azriel moves closer to you as the High Lady says softly: "Rhys." Her voice hard, condemnation echoing in her single word. Gently, Azriel pulls his hand from yours wrapping his arm around you, the shadows moving frantically over you.
"I don't think she is," Morrigan says quietly, the words ringing through the room.
The High Lord stiffens, gaze flickering between his cousin and you. His chair creaks as he leans back. "Fine, you believe you're telling the truth," he concedes, words clipped. "But, what of your relationship with the Dawn Court?"
The tension in the room eases, slightly, your eyes opening, brows furrow along with everyone else. Amrem scoffs, rolling her eyes. "All healers have a 'relationship' with Dawn," she drawls into her wine. "An occupational hazard. It shouldn't be surprising if a midwife does too."
"Not all healers have private meetings with the High Lord of Dawn, and certainly not all midwives," Rhysand pauses, watching the blood drain from your face, eyes widening. "Did you think I wouldn't remember, or just wouldn't realize?" he taunts.
Pain rushes through you, your body shifting before you could think and gods everything hurts. Your shake your head, hands coming to pick at your fingernails again. Azriel tenses next to you, adjusting in his seat to face the High Lord. "Rhysand," he warns lowly.
"What are you talking about?" Cassian asks at the same time.
Rhysand smirks. "Was it three weeks ago, when I went to Dawn to renegotiate the trade deal for copper? They had me wait because Thesan was already in a meeting—"
"Gods forbid," Nesta mutters, taking a sip of her water, hand still clutching her mate's.
Rhysand continues like he didn't hear her. "—and when he was done, he was accompanied out of his office by you. Looking like you were having a very serious discussion."
Your heart pounds in your ears, gaze flickering to Azriel. You remember that meeting, of course you do. You had gone to Dawn for only a few hours to speak with Sira, wanting to get more information about a specific side effect plaguing your patient. And while you were there, you asked if they had any information on your condition. Word spread fast in the archives of Dawn and before you really understood what was happening, High Lord Thesan had come to speak with you, taking you back to his office to have a more private discussion.
"I- I was in Dawn seeking advice on a condition for one of my patients," you manage to say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes focusing on where you are picking at your nail beds.
"And that got the attention of the High Lord?" Morrigan asks, doubtfully.
"It- um, I," you stammer, glancing at Azriel who is staring daggers at Rhysand. "The condition I was looking into is very rare. Only six recorded cases… or, um, seven now. It caught the High Lord's—"your eyes flicker to Rhysand, his body tense"—I- I mean the Lord Thesan's attention."
A careful hum echoes through the room. "And what condition is that?" the High Lord asks.
You take a shaky breath. "I- I can't… I'm not supposed to say," you whisper, glancing at Azriel again. Gods, this is going to be how he finds out, isn't it? Then, of course he'll leave; to have a parter perpetually broken was bad enough, but to find out about it in this humiliating way? He will never want to see your face again and a part of you wouldn't blame him.
"Because Thesan told you not to," Rhysand concludes, his tone final.
"What? N-no!" you breathe. A painful shiver begins in your stomach, your breathing shallow as it spreads through your body.
"Rhys," Azriel interjects with a growl, voice hard. "That's enough."
"If she's having secret meetings with a foreign High Lord I have every right to question her," Rhysand declares.
Azriel's wings flare, one wrapping protectively around you. The shadows flicker, rising to encompass you, to protect you, but you barely feel them with your pain-filled shivers. "Why? Because you think she's a spy?"
"Maybe," Rhys responds with a shrug.
Your vision blurs, the edges darkening as you gasp for breath. "But- but I'm not. I- I would never- I just went to research–"
"Why should we believe you?" Morrigan asks, her voice gentle, but aloof. "If you can't tell us what you were researching."
Your shaking hands come up to your neck, applying a slight pressure you are barely aware of. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I- I can't…"
"Rhys, stop," Feyre orders shakily.
