The River House was quiet when you and Azriel arrived. You followed Azriel as he led you to where Feyre and Rhysand were. They greeted you as you stepped into Rhysand's office. The shadows clung close to Azriel, tense like the rest of you.
Rhysand broke the silence first. “Thank you for coming so quickly. This needed to be discussed between us before the others got here. Lucien has been asking a lot of questions about your marriage. Not just out of curiosity, he’s suspicious. Wants proof that it’s real.”
You glanced at Azriel. His jaw tightened.
Feyre stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Lucien has always been protective of Elain, and he’s worried she might’ve been hurt, emotionally or worse. His concerns aren’t unfounded given the circumstances.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened. “Elain is unharmed by this. I don't understand.”
Rhysand nodded. “Still, Lucien’s persistent, wants to make sure himself. The Autumn Court invited us all under the pretense of peace and alliance, but it’s really a test. A political game to push and pull at the night court's weaknesses, which right now is your unexpected union.”
You swallowed. “So we need to convince them this is genuine.”
Feyre’s gaze softened as it flicked to you. “It’s more than acting. They’ll watch every look, every touch, every hesitation. You two need to be even more believable than you were at dinner the other night.”
Azriel’s shadow curled protectively around your feet. “We’ll make sure they have no doubts.”
“Good,” Rhysand said. “Because this isn’t just about politics. If Lucien pushes too hard, it could put Elain and Y/N in a difficult position. And that’s something we want to avoid at all costs.”
You nodded, heart pounding. “What’s the plan?”
Feyre folded her arms. “We stick together. Present a united front. Avoid giving Lucien or anyone else an inch of leverage. Never let yourself be alone with him without one of us in this room.”
Azriel looked at you. “We rehearse, again and again if needed.”
You took a deep breath. “Then the next three days will be our practice.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall outside Rhysand’s office. The soft sound of voices filled the air.
Feyre straightened. “The others are here, we’ll have to pause.”
Azriel and you stood quickly, smoothing the tension from your clothes.
Rhysand gave you both a look over. “Stay here. Do not come out just yet. Wait a couple of minutes and then walk in like you were just running late.”
Azriel’s shadows flickered as he crossed his arms but nodded once. You swallowed hard and took a slow breath.
“No need to worry,” Feyre assured you softly. “You'll know when it's been long enough.”
Rhysand and Feyre stepped to the door and opened it, greeting the others as they entered the hall: Cassian, Nesta, Mor, Amren, and Elain.
Once the hallway filled with laughter and chatter, the door shut behind them, leaving you and Azriel alone in the office.
You exhaled and turned to him. “Three days of pretending... I am not sure if I'm ready for this.”
Azriel’s dark eyes softened just a little. “None of us ever really are, but we have to be.”
You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “What if I mess up?”
He stepped closer, voice low but firm. “I’ll be there to help you."
“Yeah, but this time everyone’s watching,” you said. “Every move. Every breath.”
He nodded once. “Then we don’t give them anything to question.”
You shifted on your feet. “Right.”
Another pause.
Azriel’s gaze flicked to yours briefly. “We’ll get through it.”
That was all he said, but somehow it felt heavier than a promise. You nodded once, quietly. “Yeah. We will.”
Just then, an idea came to you, one to help ease the stress of what’s ahead.
You glanced toward the antique clock on Rhys’s desk with a smile. “I think we should wait seven minutes before we go out there.”
Azriel leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, shadows coiling lazily around his boots. “Seven? That's oddly specific.”
You nodded. “Only to make it seem like we just arrived.”
His mouth curved slightly. “So... a strategic delay?”
You smirked. “Exactly. Almost like we were playing a game."
He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What kind of game?”
You raised a brow and crossed your arms with false innocence. “Oh, I don't know, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven?”
Azriel’s gaze sharpened, a glimmer of amusement flickering behind his calm exterior. “Didn’t take you for the type to play party games.”
You shrugged. “Didn’t know you knew what it was.”
Azriel’s lips twitched. “I’ve been around Cassian long enough.”
You laughed. “That explains so much.”
He studied you in that quiet, infuriating way he always did. “You think the others would believe we got... distracted, and that's why we were late?”
“Would that be so hard to believe?” Your voice playful.
His shadows moved to curling around his ankles like smoke catching on something hot. “That depends.”
“On what?”
Azriel glanced at you, voice smooth. “On how flushed you are when we walk out.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Wow. Shadowsinger’s got claws after all.”
He stepped past you toward the desk. “You started it.”
Your lips parted slightly, but you covered it with a scoff. “You’re such a tease.”
Azriel straightened, professionalism snapping back into place. “Our seven minutes are almost up.”
"Let's go give them the performance of our lives," you smiled.
As you turned toward the door, Azriel suddenly reached out and ruffled your hair, deliberately messing it up.
“Hey!” you protested, swatting his arm.
“Just making it believable,” he said, completely unrepentant. “Now you look flustered.”
You narrowed your eyes, then reached right back and tousled his hair in return, fingers tangling in the soft strands. “Now we both look flustered.”
He blinked, surprised, but not displeased. For a heartbeat, you just stood there, staring at each other with a little too much heat in the silence.
Azriel was the one who stepped back, clearing his throat. “Alright. Showtime.”
You nodded, smoothing your shirt. “Let’s go lie to everyone you love.”
And just before Azriel opened the door, his shadows curled briefly around your shoulder in a gesture that almost felt like... reassurance.
The scent of roasted garlic and honeyed lamb filled the dining room as you and Azriel stepped in, side by side, hair slightly tousled, shoulders brushing.
Feyre and Rhys had already taken their seats at the long table, and across from them sat Cassian, already halfway into his first glass of wine.
Cassian looked up as you entered, grin tugging wide. “Look who finally decided to show up. What, did the shadows slow you down?”
Azriel arched a brow, sliding into the chair beside him. “You know how dramatic they can be.”
Cassian chuckled, then turned to you. “Do you have any more scandalous stories for my game?”
Before you could answer, a slender figure glided into the room, eyes sharp as moonlight and presence heavier than steel.
Amren.
She didn’t smile as she studied you, her silver eyes flicking up and down. “So... you’re the female Azriel married.”
You managed a polite nod. “I am.”
She sipped her wine, still watching. “You don’t look terrified.”
Cassian leaned toward you with a wink. “That’s a compliment. Maybe.”
Then the sound of another chair being pulled out made you turn. A golden-haired female entered behind Nesta, with soft features and graceful steps. Elain.
She paused when she saw you. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, the image of gentleness.
Her gaze slid to yours. “Hello.”
It was said with all the warmth of frostbite.
You smiled, small and polite. “Hi.”
Azriel’s shoulders tensed beside you, but he didn’t look away from his plate. Not once.
Rhysand clinked his fork gently against his wine glass, quieting the room. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s discuss the real reason we’re all having this lovely dinner.”
Feyre took over. “The Autumn Court has extended an invitation to a formal gathering...“
Cassian groaned loudly. “My Gods, it's a ball. Just say it. That’s what it is. They're throwing a party to see if we’ll squirm in our leathers.”
Mor smirked. “And we’ll give them nothing. Right?”
Azriel spoke then, his voice calm but unreadable. “Lucien’s suspicious. He’s been asking questions about my marriage... about us.”
You felt every eye at the table shift to you. Even Elain.
Rhysand cleared his throat. “The purpose of the ball is layered. Publicly, it’s a peace offering. Privately? Lucien will use it as a chance to press us. To gauge whether the Night Court’s stability has cracks.”
Amren’s fingers tapped against her glass. “And your sudden marriage to a female no one’s ever met before would be the crack.”
“No,” Azriel said, sharp and final. “It’s not.”
You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. Your silence beside him was part of the performance.
Feyre reached for her drink. “We will all be attending. But this time, there will be dancing, questions, and mind games. We all need to stick to the same script of information about Y/N and Azriel. Never adding more or giving too much away at a time.”
“We’ve practiced,” Azriel replied.
Cassian gave a low whistle. “Not that kind of practice, I hope.”
Azriel shot him a deadly glare.
Rhys chuckled, then turned to you. “This will be in three days. Like Feyre said, we'll all be guests of the Autumn Court. But you two will be the ones they're watching. Don’t let your guard down.”
“Are you ready?” Feyre asked you gently.
You nodded. “I can handle it.”
Dinner resumed in stiff, quiet bites. No more jokes. No more laughter. Just the weight of what was coming. Afterwards, everyone retreated to their rooms with a calm that only happened right before a storm.
You and Azriel walked down the halls, past the rooms that should’ve been empty, to his room, which was his when he stayed here.
You arched a brow. “Your room?”
“It’s the one they expect us to use,” he said simply, not meeting your eyes.
You crossed your arms. “Convenient.”
Azriel gave you a look. “Suspicion kills more than honesty.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed the door open.
It was warm, the fire already crackling inside. Shadows clung to the corners, flickering with the orange light. And, just as you feared… one bed.
You turned slowly toward him. “I swear to the Mother, if you take your shirt off without warning again, I’m sleeping on the floor.”
Azriel’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”
“You’re the one who always makes everything dramatic,” you shot back.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting off a smirk. “Then you may want to close your eyes.”
You blinked, half-horrified, half-excited. “Don't you dare.”
He started lifting it, slow and deliberate, his smirk growing wider. “Three… two…”
You turned away with a strangled noise. “Azriel!”
“You did warn me about the consequences,” he said mildly, voice too calm to be innocent. “I’m simply preparing.”
You were already halfway to the bathroom with your sleepwear bundled in your arms. “Fine. Change. But if I see any shadows trying to peek under the door...”
“They have manners,” he cut in smoothly.
You shut the door behind you. Changing took longer than it should have, mostly because you spent several minutes arguing with yourself in the mirror about whether your nightgown was too much or not enough. In the end, you told yourself it didn’t matter. It was just Azriel, who just so happened to be your husband of convenience.
You stepped out and saw he had dimmed the lamps and turned down the sheets. He was already sitting on the bed, shirtless, one knee bent as he looked through his pack for something.
He looked up when he heard the door, and froze.
The nightgown wasn’t scandalous, but it wasn’t exactly modest either. Soft fabric clung to the curves of your body, thin straps slipping slightly down your shoulder as you paused in the doorway.