Hot tears spill over your eye line, burning your cheeks where they fall. "I'm sorry," you repeat, looking over to Azriel who was still staring down Rhysand. "I-I don't understand. What did I do wrong?" you breathe, because you had to have done something wrong; why else would the High Lord be after you like this? The only things you can think of is not telling them about your condition or the mating bond, but it wasn't wrong to keep those to yourself, was it? No, no they were right; you should have told Azriel right away so he wouldn't have wasted his time on you. It was stupid and selfish and wrong, wrong, wrong–
Azriel's head jerks to you, your body curling forward, sobs wracking your frame. "No, no. Y/N," Az breaths, quickly getting out of his seat and kicking it away so he can kneel next to you. Pulling your chair out, the shadows bracing you so you don't fall, he turns the chair to face him and he gently grabs your hands. "You didn't do anything wrong," he whispers softly.
You shake your head, your whole body screaming, the pain only making the tears come faster. "I'm s-so-sorry. I'm sorry," you continue to breathe.
Gently, oh so gently, arms wrap around you, gathering you into his firm chest, the scent of mist and cedar filling your lungs. The feel of your mate's arms and his scent around you instantly calms your tears, even as you continue to shake in his hold. "You didn't do anything wrong," he repeats, voice thick. Slowly, he stands, his shadows swirling restlessly about him, itching to get you out. "We're leaving," he says simply, walking towards the door.
"Az, you can't shield her from this," Rhysand calls, his chair screeching against the floor as he stands. "She needs to answer–"
A low growl thunders through the room, cutting off the High Lord. Azriel turns to face his brother, baring his teeth. You whimper softly, some residual anger flowing down the mostly dormant bond. Azriel stops at once, dropping his nose to the top of your head, shushing you gently and leaving tender kisses against your hair, continuing through the River House.
He stops only once to grab your work bag before walking into the night-chilled spring air, letting the shadows surround you both.
You are only somewhat aware when the shadows deposit you and Azriel outside of your apartment building. A small, run down place, one of the units has a hole in the wall from when the attors attacked the city that was never fixed. It was a miracle the building was still standing, much less has people living in it, but it was the cheapest place to rent in the city and all you could afford.
Shame washes over you as Azriel enters the building, keeping his steps light, as it always does when Azriel visits your apartment. You knew Azriel hates this place, that you live here, but he never mentioned it to you, not directly. Just another reason the bond had to be a mistake; how could the Spymaster's mate live in such a place?
Climbing the stairs, Azriel whispers soft words into your hair, but you can't make out the words. Hot tears burn your cheeks even through your sobs have subsided. Azriel's arms tighten around you when one step creaks dangerously beneath him.
It does not take long for him to reach your door, gently setting you down, his hands remain, one on your waist the other your arm, to steady you on your wobbling legs. Clasping your work bag in shaky hands, you slowly move back a few steps, out of his grasp, fixing your eyes on the floor in front of him. Still, you don't miss the hurt and panic flashing across his face.
"I am so sorry, my love," Azriel whispers. Your arms wrap around your middle, Azriel's shadows slowly approaching you. "I'll talk with them."
"It's okay," you respond shakily. Your body tense to keep the pain-filled shivers at bay, which just aggravates your muscles in a different, but more familiar way.
The shadows lunge for you as Azriel's face crumbles. "No," he says fiercely, taking a step towards you. "No, it's not." You take a step back, against every instinct in your body begging you to go to him, you keep your distance. Azriel stops immediately, wings twitching at his back. "Y/N, look at me," he pleads, voice breaking, "please."
You take a shuddering breath, your mind at war with itself. You have no right to, you know that. Why should he want you to, a pour, barely educated female who can barely afford one of the worst apartments in the city. Weak, both physically and magically; how could you possibly be his mate, his equal? He should want nothing to do with you, even before knowing about your condition. You barely deserve being in the same room as him. But, at the same time, he was your mate and there have been a few occasions after a bad day that just seeing him made you feel better. And he was asking, that has to count for something, right?