Azriel didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darted away too quickly, as if looking again might unravel his control.
You cleared your throat, walking over to your side of the bed. "I'm sorry. This is all that I packed, thought I would be alone at night..."
You paused for a moment more, waiting for him to say something. "Your silence is speaking volumes.”
“I’m being polite,” he said stiffly.
You slid under the covers. “Huh, that’s new.”
Azriel exhaled a slow breath through his nose. “Just trying not to look like I’m thinking anything I shouldn’t.”
You turned your head toward him, studying the hard lines of his profile. “And are you?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I plead the fifth.”
You laughed, and it was that sound that finally pulled his gaze back to you, softer now but still intense, as you both settled into bed to get some rest.
You weren’t sure what time it was when you stirred. The moonlight still cast across the room. The sheets had twisted slightly, and the cool air kissed your bare arms as you blinked slowly into the dark.
And then you felt warmth, solid and close.
Azriel.
His arm was slung across your waist, hand resting lightly over your ribs. His chest was pressed to your back, the steady rise and fall of his breath brushing the base of your neck. One of his legs had tangled with yours.
You froze.
Your heart screamed at you to stay still, to not move, because this was comfortable in a way it shouldn’t be.
Azriel made a soft noise behind you, a little sigh against your skin. His fingers flexed briefly over your side.
Your breath hitched. You didn’t dare shift. Not an inch. Not when his shadows curled lazily around both of you, content and unbothered, as if they approved of this.
Eventually, sleep pulled you back under, lulled by the warmth of him, the way your body had instinctively curved into his, and the strange, grounding calm that came from being held like this.
Then the morning came too fast.
You woke up, Azriel’s arm still around you.
But now, he was awake, too. And very, very still.
Neither of you moved.
Eventually, you cleared your throat. “So.”
Azriel spoke at the same time. “We don’t talk about this.”
You blinked. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Good,” he said a little too quickly.
You shifted away, slowly. “It was cold. That’s all.”
“Very cold,” Azriel agreed stiffly, already sitting up, shadows zipping away like they wanted nothing to do with the conversation.
You pulled the blankets tighter. “Just… survival instincts.”
He stood, grabbed a shirt off the chair, and nodded as seriously. “Exactly.”
You didn’t look at each other as you both got dressed for the day.
You didn’t mention the way your heart had slowed to match his in the dark. Nevertheless, you got out of bed and got ready for the day ahead.
Each morning began with taking a drop of your potion, having to go back to hiding your wings. Afterwards, you met up with Nesta, who was drilling you in dance lessons sharp enough to draw blood. Her voice was stern, movements strict. By the end, she admitted you were “passable," which felt like the highest praise.
Afternoons were spent with Mor, who dragged you through Velaris’s boutiques with a gleam in her eye. She tossed aside anything too plain and helped you find the dress. One that hugged your body just right, was the right shade of blue, and looked like it belonged to a female confident in her place beside a shadowsinger.
Evenings brought strategy meetings with the Inner Circle. You and Azriel sat close, reciting the "story of your marriage" until it was second nature with everyone listening. Rhys and Feyre asked tough questions, Cassian, of course, wanted to know who confessed first, and Elain stayed quiet the whole time.
And at night, you returned to Azriel’s room. You changed in the bathroom. He warned you before taking his shirt off. It quickly became your nightly routine.
You kept your distance in bed... well, most of the time. When you didn’t, neither of you mentioned it in the morning.
By the time the morning of the Autumn Court ball arrived, the act was second nature. And that was the part that scared you most.
You speared a roasted carrot and pretended not to notice the way Azriel kept adjusting the position of his fork. Or how he hadn’t looked up from his plate once since sitting down.
You weren’t doing much better. Every time your eyes wandered around him, your brain betrayed you with a very clear and vivid image: wet hair, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping slowly down his chest...
You blinked hard and took a bite of bread, and immediately regretted it because now your chewing was loud. But there was nothing else to cover the sound. Not a conversation or soft music, just... chewing and the sounds of your breathing.
Azriel cleared his throat. “The, uh… the bread is good.”
You nearly choked from the sudden comment.
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Carbs are good.”
Gods above. What were you even saying?
He nodded. “For sure.”
You nodded back.
You dropped your eyes back to your plate and poked at a piece of fruit with your fork. You could see his shadows hovering around like they wanted to say something, or at least swallow him in darkness so he could leave the room.
Finally, Azriel stood abruptly from the table, his chair scraping across the floor.
“I need to go out,” he said stiffly, already turning toward the door.
You blinked. “Where?”
“The market.” His voice was tight, clipped. “We’re low on… food.”
You looked at the table. “We’re eating food.”
His jaw ticked. “Then we’ll be out soon.”
You paused. “Do you want me to come with?”
“No.” It came out a little too fast. He shifted, trying to sound more normal. “No, I’ll go. It’s fine.”
You nodded, the tension still thick enough to cut. “Okay. Well… good luck with the food. That we definitely need.”
He nodded once. “I’ll be back before sundown.”
He reached for the door but paused with his hand on the knob. His shoulders were tense.
Then, without looking back, “Do not leave the house alone.”
And the door shut behind him before you could ask why, which made your stomach flutter.
You walked slowly toward the window, eyes tracing the path he’d taken outside to the market. You tried to think about anything else. Cleaning, training, maybe doing a little bit of reading. But your mind kept looping back to the hallway. To the towels. To the scent.
"Why did it hit him so hard?" you wondered, biting your lip.
You pulled your arms around yourself, fingers tracing the edges of your own wings, still a little damp. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.
"It’s just a bath," you told yourself. "Everyone takes them. It's nothing more than that."
But even as the words echoed, your heart wasn’t convinced.
What was Azriel thinking?
Did he feel it too?
Or was this just you, caught in your own head?
You wandered the house aimlessly, trying to shake off the weird tension like it hadn’t crawled under your skin.
Eventually, your pacing led you to the hallway just past the rooms. You paused when you saw a small square hatch in the ceiling with a brass ring.
"An Attic?"
You pulled gently on the ring, and with a soft creak, a narrow wooden ladder unfolded from the ceiling. Dust fluttered down like it hadn't been opened in years.
You hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the edge of the ladder and climbed.
The attic was dim, the air hot and still. It smelled like old paper and neglect. Tattered crates and trunks sat in clusters, some open, others latched shut. A forgotten rack of dull blades leaned in the far corner. Cobwebs lay on each rafter, and there was dust. So much dust.
You let out a breath and rolled up your sleeves. “Well,” you muttered, “at least it's a distraction.”
You found a tattered cloth and began wiping off surfaces with a steady rhythm. One hand cleaning, the other gripping the rag a little too tightly. Anything to keep from thinking about the scent that lingered in your lungs. About how he’d looked at you. Your husband seeing you half-naked and covered in steam. No big deal.
You made a noise that was half a scoff, half a laugh. You didn’t even know what this arrangement was anymore. You couldn't tell where the pretending ended and the wanting began.
You sifted through some of the trunks. A few had books. Some had extra blankets. One had a cracked mug with the Night Court insignia and a practice blade dulled by time. You set that one aside, carefully.
Behind a tall stack of empty crates, you found a mirror.
Its edges were tarnished silver, the frame slightly chipped. You wiped the dust off the glass and blinked at your reflection, flushed from effort, wings ruffled, hair wild.
You looked... real. More real than you had since arriving.
That terrified you, because what if you started settling in? What if you started wanting this to feel like home? What if it already was starting to?
You folded the mirror in your arms and climbed down the attic ladder carefully. You didn’t want to scratch the glass or break your neck.
Back in your room, you leaned the mirror against the wall and stood back. Then went back up to see if you could find anything else.
You ended up finding a woven tapestry folded tightly and tucked between two boxes. You shook it out gently and smiled. It wasn’t anything grand, but was the kind you could hang on a wall or throw over a chair. It was enough.
You scooped it up along with a small wooden bowl you thought could hold your jewelry. Something about claiming little things, giving the guest room your mark, making it look less pristine… it felt like breathing.
Maybe redecorating would help. Maybe putting your hands to work could keep your mind from spiraling every time Azriel looked at you like you weren’t just an obligation... like you were something more.
You set everything down and started moving around the room barefoot, shifting things, straightening the blanket, pinning the tapestry to the wall, and without meaning to, you started to hum.
Just a soft tune that your mother used to sing when she braided your hair. Then, as you got more comfortable, the hum turned into a whisper of song, your voice gently carrying into the hallway as you fluffed the pillow and placed the wooden bowl on the bedside table.
You liked how it filled the silence of the house. It was as if the house itself was thanking you as your melody wrapped around the corners of its walls, snuck under the doorways, and brushed through the window panes. No longer full of still silence, but now with melody.
And on the other side of the front door, Azriel paused.
He hadn’t expected it. The quiet song. The softness of your voice drifting out of your room. He stood there for a long moment, door half-open, bags of groceries in his hands, listening.
His shadows shifted around him as if they were dancing. They curled toward the sound like smoke drawn to flame, weaving patterns in the air with your rhythm. As if they were memorizing the melody for him later.
Your singing tapered off into a hum as you stood back to admire your work. The tapestry hung neatly above the bed now, soft folds of amber and wine-red catching the afternoon light. The mirror stood tall near the corner, reflecting your wings and the slight smile on your face. It was starting to feel like a room. One that felt like it had you in it.
And then you heard the front door shut gently. No creak, no slam. Just the faint rustle of paper bags and the soft click of boots against the floorboards.
You paused at the bedroom doorway, leaning out slightly to glance down the hall.
Azriel was in the kitchen, setting a few brown-paper bags down on the counter. His shoulders looked more relaxed now. He didn’t speak at first, just opened one of the bags and pulled out a bundle of fruit, setting it aside with quiet precision.
You stepped forward. “I wasn’t expecting you back yet.”
Azriel looked over his shoulder, and for a moment, his eyes lingered on you. His shadows curled lazily at his ankles, moving more slowly than usual, like they were still trailing the tune you'd just been humming.
“I didn't know you sang,” he said softly.
You blinked. “Not… not on purpose.”
He turned fully now, folding a bag and placing it beside the fruit. “It was nice.”
Your face warmed. “It was an old song. From when I was little.”
Azriel nodded, then his eyes flicked toward the hallway. “You’ve been redecorating.”
You smiled bashfully. “I hope that’s okay. I needed something to do. Something to make it feel less like a guest room and more like...”
“Home?” he offered.
Your breath caught, just slightly. “Yeah".
Azriel looked down at his hands for a beat before he spoke again. “You’re allowed to make it yours. Any room. Any part of this house.”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
Azriel nodded too, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. Then he looked away again, as if breaking the moment before it could slip into something else entirely.
He gestured toward the bags. “I bought too much food. I didn’t make a list.”
You grinned. “That's alright, we'll survive.”
“I hope you like peaches,” he added.
You stepped forward, brushing past him to peek into the bag. “Depends… are they for eating or for throwing at people during emotional meltdowns?”
Azriel chuckled, actually chuckled, a deep, rare sound that warmed the space between you more than any fire could.
“I suppose either,” he said. “But let’s start with eating.”
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Dinner was a simple soup with bread. You both ate at the kitchen table without much conversation, but the silence felt different, more companionable. Like you were both too full of thoughts to speak, but comfortable enough not to need the words.
Azriel refilled your bowl without asking. You offered him the last piece of bread. Small gestures that meant something, even if neither of you said so.
You were just about to stand and clear the dishes when the shadows shifted.
The air in the kitchen went cold for a heartbeat, then a letter materialized midair. It hovered for only a second before dropping silently onto the table between you.
You stared at it as Azriel had gone still.
The envelope was sealed in wax, pressed with the mark of the Night Court.
Without a word, Azriel broke the seal and unfolded the letter. His eyes scanned the page once and then again. The faint crease between his brows deepened.
You leaned in, uncertain. “What is it?”
Azriel didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked slightly as he folded the letter again and stood from the table.
“We have to go,” he said, voice low.
“Where?”
He looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Rhys needs us at the River House. Immediately.”
“Why?”
Azriel hesitated, then finally handed you the letter.
Your eyes flicked over the elegant script:
"The Autumn Court has invited us to a formal gathering in three days’ time. A political move masked as hospitality. Lucien has been asking questions about your marriage and has extended the invitation to us directly.
I trust you understand what this means.
You and your wife will need to attend. Together. Convincingly.
This is not a request.
Come to the River House so we can discuss this before the others arrive.
-Rhysand"
You looked up at Azriel slowly. “How does Lucien know?”
The question felt heavier than it should have. Too many secrets balancing on too few words.
Azriel’s shadows were already coiling around him again. “I am not entirely sure, but he’s suspicious. And if he starts pushing the legitimacy of our marriage, especially while Rhys is providing Elain with independence and while we're protecting you…”
He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.
Because if this marriage was outed as a lie?
You’d be in danger again.
And so would the court.
Azriel folded the letter sharply. “Start packing. The Autumn Court plays games with fire. And we’re about to be their entertainment.”
The bags were packed quickly after that. Yours sat neatly by the door after taking your potion, which filled you with a new sense of dread after feeling a taste of freedom again.
Azriel stood by the window, arms crossed, shadows curling slowly around his legs like smoke waiting to be summoned. He’d barely said a word since folding the letter away.
You crossed your arms, trying to steady your voice. “Are we going to talk about it?”
He didn’t turn around. “Talk about what?”
“The letter. Elain. All of it.”
That made him still.
You walked closer. “Lucien’s dragging us into this mess because of her. Because of you and her. I’ve been trying really hard not to ask questions, Azriel. But now we’re about to go to the River House, where she’ll be. I need to know where you stand.”
Finally, Azriel turned. His jaw was tight, eyes unreadable. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” you said, more sharply than you meant to. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you buried whatever you felt for her long enough to fake a marriage with me. And now it’s coming back to bite us.”
He stepped forward, voice cool. “You’re not some decoy I put in Elain’s place.”
“Then what am I?” you asked the question before you could catch it. “Because I know this marriage started out as protection, as convenience, and to keep her from advancing on you. But now I’m the one who now has to pretend to be your wife in front of the female you used to...”
“Stop,” Azriel cut in, low and firm.
You did. The word hit you as hard as a stone.
He exhaled, finally looking at you with something real. “I cared for her. More than I should’ve, but deep down, she never wanted it. Not from me at least. Maybe she doesn’t know that yet, but I accepted that. I let it go.”
You searched his face, your voice smaller now. “Did you really?”
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation.
But there was a tightness in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, the first sign of his usual calm cracking. “I stepped back for Elain, and for myself. I won’t revisit something that never had a future.”
You swallowed hard. “So this...”
“You,” he interrupted, softer now, “are not some placeholder for her absence.”
Unspoken things hung in the air, and after a moment, Azriel nodded toward the door. “We should go.”
You grabbed your shawl and let him take your arm.
But just before the shadows swallowed you both, you asked, “Will she be there?”
The scent of toasted oats and cinnamon drifted lazily through the kitchen as you leaned against the counter, cradling a warm cup of tea between your hands. No glamour potion today.
You hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t even reached for it. Your wings were loosely tucked behind you, feathers still messy from sleep, but free. You didn’t know if it was defiance or just exhaustion. But the thought of hiding them again after last night felt... wrong. He knows the raw and ugly truth, so there's no sense in hiding it from him any longer.
You took another sip of tea, walking slowly toward the kitchen window. And there he was, barefoot in the grass beyond the house.
The morning light caught on the hard lines of his body as he moved slowly with a sense of control. Stretching with the ease as if he had done this routine a thousand times, with muscle memory and discipline in every breath.
His wings flexed behind him with perfect symmetry, shadows dancing along his back like they were part of the warm-up. The muscles in his arms flexed as he rolled his shoulders, his jaw taut with focus.
You forgot to drink. Instead, you stood there like an idiot, heat rising in your cheeks as something low and warm coiled in your stomach from watching him.
Fluid, powerful, yet graceful in a way no one had the right to be this early in the morning.
He turned slightly, tilting his face to the sun, stretching one arm across his chest. The muscles in his abdomen tensed.
You took a sip of tea so fast you nearly burned your tongue. "Shit- stop staring."
But the tea didn’t help. Neither did blinking. He was still there, glorious and shockingly unaware of your ogling.
You narrowed your eyes slightly.
Azriel hadn’t looked toward the window once, but his shadows had a different pattern now. Curling around him, almost like they were whispering. He had just shifted again, slower this time, more deliberately, as if he knew you were watching him.
"That cocky bastard," you thought.
Still, you didn’t look away. Not until you’d finished your tea and told yourself, more so lied to yourself, that it was just curiosity. Just research. Totally not like a cat in heat.
You set the empty mug down and sighed.
Time to meet up with your trainer.
You stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against your skin and ruffling the loose feathers of your wings. Azriel was still stretching, shadows flickering gently around him.
He didn’t look up as you approached, but you noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed slightly. He knew you were there.
“Ready?” His voice was low, calm, but something unreadable danced in his eyes.
You swallowed and nodded nervously. “Ready.”
He motioned toward the open field beyond the house. “First things first. Self-defense. Show me how you stand.”
You shifted your weight uncertainly, trying to mimic the stance he took so naturally. Feet apart, knees slightly bent, arms relaxed but ready.
“Relax your shoulders. Don’t stiffen. Staying relaxed is everything.”
You tried again, this time feeling the tension in your muscles ease a little. For a moment, he said nothing, just watched. Then, almost unnoticeable, a hint of a smile was on his lips.
“Not bad,” he said.
Then he stepped closer, demonstrating a simple defensive move, how to parry and counter a strike.
“Your turn.”
You copied him clumsily at first, missing the flow of the motion. He corrected your stance gently, his hands brushing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. Azriel’s shadows flickered playfully.
“Better.”
You caught your breath, heat blooming across your cheeks. You dared a glance up. His eyes held something soft, something encouraging beneath the guarded exterior.
“That's enough self-defense for now. Let’s see what you’ve got with flying.”
You swallowed, your heart pounding as you followed him to the edge of the clearing. The grass was soft beneath your feet, the wind gentle but there.
“First,” Azriel said, “you need to trust your wings. Don’t think about falling or failing. Just feel.”
You hesitated, folding your wings tighter against your back. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Azriel stepped closer, his eyes fixed on your wings. “Can I?” he asked quietly, nodding toward them.
You blinked, then nodded, not sure why he was asking for your permission. But grateful he did.
His fingers brushed gently along the base of your wings. "All along here are the muscles you need to engage, flex, and use."
Just then, his fingers slid over a spot you hadn’t known existed. The touch sent an electric shiver down your spine, goosebumps rising along your back, feathers rustling involuntarily.
“What was that?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Azriel’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, voice clipped. “Shit- I didn't mean to do that. Wings have these... sweet spots. That’s what-," he stopped himself, and shook his head. "Oh, never mind. Just don't ever touch someone else's wings like that unless they've given you permission.”
You stared at him, half-amused, half-flustered. "So everyone with wings has that spot, too? What's it for?"
He cleared his throat. “Yes, and it doesn't matter what it's for. Not right now.”
You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. He had that same spot. And if one brush felt that intense... You couldn’t imagine what a real touch might do.
He returned his focus to you, taking your hands gently in his. “Forget everything else. Just catch the wind with your wings. Let it hold you. Focus on engaging everything I just touched.”
You closed your eyes and concentrated, feeling the faint breeze teasing your feathers as you flexed your back.
"Don't let go," you said quickly, anxiety settled beneath your breath..
“I won't," he murmured. "Now, lean back a little."
You shifted your weight, and the wind lifted you slightly off the ground. Your wings fluttered instinctively to keep your balance. Azriel’s hands stayed on yours as you hovered, your breath catching with the thrill of floating.
"Oh my gods- OH MY GODS! I'm doing it!"
Without warning, he spun you slowly in a circle, his grip firm but careful, shadows weaving around you both like they were proud of you.
When you settled back on solid ground, your back ached, but your smile was ear-to-ear.
Azriel’s voice was low, approving. “You’re a natural.”
You laughed breathlessly. “Thanks to you.”
He smirked. “I am not so sure about that. I’ve tried teaching others, Feyre for one.”
Your eyebrows rose.