Slowly, you look up, forcing your eyes to meet his, blurry through your tears, breathing sharp. "You didn't do anything wrong," he assures you, voice so gentle. "I promise. Not today, not in Dawn." you nod jerkily, wincing at the sharp pain shooting down your spine, a constant reminder of your unworthiness.
"I- I love you," he breathes, conviction filling the words, his hands flexing at his sides, one almost reaching out. The shadows curl around you, whispering in a language you will never know.
Your eyes shut tight, forcing fresh tears to stain your cheeks, lips pursing as your head falls forward. Stifling a sob, you force yourself to nod again. There was no way he meant it, not truly. How could he after the way his family, his brothers, reacted to you.
The lump in your throat kept you from saying anything for a long moment and you slowly fish you key from your bag. "You- you should go back," you breathe, fiddling with the key in your hand, turning to unlock the door, "be with your family."
"What? No. And leave you alone?" Azriel asks, brows furrowing, wings twitching as he glances around the hallway.
Your door opens with a loud creak, heat rushing to your face as it sticks at several points until the opening is large enough for you to slide through. "Yo-you will have a better time with them than with me," you insist, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. It had to be true, you were just going to down one of Madja's potions that do next to nothing and lay in bed, ignoring your hunger, and praying for sleep to take you away. His family would be much better company, even on your best day, especially without you there to ruin it.
"Y/N," he breathes, taking a single step forwards before stopping himself. "I want to be with you," he argues. "If… if you don't want me here, I'll leave, but," he swallows thickly, "but, I don't want to go."
You shake your head, turning towards him through the opening of the door, keeping your eyes on the floor. "Please," you beg, voice tick with tears, "don't lie to me."
"I'm not," he says quickly, panic setting in and you can see tears lining his eyes in your periphery. "I swear on my shadows, on my life, I'm not lying. Please."
Biting the inside of your cheek, more tears fill your eyes. Slowly, you inch the door closed. "I'll, um… I'll see you in the morning for the Valkyrie training," you say softly. Best to get it over with, not that you will be welcomed there anymore, not after the dinner. "Good night, Az."
It takes a few seconds for you to close the door all the way and slide the lock into place. Leaning your head against the door, a sob escapes your lips. Your body finally giving out, it was all you could do to control your fall to your knees, the landing jarring every bit of pain in your body. You bring a hand to your mouth, smothering the sobs.
Through the door, you can hear Azriel, his breath stuttering. "Good night, beloved."
———
Azriel always prided himself on control; over his body, mind, magic, shadows, especially over his emotions. After spending the beginning of his life with no control over anything, it is not something he takes for granted. After five hundred years, Azriel considers himself a master. But, hearing you fall to the ground, sobbing on the other side of that door, his control snaps.
Leaving a few shadows to watch over you, he recalls the rest, wrapping them around himself to step through and back to the front door of the River House. He marches inside, anger boiling beneath his skin, his shadows screaming at him to make the people who hurt you pay.
He enters the sitting room in a storm of shadows, the same one he had spent hours in earlier, anxiously waiting for your arrival. Now, it’s the room his family had moved to, their conversations ceasing when he enters, not that he'd be able to hear any of it over the roaring in his ears.
They watching him carefully as he takes them in. Nesta sitting on Cassian's lap in an arm chair, his arms wrapped around her. Amren sitting across from them, wine still in hand. Mor sits perched on the armrest of the couch while Rhys and Feyre stand closest to the doorway, Nyx sat on Feyre's hip. Azriel is just barely able to keep his shadows from strangling the High Lord, barely.
"Az–" Rhys starts.
"Tell me, Rhysand," Azriel interrupts, voice low and deceptively calm, "do you think me incompetent?"
Rhys' brows furrow, inhaling sharply. "What? No, of course not."
Azriel takes a careful step forward, hands clenching into fists at his side. "Then did you think that I was not aware of her visit to the Dawn Court? Or of her meeting with Thesan?" Rhys opens his mouth to respond, but Azriel cuts him off with a snarl. "Did you not think that there was a shadow with her the entire time?" His shadows grow around him, swirling frantically, the faelights seeming to dim in response.