“She flew into a tree on her first lesson.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again. “Sounds like I’m off to a better start.”
Azriel’s shadows whisked around you. “Yes, just focus on using those muscles all day long. Keep your wings engaged. You need to build up that endurance before we go higher.”
“I don’t think I can after that. I’m going to melt into the floor,” you muttered as you limped toward the house.
Azriel chuckled behind you. “You’ve earned a nice relaxing bath.”
Inside, you hesitated at the hallway. “Wait… but there’s only one bathroom...”
He nodded. “You take the tub. I’ll use the river.”
You blinked at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I’ve done worse. Besides, I think you’ll appreciate hot water more than I will right now.”
Your chest tightened, but before you could say anything, he turned down the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you where the towels are.”
You followed as he opened the cabinet under the sink and tossed you one of the fluffy charcoal-gray towels. Then he leaned into the bathroom and flicked a valve near the tub. “Turn it this way for heat,” he explained, “then adjust from there. It'll take a minute to fill.”
You nodded, already fantasizing about sinking into the warm water and forgetting you had muscles.
Azriel grabbed a bar of soap for himself, slinging his own towel over his shoulder. “I’ll be out back if you need anything. Try not to drown.”
You smirked. “Not planning on it.”
He left with a small, unreadable smile, and the moment the door shut behind him, you started peeling off your gross clothes and stepping into the rising water like salvation itself.
You soaked until your fingers pruned and your bones sighed. By the time you got out from the tub, the bathroom was thick with steam and your head was fuzzy from warmth. It wasn’t until you reached for your clothes that reality hit.
They were soaked in sweat. You had forgotten to grab a change of clothes.
"Just great," you thought.
You eyed the towel. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than sweaty training clothes on a clean body.
Wrapping the towel around yourself, you opened the door and stepped into the hall, planning to dart to your room before Azriel returned.
You did not plan for Azriel to come in at that exact moment, towel slung low on his hips, his hair damp and curling, another towel in hand as he dried the back of his neck.
You both froze. You stared at him. He stared at you. Every inch of air between you turned to static.
He dropped the towel in his hands.
You held onto yours like your life depended on it.
His golden-brown eyes flicked down once, then shot immediately to the ceiling. “Shit—I didn’t mean to—sorry—”
“I thought you were still outside!” you squeaked.
“I was! I just—” He motioned vaguely, stepping backward but not actually going anywhere. “I was getting clothes.”
Neither of you moved. Both of you looked like you'd just stepped into an ambush.
You tried again. “I’ll just...go-” You pointed toward your room.
He stepped aside. “Yeah. I’m...yeah.”
And just as you turned, it hit him.
Azriel's POV
Her scent. The steam mixed with lavender was the sweetest thing he’d ever breathed in. Warm skin, floral soap, and her... Gods you fresh and flushed and nearly naked, right in front of him.
His breath caught. Something low and primal came to his attention. His fingers flexed at his sides, and he forced himself to look away from the door you just went in, clenching his jaw so tight it ached.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t real. This was a deal. A protection. A carefully structured boundary.
But the scent of her wrapped around him like a temptation. It clouded his thoughts, made his instincts whisper things he wasn’t ready to hear.
He turned abruptly towards his room and shut the door. The image of you playing on repeat. His shadows were pulsing at the edges of the door. One of them swirled around like it wanted to go to you.
He glared at it. “Don’t."
The shadow stilled, so did he.
And for one unbearable heartbeat, Azriel realized something:
You didn’t feel like a stranger anymore.
“I am so screwed.”
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Author's note: HEYO! I know this chapter is a day late... It's because I am in the process of moving, as well as being back at work. ehheeh I will have money again woohoo! no more summer school that takes up ALL my time. I have all of these next chapters in queue, but none of them have authors notes, summaries, or updated tag lists, hence why this one is being released now... I am not really sure what else to say in this except for thank you! With my busy life all the notifs i get on these stories makes my soul smile!! I love y'all <3
Summary: After your meeting with the inner court, Azriel starts to ask you questions about how your potion works. Deciding that its best to tell him, you open up to him about you past. But with secrets exposed and feelings growing, will you be able to keep your secret hidden from everyone else?
Word Count: 2155
Chapter 4: "With Me"
The house was quiet when you and Azriel returned. The warmth of the House of Wind, the laughter, the wine, all of it felt far behind now. Shortly after Cassian's antics, Feyre and Rhysand excused themselves as they had to get back to their parental duties. After that, everyone said their goodbyes, and now here you were back at Azriel's house.
You slipped off your shawl and laid it across the entry table, your movements slower now that the weight of the evening’s mask had finally started to wear off.
Azriel lingered near the door. His shadows were quieter than usual, like even they knew the night wasn’t quite over. He didn’t speak until you turned toward the hallway.
“How does it work?” he asked softly.
You paused. “The door?”
He shook his head. “No, the potion. The one that hides your wings.”
You looked at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. There was no judgment in it, only curiosity, and something close to concern. He was your husband now, even if just on paper. He deserved to know all of your truths, even the ones that haunted you.
You stepped toward the center of the room. “It’s a glamour,” you said. “A strong one. It's a masking spell layered over a binding tonic.”
“When do you take it?”
You rubbed your forearms, anxiety creeping in. “Every morning at sunrise, or close to it. Sometimes I mix it with tea. Other days, if I’m in a rush, I just take it straight.”
"Does it hurt you?"
“Not exactly,” you admitted. “But it gets heavy. By the end of the day, it feels like I’m dragging shackles full of stone.”
Azriel was silent for a long moment before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, “Can I see them?”
The question settled between you, heavy and exposed. You searched his face for mockery, for hesitation, for the cold scrutiny you’d learned to expect from others. But there was none. Only a look of understanding. So you nodded, and with an exhale, the glamour fell.
The magic unraveled like silver threads slipping from your skin. Your wings shivered as the air touched them, after being hidden for too long. Slowly, you let them unfurl. The soft midnight feathers caught the light in the house and glimmered like ink in moonlight.
Azriel stared. Not in horror, not in pity, but in awe.
“They’re…” he began, voice low. “They’re stunning.”
You let out a small, breathless laugh. “They’re wrong.”
His brow furrowed, a flicker of something sharp crossing his face.
“They’re not like the others. Not like yours. I was born this way, feathered, not bat-skinned. That's not normal, Azriel." You paused, breath catching as trauma stirred, hurt, painful, unspoken.
“I told Rhysand I didn’t want my wings clipped. That was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth.”
Azriel’s brows furrowed, but he stayed quiet.
“When I wrote to him… I didn’t say I was different. I didn’t tell him I had feathers. I just said I was Illyrian and running from a father that would clip me.” You swallowed. “It was a calculated choice. I didn’t trust anyone, not yet. And I knew if I told him what I really was, he might treat me differently. Or worse, he’d tell the others. I can’t risk that information getting out.”
Azriel’s shadows slowed, sensing the shift in your heartbeat.
“My mother said I came from an ancient line. A rare kind of Illyrian with feathered wings that were once a symbol of magic. She said it skipped generations, that maybe her grandmother had them too. But over time, the world decided they were valuable in the wrong ways. The feathers hold power, and if harvested, they could be used in spells to enhance the enchantments, bind magic, that sort of thing.”
You stared at the floor. “If people knew what I was, they wouldn’t see a person. They’d see a resource. Something to control and exploit, so I ran.”
Azriel didn’t interrupt. Not once. Not even when your voice broke.
“That’s why I kept the secret,” you finished. “Why, even now, I haven’t told anyone else. Not Feyre. Not Rhysand. Because if they knew, things would change.”
Your gaze met his. “And I don’t want to be looked at like I’m some relic.”
Azriel’s expression darkened. “And your father? He tried to clip them?”
You shook your head. “Did more than try. The day before it was supposed to happen, I snuck out. I found the brewmistress that the village girls had whispered about. She gave me a vial along with the formula so it would hold up even under close inspection." Your voice trembled. "If my father finds me, Azriel-”
“He won’t,” Azriel said immediately, fiercely. “And if he does, I'll be there, I'll protect you.”
You looked at him, really looked at him. “That’s part of why we did this, isn’t it? This marriage. This lie. To protect my secret. You’re the only one who can know.”
He nodded as he was still watching your wings, shadows moving slowly around them as though curious too. Then his gaze flicked back to yours.
“Have you ever flown before?”
The question caught you off guard.
“I…” You blinked. “I don’t know.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t know?”
You folded your wings slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t remember ever learning. I don’t have memories of trying or even being off the ground. I must have been too young to remember.”
Azriel’s expression shifted to something softer, almost pained. “Flying is instinct. It lives in your bones, in your balance. It’s not easy, but once you get it…” He let out a small breath. “There’s nothing like it.”
You looked at him, curiosity blooming. “What does it feel like?”
A faint smile appeared on his lips. “It's freedom, control, and peace all at once. Sometimes terror, when the wind is too wild. But there’s a moment when you’re high enough and the air is just right, it feels like the whole world goes quiet. Like nothing can touch you.”
You swallowed, eyes flicking to your wings again. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
He straightened, a glint of something new settling in his expression. “With me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to train,” he said firmly. “With me. We’ll start tomorrow morning.”
Your brows rose. “Azriel—”
“Self-defense first. Then flying.” His voice was calm. “You need to know how to protect yourself if you ever need to. But more importantly… You deserve to feel what it’s like to fly... Not just hide.”
The weight of his words settled in your chest like a promise.
You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
A silence passed. A moment of unspoken things as you both looked at each other.
Azriel stepped back, shadows curling close to his shoulders again. “You should get some rest.”
You hesitated. “Right.”
Azriel shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway, then back at you, as he started walking to his room. His mouth opened slightly, like he might say something, then closed again.
You mirrored the movement, stepping toward your own room with a quiet inhale. Both of you stood there, in the quiet of the house, facing opposite ends of the hallway. Not moving, waiting. For what, you weren’t sure. A word? An invitation? Something to tip the balance?
Your eyes met for half a second. Long enough to feel it. Whatever it was. But no one spoke.
Eventually, you both turned in opposite directions at the same time. His door shut softly behind him. So did yours. And the space between you stayed untouched that night.
Azriel POV
The soft click of her door echoed louder than it should have.
He stood at his door for a long moment, hand still hovering over the handle. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
He could still feel the echo of her wings in the air. The way the feathers had shimmered in the low light, the tremble that had run through them when the glamour lifted. He’d seen all kinds of wings in his lifetime. Broken ones. Brutalized ones. Bloody, clipped, torn. But hers... gods, hers were alive in a way he couldn't explain. They were unlike anything he'd ever seen, and somehow more right than any pair he’d fought beside.
And the way she looked when she talked about them, like she was trying not to break down in front of him, he’d seen that too. That quiet, desperate kind of strength. He hated it.
Azriel finally moved, shadows curling around him, restless. They always were when he felt too much. He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned against the door.
She didn’t even know if she could fly. Didn’t remember ever trying. His chest tightened. That wasn’t just sad. It was wrong.
Whoever had convinced her that her wings were wrong had taken something sacred from her. He’d give it back if he could. He would. Even if it took the rest of his damn life.
Tomorrow, they’d begin. He'd have to go slow and tread carefully, as this would take a lot of trust. And he couldn’t afford to fumble it. Not now. Not when all of it was already starting to matter more than it should.
He lay on the bed without undressing, staring at the ceiling, and didn’t sleep for a long time.
Y/N POV
You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, your wings folded tightly behind you.
The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Casting across the floor, across your arms, across the ends of your feathers that still trembled faintly with the memory of air.
The glamour potion sat untouched on the bedside table. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift it. Not after the way he’d looked at you.
Stunning, he’d said.
You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. The silence in the hallway had meant something, hadn’t it? The weight of it, the way you’d both lingered as if waiting for one of you to take a step forward. But no one had moved.
You pulled your legs up onto the mattress, curling beneath the blanket, and you were used to silence. To secrets. To keeping yourself hidden and tucked away. But tonight… he had seen you. Seen all of you.
And now you weren’t sure if you could ever put the mask back on and pretend that didn’t matter. Because suddenly it felt like it did.
Your gaze flicked to the door before you turned on your side and closed your eyes.
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Author's note: I really hope I remember to come back and write one... if not, I'm sorry. This means life got busy, but the chapter still released on time! I love y'all :))
Summary: Waking up next to Azriel turns up the tension and heat! Only complicating the lines of pretending and feeling, but soon it's time to meet the Inner Circle. You and Azriel finally get to put on the performance that you both practiced for. Can one story, a little bit of laughter, and a hand under the table convince them, or will they see right through you?
Word Count: 2485
Chapter 3: "Fresh Blood"
The morning light crept in slowly, gently rising up the walls of the bedroom. You woke up first, blinking against the soft brightness before rolling over and finding yourself nose-to-chest with him. Your breath caught as your eyes darted down, down, down. Broad shoulders, his sculpted chest rising and falling in steady sleep, his shirt was gone.
You tensed. Azriel didn’t move, though one of his arms was now loosely draped across your waist like it had just wandered there in the middle of the night. Your heart did something traitorous and fluttered. You shifted slightly, just enough to make the bed creak.
Azriel’s voice startled you, still rough with sleep. “You’re staring.”
You froze. “What? No... no I’m not,” you blurted, instantly pulling back an inch, then another, like distance might help the situation.
He cracked one eye open, amusement already tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You definitely are.”
You scowled, now fully burying your face in your pillow. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“I get hot when I sleep, so I took it off in the middle of the night."
You groaned. Azriel rolled onto his side to face you, propping his head up on one hand. His hair was slightly tousled, shadows still curling lazily around his shoulders like they hadn’t quite woken up yet.
“You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago,” he said, his voice now smug.
“I wasn’t minding, I was startled,” you grumbled.
“Oh, startled?” He reached over and tugged the pillow away from your face. “Because you were tangled around me not too long ago."
You gasped and sat up. “I was not!”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “You were. But it’s okay. I don’t mind being cuddled. I’m very popular with the pillows.”
You tossed the nearest pillow at his face. He caught it with one hand, grinning. It was the first time you’d seen him this unguarded. Which somehow made you even more flustered. You mumbled something about needing to take your potion with some tea and bolted toward the kitchen, leaving him laughing softly behind you.
You were halfway through your cup of tea when Azriel emerged from his room, fully dressed this time. His leathers were buckled in place, shadows already coiling at his heels. Your heart still hadn’t fully recovered from seeing him shirtless. Now here he was again, flying leathers, composed, and entirely unfair.
He glanced at you as he poured himself tea. “Recovered yet?” Using your own words against you.
You raised a brow. “Oh, haha, very funny.”
He gave you a grin that was all teeth. “I’ll try to keep my scandalous behavior to a minimum today, don't want them to get too many ideas.”
You muttered something under your breath and stirred your tea. “So, the Inner Circle.”
Azriel sobered almost instantly. “Right.”
You both grew quiet for a moment, the reality of what was ahead settling between you two.
“You’re sure about this?” you asked, voice quieter now. “Lying to your family?”
He looked at you, “It’s not forever. Just until things settle.”
You nodded, “Let me put on something with more coverage, and then I'll be ready to go.”
Azriel just drank his tea while you went to get ready. You settled for a simple blouse with slacks, your shawl loosely around your shoulders, and pinned your hair half-up, half-down.
You walked into the living room and sat on the couch as you put on your heels. “Do you think they’ll believe it?”
Azriel turned to you fully now, eyes roaming over your new outfit. “I think you’re easy to look at,” he said softly, like it was just a fact. “And I’m not exactly known for wearing my heart on my sleeve, so yes, they’ll believe it.”
Your breath caught, but you masked it with a smirk. “Flattery, Azriel? Bold move.”
“I figured I’d better start practicing,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face before stepping away. You deflated a little after his comment.
It's just practice. None of this is real. It's all just for show. You have to keep reminding yourself that.
You both grabbed your things and left the house. Azriel glanced at the sky. “We’ll land on a balcony on the other side of the House. Less dramatic than swooping onto the main one.”
“Smart,” you said.
He moved behind you, hands gentle at your waist as he prepared to lift you again. His grip was steady, but you could feel the hesitation of him remembering holding you last night, lingering between you. Neither of you said anything. Just like how it always was with you two. It was all just practice and for show.
With a powerful beat of his wings, the two of you were off toward the House of Wind, where a family that would be watching your every move awaited. You were also headed towards a performance that you weren’t quite sure you’d be able to pull off.
The moment your heels touched the cobbled balcony, your nerves kicked in. Azriel offered you a silent look and gently adjusted your shawl across your shoulders. It helped to hide the potion’s magic, the glamour that still shimmered softly across your back. It felt cowardly in some ways, but only Rhys, Feyre, and Azriel knew about you wanting to hide them. The others didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Not yet, it was too risky.
“We ready?” Azriel asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you muttered, though your pulse panicked.
By the time you reached the hall near the main entrance, the doors were already open. Warmth and laughter spilled out onto the hall, and inside, the Inner Circle was gathered. Cassian sprawled on a couch, Mor leaned against the bar, and Nesta was perched near a window with a drink in hand, her gaze distant.
Cassian was the first to notice. “Look who’s here!” he called out. “Az, you sly bastard! You didn’t tell us you were bringing company.”
Azriel didn’t flinch. “This is my wife, Y/N,” he said calmly.
The room stilled. Cassian blinked. “I’m sorry... your what?!”
Azriel gave a half smile, then looked at you with something that wasn’t quite affection, but enough to sell it. You stepped forward, gently linking your arm with his.
“I know it’s sudden,” you said, offering the group a diplomatic smile. “But the arrangement was made quickly. Rhys and Feyre facilitated it for political reasons. We only told them and kept things quiet while we adjusted.”
Mor’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “How convenient. When is it never political?”
Nesta said nothing. Her gaze flicked from you to Azriel, and then back to you. Her jaw was tight. Calculating.
Cassian let out a breath like he’d been punched. “Married? You? Az? This is... this is a big deal! Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He looked at Rhys with betrayal. “I thought we shared everything!”
“I told you I’d explain later,” Rhys said, amused. “Now is later.”
Cassian turned back to you. “And you... What did you do to convince him? Bribe him with wine? Secrets? A new dagger?”
You laughed. “None of the above. Just... timing, I suppose.”
Cassian took a step closer, eyes narrowing slightly. Then they dipped, just briefly, to your back. You stiffened, instinctively pulling your shawl tighter. He said nothing, but you felt like he had a gut feeling something was amiss. Either way, he moved on with a grin, making you let go of a small breath you didn't know you were holding.
Meanwhile, Mor gave Azriel a look. “We’ll talk later,” she said simply, then strode off to refill her drink.
Nesta still hadn’t spoken, but then quietly said, “You’re good at hiding things Azriel.”
Your heart pounded. Azriel stepped closer beside you then, his shadows brushing your side like they were offering comfort only you could feel.
His voice was low but firm. “She’s my wife. That’s all you need to know.” That seemed to mark the end of the conversation... for now, as everyone headed to the dining hall.
The dinner table was long. Conversations overlapped in a practiced rhythm, but you felt it... the way the others kept glancing toward you and Azriel, like trying to decipher a puzzle none of them knew how to solve. Azriel never left your side, sitting close enough that your knees touched beneath the table. He kept his hand resting lightly on your thigh, a quiet signal that the performance was still ongoing. You’d almost grown used to the feel of it.
Rhys and Feyre played their part effortlessly. Feyre smiled, nudging you into the conversation with gentle encouragement, while Rhys watched everything and said little. Nesta mostly ate in silence, occasionally sipping her wine, her gaze still alternating between Azriel and you. Cassian, however, couldn’t seem to sit still.
“So,” he said, jabbing a fork in Azriel’s direction, “you get married in secret, don’t say a word, and now you’re playing the brooding newlywed while the rest of us are stuck wondering if this is some prank?”
Azriel gave him a flat look. “Would I lie about something like that?”
“I’m sitting right here,” you said, raising a brow.
Cassian gave you an unapologetic smile. “I know, I like you already. Just making sure you know what you’ve married.”
“Unfortunately,” you teased, sipping your wine, “I’ve already discovered the brooding.”
That earned a laugh from Mor and an amused twitch of Azriel’s lips. It was all going smoothly, you thought.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine like he was debating something very serious. “Alright. Since Az clearly isn’t going to entertain us with stories of this whirlwind romance…”
Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Cassian.”