Rhys freezes, eyes widening, bringing his hands up in a placating gesture. Everyone stares at Azriel, eyeing the shadows carefully. They have only rarely seen this side of their Spymaster, he knows, and never directed at them.
"She told me about her trip to Dawn days before it happened. She told me she met with Thesan when I first saw her after she returned. And my shadow confirmed their conversation," he growls looking around the room. It is a slight exaggeration; while the shadows did confirm the reason Thesan sought you out was in regards to a condition you were researching, they kept the confidentiality that you always stressed, keeping both the specific condition and the patient's identity from him, but Azriel didn't mind. He trusts his shadows will tell him any information that could affect or jeopardize the court, and he trusts you implicitly.
"Do you think I don't know about Thesan's spies in this court? In this city?" he continues, voice dropping, taking another step towards his brother, wings flaring wide. "I know their names, their aliases, their movements, what they ate for dinner, what they are doing this very moment. Did you think I would bring one to the very heart of this court?" The room is silent, no one dares to draw a breath, save for Nyx, watching his uncle with tear filled eyes, burrowing into his mother's chest. "I'll ask again, High Lord. Do you think I am unfit for my job?"
Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his skin tight. Eyes locked with Rhysand's, he forces himself to take few deep breaths through his nose. His wings twitch where they are extended, jay clenched. Rhysand doesn't move, blinking slowly, licking his lips, looking as calm and composed as normal. But, Azriel knows his brother better, he can hear Rhys' thundering heart, can see the small bead of sweat forming on his brow.
"She didn't tell the truth though, Az," Mor says quietly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal.
Azriel's gaze snaps to where she's perched, his lips pull back in a snarl. "But she did, she just didn't tell you everything, which is her right," he spits, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "She agreed to come to a nice cordial dinner. She did not agree to be questioned about her work, her expertise, and certainly did not agree to be interrogated about a research trip she took, one I had full knowledge of! Why should she have told you anything?"
"Az–" Rhys tries.
"I have spent the better part of this past year trying to convince Y/N she's worth my time. That she deserves love and attention, and something good. And now… now she won't even look me in the eye because she doesn't think she has the right to." Azriel's voice cracks, the worst of his anger bleeding out as he speaks, wings sagging. The shadows slow, returning to dance around him in an attempt at comfort. "Now, she won't let me stay and comfort her because she doesn't feel worthy of my presence." He whispers the last bit, a part of him can still feel her insecurity, her self-deprecation, like it is his own.
No one responds as he looks around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "I trusted you, all of you." The words are whispers, but they land hard. Rhysand stumbles back a step. Feyre takes a shaky breath, tears lining her cheeks. Cassian and Nesta hold each other tighter.
Scoffing, Azriel turns to the door, to head back to you. You might not want him there, might not feel worthy, but something in him needs to be near you, to know you are safe. Even if that means keeping quiet vigil outside through the night.
He pauses at the threshold, turning his head slightly, enough so his words will carry through the room. "If I lose her because of this," he says softly, raising his eyes to Rhysand's, the promise echoing through his words, "I will kill you."
if I see one more person say Azriel rejected shaking gwyns hand they’re fr gonna have to lock me up
I don’t even know if this is a gwynriel thing cause I seriously don’t think it would sway me one way or the other ship wise if that’s what had happened but it’s just..not?….what happened??
What about this is confusing? She’s asking for the prize. The prize she brought up earlier. The literal next sentence is Azriel acknowledging that she’s bringing up the prize. And you can’t even chalk it up to maybe forgetting their earlier conversation by the time this happens because it takes place in the same chapter. It’s not even 5 pages later.
ALL 52 EPISODES ARE NOW STORED ON THE INTERNET ARCHIVE!
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thanks to reddit user u/Pokesnap682 for pointing that out!
this means that you will always be able to watch/download the show, even (and especially) when third-party direct download servers (such as google drive), among other piracy streaming services, are unavailable!