“We’ll go with something simpler.” He ignored the warning entirely, grinning. “Let’s play a game!”
You arched a brow. “What kind of game?”
“The good kind,” Cassian said. “One that reveals everyone's secrets and causes lifelong embarrassment.”
“Absolutely not,” Azriel muttered.
Cassian leaned forward on his elbows, eyes twinkling. “It’s called Tell On Your Mate. Or whoever you want. Just one story, moment, or something that the rest of us don’t know.”
“You made that up just now,” Nesta said, sipping her wine.
You looked at Azriel with concern, which he returned. Neither of you had stories to tell. If this game gets to you or Azriel’s turn, you were unsure what to even say, much less tell.
“Obviously,” Cassian replied. “But the rules are sacred. Y/N, you're up.”
You blinked. “Me? Why am I first?”
“Because you're the new one,” Nesta said from the end of the table, propping her chin on her hand, looking entirely too amused. “Fresh blood.”
“I hate this court,” Azriel grumbled.
You sighed dramatically, trying to think of something to say. “You want a story about Azriel?” Cassian nodded, looking far too pleased with his new game.
Azriel turned slowly toward you, his expression flat. “Tread carefully.”
You only patted his shoulder and gave him a small smile before whispering a soft “I’m sorry” in his ear, before you told the only story that you had of him. “Alright. Fine. Just... remember you all asked for this.”
Everyone leaned forward like they were about to watch a play, Cassian nearly falling out of his seat at his eagerness for a new Azriel story.
You turned to the group. “So. Picture this. It’s the second night after our wedding.”
The room was instantly filled with hoots and hollers, “Y/n, no…” Azriel sighed. You ignored him. This was the only story you could tell them. You have only been with him for a couple of days, and there were no other stories yet, except this one.
“Not that kind of story,” you said quickly. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Cassian let out an exaggerated sigh. “Boring already.”
You playfully rolled your eyes. “We’re walking down the hallway. Everything is quiet. Awkward if you will. He opens his door, lets me go in first, very polite, and then just… stands there.”
Feyre smiled behind her glass. “That sounds about right.”
“I tell him I needed to change,” you continued, “and I swear on my life, this male goes stiff as a board. His eyes hit the floor like it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world.” Mor was already grinning.
“He goes, ‘Right! Of course! I’ll stay here!’” You mimicked his low voice with exaggerated stiffness. “Like I was going to just start undressing in front of him.”
Cassian was howling. “No way.”
“I offered to go to my room to change,” you said, laughing now yourself, “I swear I could see the light inside his head switch on. That only made it worse. He starts stammering, ‘I didn’t mean you had to!’ and ‘I wasn’t asking you to!’ and then he just shuts down, hands over his face like he’s been mortally wounded.”
Even Rhys was chuckling, sipping his wine. “Az, that might be the softest thing I’ve ever heard about you.”
“It gets better,” you said. “I came back ten minutes later and found him lying on the bed with his arms crossed over his head in shame, muttering to me, ‘Please leave me with some dignity.’”
The table erupted. Mor was dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “Cauldron, this is everything.”
Even Nesta looked faintly amused. Azriel, to his credit, didn’t try to deny it. He just slowly turned his head toward you and said flatly, “Betrayal at its finest moment.”
You grinned sweetly. “You’ll live.”
That earned another round of laughter, and despite the shade of pink dusting his ears, Azriel looked at you with something like pride or fondness. Maybe it was him plotting your demise. Hard to say.
Cassian wiped tears from his eyes. “You’ve earned your place at this table, Y/N. No question.”
You just smiled as Azriel’s hand slid over yours under the table. Even with all the laughter as everyone else told their stories, all the eyes still watching, you knew you'd played the part perfectly. But somewhere in the middle of it... the line between pretending and not pretending blurred. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding your breath until now. Not just because of the game, but because of all of it. The eyes... The performance...
“You didn’t have to do that.”
You turned toward him. “Tell the story?”
He nodded once.
“I wanted to,” you murmured, matching his quiet tone. “They needed a reason to laugh. And it made you seem real to them. Like you belong to someone.”
His brows ticked upward slightly, as if your words had caught him off guard. He didn’t look away. “I’ve always given myself to others, just never quite like this.”
You didn’t ask what that meant. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. So, you looked back at your plate and let the noise of the table fill in the silence.
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Author's note: Hey y'all!!! My heart is so happy seeing all the likes, reposts, and comments on chapter 1 🥺 I was planning on releasing chapters weekly, but with all the love, I figured why not post chapter 2!💞 My life is about to get very busy as it's finals week for my summer course on top of starting up work again! Do not fret! I have been up till 3am almost every night, cranking out chapters while I can, so y'all can have a frequent release schedule!!! This was supposed to come out on Saturday, but I'm too excited for y'all to read this story. Eventually, once this story is done, I'll be doing a REWRITE for "And There You Were." I think I've yapped long enough for this note... ENJOY CHAPTER 2!!! Depending on how this goes, I may release 3 early as well before doing a weekly release after.
Summary: It's your first morning as Azriel’s wife. It begins in unfamiliar silence, but curiosity, some practicing, and a plan to fool the Inner Circle start to unfold. Will you keep the act up, or will the lines start to blur?
Word Count: 2,581
Chapter 2: "We Don't Pull Away"
The bed was cold when you woke. You must have fallen asleep at some point from the exhaustion of yesterday.
The morning light seeped through the windows of your bedroom, as the house remained silent. No footsteps, no wingbeats, or any kind of movement. He was gone for training.
You got out of bed slowly, took your potion, wrapped your shawl around your shoulders, and stepped into the hallway, the wooden floor creaking underneath you. You decided that you would see what the kitchen had in store, but something stopped you. You had almost missed it when walking past it... Azriel's door was cracked open.
You hadn’t intended to snoop. But his room carried that faint scent of smoke and cedarwood, and it tugged at you.
"Just one look," you told yourself, "Not to judge. Just to understand him better."
You pushed the door open gently. The room was clean, like the rest of the house, but it wasn't lifeless. It was Azriel, through and through. Everything had a purpose. A simple bed with dark linens, made tightly and without wrinkles. A dagger sat on a nightstand, balanced atop an old book of Illyrian tactics. The windows were slightly cracked, letting the breeze carry in the scent of river water and pine. And then, you saw it. Sitting half-hidden beneath a leather-bound journal on his dresser was a folded piece of parchment.
You picked it up with hesitant fingers, unfolding it carefully. It was a drawing done in pencil. The archway from your wedding. The flowers. A faint outline of two figures standing beneath it, holding hands. You could tell it wasn’t drawn by him, as you knew your High Lady to be quite the artist from the stories people told about her.
The parchment was creased as if it had been handled often. The wedding had only happened just yesterday... how much had he been looking at this? Your chest warmed at the thought before tightening. The sound of footsteps getting closer.
"Shit, He’s back."
You quickly folded the sketch, slid it exactly where you’d found it, and quietly slipped out of the room.
You barely made it into the kitchen before you heard the sound of boots being knocked clean outside the door. You didn’t look back. Instead, you busied yourself with making a small brunch. You put the kettle on the stove, sliced some fruit, and grabbed some bread from the breadbox.
You moved quickly, hoping that you did enough to make it seem like you've been here awhile.
Behind you, the air shifted. His shadows were lurking about, surveying what was going on. They curled into the room like mist before reporting back to their master. You reached for the pan and gently put a slice of bread on it. You could feel his eyes on you now.
"Gods, did his shadows catch me earlier? Did he know I was snooping?"
You turned, only to find him in the doorway, freshly back from training. His shirt was damp, muscles more pronounced, the morning light catching every sweat drop, making him look like he was glistening. You froze for a second too long as the smell of something burning broke you from your trance.
“Shit—” you muttered, spinning around and flipping it just in time, but not before the edges blackened.
Azriel’s voice was low behind you. “Good morning.”
You exhaled, cheeks flushing. “Morning.”
You felt him step into the kitchen, not close, but closer than before. You risked another glance at him, and Cauldron save you, he looked unfairly good. Smirking just slightly as he sat at the table without another word. You placed a teacup in front of him before going back to grab the kettle.
"Tea?" you asked gently.
"Sure," he replied as you poured him a cup before returning to the toast.
"You sleep okay?" Azriel asked as if he were trying to create some sort of small talk with you.
"Yes, quite well," which was a lie, but he didn't need to know that, "You?"
Azriel hummed. “Didn’t sleep much.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Is that normal?”
Another sip of tea. “Yes.”
You nodded, unsure what to say next.
The last piece of toast was done. You plated it with some fruit, brought it over, and set it in front of him before taking your seat across the table.
He picked up a slice without complaint. You waited for a comment about the darkened edges, but none came. Instead, he took a bite.
“Not bad,” he said mildly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
You raised a brow. “It's bad, isn't it?”
“It’s better than anything I would’ve made.”
“You’re being polite, you don't have to eat it if you don't like it..."
He looked at you, really looked, and for a moment, the shadows seemed to pause too. “No,” he said, quieter now. “I’m being honest.”
Your heart fluttered as you took a slow sip of your tea. "So, what's with the dagger by the breadbox?"
He only shrugged. "Habit. In case someone breaks in while I'm making tea."
You narrowed your eyes slightly, "Is that normal?"
He smirked behind his cup, "You'd be surprised."
You laughed quietly before clearing your throat, as if it weren't allowed. I mean, you had only met him yesterday.
“So… about tomorrow.”
Azriel's gaze met yours, expression carefully neutral.
“We’re meeting the Inner Circle, right?” you asked.
“Yes.”
You swallowed. “Do they know? About us?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Rhys thought it might be… easier if we told them together.”
You arched a brow. “Easier for who?”
Azriel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to his tea. “They’re close. Protective. And not great with surprises.”
“So we lie?”
“No,” he said firmly. “We just… omit. Until it makes sense to explain.”
You nodded slowly, unsure how that sat with you.
“I don’t like pretending,” you said after a pause.
His eyes met yours again, this time more open. “Neither do I. But they’ll ask questions. And unless we have the same story…”
“…we’ll drown in their questions,” you finished. Azriel gave a soft nod.
You leaned back in your chair. “Alright. So what is our story?”
He tilted his head. “We’re allies, trusted by Rhys. Pressured into a political arrangement, but willing to make it work.”
Your lips quirked. “So… no love story?”
Azriel’s jaw tightened, just barely, but you saw it. “Not yet.”
Not yet... You blinked, heat crawling up your neck at the words. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but pretended not to. You reached for another piece of toast, more for something to do than to eat.
“So we just… act like we’re figuring out the terms,” you said, "separate rooms, polite smiles, no real closeness?"
Azriel cut in. “They’ll pick up on that too easily. It’ll look like we’re hiding something.”
Your brow rose. “So what do you want to do, you want to fake affection?”
His voice was calm. “I want it to seem natural.”
You blinked, "natural?"
Azriel leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “If we’re trying not to look like we care, it’ll draw more attention. They’ll poke. Ask questions we’re not ready to answer.”
You swallowed. Now you are seeing why he's the spy master. He thinks everything through so thoroughly. “So we pretend we’re closer than we really are?”
He nodded once, slowly. “Close enough to keep them from looking too hard. Close enough to protect the truth.”
You stared at him, heart beating a little too fast at the sight of him looking at you with an understanding of why you had agreed to this. But you had no understanding as to why he agreed. I mean, surely it's deeper than needing to fend off someone's advances.
"Azriel," you said softly, "tell me why you agreed to this?"
He didn’t look away, but something behind his eyes shifted, like he was trying to keep unwanted emotions at bay. He set his teacup down with careful precision, the clink against the ceramic loud in the quiet room.
“For the same reason I agree to most things,” he said at last. “Rhys asked me to.”
You blinked. “That can't be your answer,” you said.
“It’s the truth.”
“No,” you said, sitting up straighter, “it may be part of the truth, but it’s not your reason. Rhysand offered you this match, but he didn’t force you.”
Azriel was silent for a moment. The shadows around his shoulders curled tighter, as if they were wanting to break free but were being restrained by him. The air grew thick with tension as the conversation changed. After a moment longer, he finally spoke.
“I know what it’s like to be cast aside. To be seen as a burden. An inconvenience. A mistake.”
You said nothing. You didn’t dare interrupt, but you felt the emotion behind his words.
“So when I heard…” His voice faltered just slightly, a roughness creeping in, “When I heard what your father was planning to do... I figured maybe… maybe I could be the one who didn’t turn his back.”
Your throat burned. Tears starting to form in your eyes.
“I don’t care about the rumors that will come of this,” he added, “I just wanted to give you safety and a choice.”
You swallowed hard, trying to quickly blink away the tears. The intensity of his words cut through you like the damn dagger by the breadbox.
"Thank you for telling me that," you said as you awkwardly shifted in your seat, picking at the slightly burnt toast in front of you. He nodded in response. "So, we just need to pretend like we're close?"
"Precisely, just enough that no one will think to pry."
You gave him a puzzled look. "Which means what exactly?"
He took one last sip of his tea before he spoke. "Occasional touches, lingering glances, smiling at each other just enough, you know, the simple things."
You tried to hide your surprise at how nonchalant he is about the situation. "Right... the simple things. And if someone asks when it happened?"
"Just say that it was a fast but necessary decision. A quiet union made with the blessing of the High Lord and Lady, strictly for political reasons."
You stared at him, "You're rather good at this."
He shrugged, "It's not my first lie."
You felt uneasy about that comment, but nodded. “Okay, so we married… quietly. For political reasons. We’re still figuring things out, and it’s going well.”
He met your gaze. “It is going well.”
You gave a soft, sad smile. “That’s the first lie we’ll tell them.”
Azriel nodded as he stood and offered you his hand. “Come on, if we’re going to pretend to be close tomorrow… we should probably start practicing.”
Your breath caught. “Practice? Practice how?”
"Yes, practice..." he said, not meeting your eyes. "We need to get used to being… close.”
It began simple enough. He showed you how to stand near him, not too rigid, but just enough that your shoulders or hands might brush.
“People notice tension,” he said, voice low and calm. “The kind that comes from pulling away. We don’t pull away.”
You stood in front of him, arms at your sides, and tried not to look like your heart was beating out of your chest. How he was speaking so calmly was beyond you. He reached for your hand slowly, giving you just enough time to move. When you didn’t, he took it gently in his. Your fingers curled instinctively, holding his just a little tighter.
“Like that?” you asked, trying to breathe normally.
He nodded. “Yes. This looks… real."
Later, you practiced sitting on the couch. Not quite touching at first, but slowly inching closer. You laughed awkwardly when his wing accidentally knocked a book off the table, and he grumbled something about his wings and "spatial awareness", but saw the faint smile on his lips.
Next, he showed you how to loop your arm through his as if it were second nature. You showed him how to tilt his head toward you like he was listening, like what you had to say actually mattered. You also walked through the kitchen once, slowly, with your hand resting lightly at the base of his spine. That one undid him a little, as you felt it in the way he paused mid-step, but he said nothing.
By the time the light in the cottage dimmed, you found yourselves sitting beside each other on the couch again, this time with his hand resting lightly over yours where it lay on your thigh. It was almost dark. You hadn’t noticed.
Azriel finally broke the silence, his voice low. “We should consider… appearances.”
You turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“If they ask, and believe me Cassian might ask, where you sleep… it might be better if the answer doesn’t raise questions.”
You swallowed. “So we lie?”
Azriel’s eyes met yours. Steady. Careful. “We prepare. We don’t need to do anything. But we… share a room. Just for the night. Just in case, so that our answer feels less like a lie."
Your heart was in your throat. “And the bed?”
“We can stay on opposite sides. I won’t touch you.”
You weren’t sure why that made your chest ache, but you nodded. “Okay. Just for tonight.”
You stood together, quietly moving down the hall. He paused at the threshold, letting you enter first. You didn’t look back to see if he followed. You already felt the warmth of him behind you.
You paused just inside the room, glancing toward the bed, then back at him. “Um… I need to change.”
Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, then immediately darted to the floor. “Right. Of course.” He turned his back so fast it was almost comical, shoulders suddenly very straight. “I’ll, uh… I’ll stay right here.”
You bit back a smile. "Azriel, I can just go to my room to change..."
He froze. You swore you could see the gears starting to turn in his head. "Right! Yes. Of course you can," he sounded horrified with himself. “I didn’t mean you had to—Cauldron, I wasn’t asking you to—gods..."
You were already halfway out the door, laughing softly to yourself. "Relax, I wasn't going to strip in front of you."
"I wasn't trying to make you think you have to!" he called after you, still feeling mortified. "I just... this whole fake-marriage bed-sharing situation is already weird!"
You briefly peeked your head back into his room, "You're adorable when you're flustered, you know that?"
He groaned and flopped onto the bed. "Oh please leave me with some dignity."
You just smiled at him and went to your room, slipping into a simple oversized shirt with shorts. When you returned, you found him under the covers with his arms crossed over his head.
"You're doing a terrible job of looking unbothered," you laughed. "Recovered from the meltdown?"
"Barley," as he gave you a look of "don't test me."
You slipped into the bed beside him, careful not to brush his side. “You sure you’re okay sharing a bed with me now that I’ve scandalously not changed in front of you?”
Azriel stared up at the ceiling, deadpan. “I’m barely surviving the disappointment.”
You giggled and turned onto your side, tucking the blankets up around your shoulders. “Night, Azriel.”
A pause.
“…Goodnight, Y/N.”
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Tags:
@bookishbishhh @starsidesigh
Post author's note: This has only been published for like 10 mins, but I have a question! Do y'all enjoy the songs to help with the overall vibe? Or is it like "eh, I don't really care imo."
BE HONEST! I'm a big girl, I can handle truths.
Author's note: So I am back!!! I am honestly so scared to post this, but it's whatever. Can't be worse than the crap I wrote for Lucien😭 Honestly, I just be daydreaming about ACOTAR and come up with stories that I really need to be writing out. Once again, I am NOT a professional writer. I have only really been doing this for 3 months, even though my first fic came out AWHILE ago... (we're just going to ignore that...) Azriel is pretty mainstream, so all you sticklers for high-quality fics ain't gon find NOTHIN here. You can stay if you wanna though☺️
Summary: For years, you lived in hiding. Your wings concealed by a glamour no one dared question. But one forgotten drop changed everything. Afraid of what your father might do next, you fled your home and offered your own fate to the Night Court. Rhysand has problems of his own: a tense court, a mated female in love with another, and a brooding Spymaster too loyal for his own good. The solution? A marriage of convenience. Their marriage is nothing more than survival… until the quiet between them starts to feel like something more.
Word Count: roughly 2,431 words 🤷♀️
Chapter 1: "Sanctuary"
Everyone knew what happened to Illyrian females. It was a common practice where you were from. Beautiful wings of females were clipped, sometimes young, sometimes brutally, but they were always stripped away to feed the male population's need to feel superior. It was tradition, and tradition was law. But you, your wings were different than everyone else's, and your father hated you for it. Unlike the usual leathery, bat-like wings of the Illyrians, yours were soft, feathered wings that were as deep as the midnight sky. The edges, dusted with silver like starlight that ended in curved talons as dark as obsidian.
The night before your scheduled clipping, set up by your father, you’d snuck out of the house through the backwoods towards the brewmistress’s cave carved into the face of the mountain. This was the place the village girls whispered about, but never dared visit. The woman there wasn’t Illyrian. No one knew what she was. Only that she sold solutions for impossible problems, at a price.
You told her your situation, showed her your wings, and she gave you her price. You traded three silver rings and the memory of your first flight for a vial the color of ash and honey.
“Drink one drop at sunrise,” she’d said. “And they’ll see what they expect to see, nothing more, nothing less.”
The next morning, when your father came to collect you for the ceremony, your wings were gone from view. After that, your father insisted to everyone you'd been clipped young, no one questioned it—why would they?
You hid them every single day. For years.
Until the morning you didn’t. The morning you overslept, forgot the potion, and rushed out the door to help at the village square, where your father found you in broad daylight, wings fully visible, alive, strong, and untouched.
The look on his face wasn’t just fury. It was betrayal. And in the mountains, a betrayal like that was a scandal that didn’t stay quiet for long.
You wrote to the High Lord as soon as you could. There were no goodbyes once the carriage arrived. Scandal was not welcome in a family like yours, and whatever future had been mapped for you was now gone. The letter was sent with haste: an arranged marriage proposal sent to your high lord in the Night Court asking him to tie your fate to someone so that you could avoid your father. You only hoped it was with someone loyal, kind, and understanding. Someone who could protect you in this dire situation.
Before you sat down in the carriage, you took a drop of the potion. That's when you saw a letter sealed in wax next to you. You admired the seal as the carriage took off to meet the person with whom you would soon be married. You took a calming breath as you opened the letter, which was addressed by the High Lord. His handwriting was elegant as he wrote to you the situation that you would soon find yourself in.
"Y/N,
I hope this letter finds you well. When I got news about your situation, as your high lord, I acted before your father could. In itself, you are a blessing in disguise, as I have a situation in the inner court that needs solving. We have a female who is mated to another male and feels bound by expectation, not choice. Given her situation, it is fair that she feels this way. However, she is starting to have eyes for another unmated male in my court. This is causing some to be irritable and uncomfortable. After much discussion, that said male has agreed to have your hand in marriage. He understands your situation and has been made aware. He is very trustworthy, whom I trust with my life. I know he will be able to provide for you and keep you safe. He agreed, knowing it would offer you protection. His name is Azriel.
The carriage is headed to a sanctuary where I, the High Lady, and Azriel will be waiting. I have arranged for a priestess to meet with us to officiate the marriage. I will see you soon. Everything will be alright.
Your High Lord,
Rhysand"
You reread the name. Azriel. The Spymaster. The shadowsinger. Your soon-to-be husband. Cauldron save you. The last unmated male in the Inner Circle, and perhaps the loneliest. Well, from what you read, it seems like he wasn't all that lonely. You hadn’t expected Rhysand to court you to someone so high up, but he did. You could not believe it.
The carriage slowed, and you arrived at the sanctuary. Not as a guest, not as a prisoner, but as the soon-to-be wife of Azriel. Bound in name to him whom you have never met or seen. You only heard stories of how hauntingly beautiful and lethal he was. What if he's a slob? What if he backs out last minute? What if he thinks you're ugly?
You shook your head to try and stop the "what-ifs" as you exited the carriage. This was not going to be love. It was an arrangement made hastily. One where you could avoid a scandal and have safety, and one where he could stop the advances of other females. As you stood on the pavement, the High Lord and High Lady walked out of the sanctuary to meet you.
"It is very nice to meet you, y/n," Rhysand spoke.
"You as well, my Lord," you responded as you curtseyed.
"Oh, no need for such formalities. You can call us by our names," Feyre spoke, causing you to rise. "We'll be family soon," she offered you a kind smile.
You returned it, "Thank you for everything, this is more than I could have wished for in this situation."
Rhysand only hummed, "Let's go in, shall we?"
When you entered, the priestess stood waiting beneath a flowering archway. The night's chill was in the air as the sparkling night sky lit up the room. Your hands trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of it all. It was not the wedding you’d imagined as a child. There were no guests. No music. Only Feyre, whose expression was a quiet kind of sympathy, and Rhysand, unreadable as ever.
And then you saw him.
He landed without a sound, shadows curling around him like smoke. He stood tall, dressed in a dark tunic that matched the solemn look in his eyes. His hair was wind-blown from the flight, as his siphons glinted faintly in the night sky. Your breath caught in your throat as he walked towards you, stopping right in front of you, your future husband.
“Y/N,” he said, voice quiet. “It’s… good to meet you.”
You hesitated, searching his face for something like regret, but all you found was a stoic glance. He was hard to read, and just as hard to look away from. He really was hauntingly beautiful.
“And you,” you said softly.
Rhysand cleared his throat. "We will let you two get acquainted, we'll come back when it's time for the ceremony," he and Feyre left with a small nod.
The two of you stood in silence looking at each other for cauldron knows how long. The air stilled as you both waited for someone to say something to break the silence around you.
You spoke first, “Now that you’ve met me… has your mind changed?”
You saw his shadows stir slowly around him at your question, a ghost of a smile touched his lips, “No,” Azriel said. “It hasn’t. Has yours?”
You stared at him a second too long, trying to detect any sound of uncertainty in his answer, but found none. "No, I suppose not," you spoke honestly. He hummed in response.
"Alright, are you two ready?" asked Rhysand just before any awkward silence could happen.
The look you exchanged said what neither of you voiced: "Are we really doing this?" When neither of you moved, Azriel responded with a curt, "Yes."
The ceremony was short. The priestess asked you two to hold hands as she blessed the marriage. Azriel didn’t flinch when he took your hand. His hands were calloused but warm, causing you to take a small sharp inhale from his touch. She spoke of honor and commitment to one another, as Rhysand and Feyre watched from a small pew. Then she pronounced you husband and wife. There was no kiss, just a simple smile as you two held hands for a second longer before turning to Rhysand and Feyre.
"Congratulations, brother," Rhysand clapped Azriel's shoulder lightly as he and Feyre went to sign as witnesses of the marriage. After that, everyone left. You stood beside Azriel on the balcony of the sanctuary overlooking the hillside of Velaris. It was quiet.
“I have a house just beyond the river,” Azriel said. “Two bedrooms. You’ll have your own space. I don’t expect anything from you.”
You turned to him, studying the stiffness of his shoulders. “Thank you, Azriel."
He glanced at you, "You're welcome. Are you ready to fly out there now? We will meet up with the others tomorrow."
You hesitated as you spoke, "Fly-out?"
Azriel responded, "Yes, I will fly us there. Is that okay?"
You nodded your head, "Yes, sorry, I just never have flown before."
"Ah, well, I'll take it nice and easy," he smiled softly.
"Thank you," you spoke as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his warmth instantly spread through your body, making your cheeks warm. If he noticed, you didn't know.
"Just hold onto me and I'll do the rest, " he spoke with reassurance as if he could sense your nerves.
You offered a nervous-sounding "Okay," as you wrapped your arms around his neck and interlocked your hands. His shadows stirred as you felt his muscles tense at the feeling of your uncovered hands. "Good," you thought, "you weren't the only one feeling the intimacy of the situation."
"Alright then, here we go," he said as the wind instantly touched your face with the first beat of his wings. You closed your eyes and tightened your grip around his neck as he took off higher. Azriel flew like it was second nature. His wings cut through the air, gliding easily on the wind as the sanctuary disappeared beneath you. You said nothing during the flight, and neither did he. You assumed he was too focused on flying to say anything; besides, you didn't want to distract him either.
The moon was almost at its peak when you spotted a modest cottage tucked into tall trees near a river. It was stonewalled with vines growing up it. No neighbors, no nothing. Just the presence of nature around you. As you got closer, the feeling of magic was wrapped tightly around you. He had warded the perimeter, which was comforting to know. He landed carefully, setting you down before his feet even touched the ground.
“This is it,” Azriel said, voice quieter than before. “Home.”
You took it in slowly. From the outside, the house looked... quaint. He led you to the front door as he turned to you.
"I have added you to the wards so you should be able to come and go as you please."
"Thank you," was all you could think of as a response.
He opened the door, and you quietly followed. It opened into a singular common room with a couch, fireplace, and a chair. Only one book on the shelf, one coat on the hook, one pair of tactical boots by the door. The kitchen was clean but bare. No fruit in a bowl. No spices on a shelf. Just enough plates for two people. There was a teapot, and a blade stashed behind the breadbox. He led you down the short hallway.
“This is your room,” he said, pushing open the first door. “Fresh sheets. You can change anything you’d like. I won’t be offended.”
You smiled as you stepped inside, trailing your fingers along the windowsill. The room smelled like cedar and fresh linen.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
He paused outside the doorway. “I know it isn’t much.”
You turned toward him. “It’s just fine, thank you.”
The next door he brought you to was his. Not bothering to show you what his own space looked like, but at least you know where he would be if you needed it. The last room he showed you was the bathroom, at the end of the hallway.
Everything was neat, almost impossibly neat. A thick black towel hung perfectly folded on the rack. A razor sat on the sink counter next to a comb and a bar of soap. There was a half-used candle sitting at the end of the tub. The scent was foreign and faint, but you could smell it. It smelled of smoked cedarwood and leather. The tub itself was deep and well-used, which surprised you. There's a small window with sheer curtains that was cracked open just enough to let in the night breeze.
Azriel cleared his throat. “I get up early to train, so don't worry about waking up on time. You can sleep in.”
You nodded. “Sounds good.”
"There’s tea if you want some, help yourself to anything. I'll go to the market later this week if you want anything."
"Thank you, Azriel."
“Y/N,” he said softly.
You met his gaze as silence filled the space around you, his mouth pressed into a thin line as if he wanted to say something. You waited, the anticipation slowly eating away at your conscience.
He cleared his throat softly, “Uh- sleep well."
Your chest tightened. “You as well," as he wished you one last good night before retreating to his room.
That night, on your wedding night, you slept by yourself. Alone in a bed where the sheets were cold and untouched, inside a room that doesn't feel like your own quite yet. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the trees blow in the wind, thinking about where you now live. He calls this home, yet everything is so neat and pristine. No decor on the walls, no homey furniture, or any signs of living other than the well-used tub. The thoughts of "will this ever feel like home?" are plaguing your mind and preventing you from sleeping, so you tossed and turned all night. And somewhere beyond your door, in the other room, Azriel didn't sleep either.
If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know!
Might write another ACOTAR fanfic after rereading the shit show of my first one to revalidate that I still got it. I promise my writing has strengthened over the last year and a half, or however long it's been... If any of you are still here and care, haha. Looking at something with Azriel :))) Lowkey nervous bc there are so many good authors with Azriel fics. I'm scared I won't compare, BUT HEY, I need to get them out of my head so my ideas stop bugging me.
Is it weird I teared up when I tried to open TikTok and got the notification that it was banned?? Like I knew it was coming, but damn I was not ready for that 😭
"I can't believe the Opening Ceremony didn't feature Ladybug and Cat Noir". YOU FOOLS. Who do you think that parkour guy was and why do you think no one got akumatized
